Chapter 9: The First Step Part 2

"Everyone—move back!" the officer commanded, his voice sharp and cutting through the tension.

Immediately, the students pulled away, forming a loose circle around the fallen figure. But the ROTC officers surged forward, rifles raised each outfitted with makeshift PVC bayonets taped along the barrel.

Without hesitation, they moved in.

The first officer drove his bayonet down into the creature's thigh with a sickening crack, pinning the leg to the ground. Another followed suit, thrusting his makeshift blade through the other leg just above the knee. A third officer jabbed the bayonet clean into its left shoulder, anchoring the upper body. The fourth went for the torso, driving the pipe straight through the midsection and holding it there.

The creature spasmed, body slightly moving beneath the restraint, but never truly resisting.

All of it… except the arm.

The right arm.

It flailed violently, slapping the floor with some strength, attempting to catch someone. The rest of the creature lay motionless, pinned like a specimen on a dissection table. But that one limb… it refused to stop.

John's eyes flicked to the head. The creature's eyes were wide open—glassy, lifeless… but human. Too human.

"We need to pierce the head," he said quietly.

The suggestion hung in the air like a cold breeze.

Everyone froze.

"What?" Jianna said, her voice barely a whisper.

"You saw what it did," John continued, steady but grim. "That arm won't stop. Nothing else worked. We took out the limbs, crushed the joints, and it's still trying to grab us. It has to be the brain. That's where it's being controlled from."

A heavy silence fell over the group.

Even the officers hesitated, rifles still pressed down against bone and muscle, but unsure of the next step.

"But…" Myreign said, her voice trembling slightly, "look at it."

They all did.

The creature, whatever it had become, still had the outline of a person. No grotesque deformities. No monstrous features. Just… a pale student in rumpled clothes. It looked like it could've been one of them. A classmate. A stranger they passed on campus hours ago.

John looked around at the others, his expression torn between urgency and regret.

"We don't know if it'll work," he admitted, voice low. "But it's a start. A guess."

"In some zombie movies," he continued, "the brain's the key. Destroy the brain, the body stops. I know this isn't a movie… but nothing else is working. And that thing—that arm—isn't going to stop until it's disabled completely."

Katherine crossed her arms, her gaze locked on the creature's glassy, vacant eyes. "You're seriously suggesting we rely on movie logic now?"

John nodded, without hesitation. "Until we understand more, yeah. We treat it like the fiction we do understand. Because right now, that might be all we've got."

The group was quiet.

The commanding officer had been silent, his jaw clenched, chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His eyes were locked on the twitching arm—the one that had nearly wrapped itself around one of his younger cadets just moments ago. The creature's body lay pinned beneath a mess of improvised bayonets

He turned his gaze away, unwilling to meet its eyes.

"I can't keep staring at it," he muttered, voice low but edged with frustration. "It looks like one of us. But it's not."

No one moved as he stepped forward.

He reached toward Richson, who was still gripping the chair leg with white knuckles.

"Give it to me," the officer said simply.

Richson hesitated—just for a second—then handed it over without a word.

The officer gripped the leg tightly, testing the weight. He didn't raise it right away. Instead, he looked down at the young cadet who had been nearly grabbed—still rattled, hands slightly trembling, trying to hide it behind a practiced composure.

"It almost got you," the officer said, not accusing, just stating the truth. "Next time… it won't miss."

He turned back toward the creature.

"We don't have the luxury to freeze anymore."

Then, without looking the thing in the eye, he raised the chair leg high above his shoulder.

"And I'm not letting anyone else fall."

Crack.

The first strike landed clean, the sickening sound of wood against bone echoing off the concrete.

The arm flinched—once—then kept moving.

Richson raised the leg again, not looking, not flinching.

CRACK.

The second blow fractured the skull, dark blood beginning to pool underneath the head. The creature spasmed, the hand twitching again—but slower now.

One more.

CRACK.

The final strike caved in the front of the skull with a wet, muffled crunch. 

The final blow echoed through the stillness of the hallway, a wet crunch that silenced even the buzzing of distant lights.

Then… nothing.

The sight was too much for many—several members of the group, including the ROTC officers, turned away and vomited.

It was done.

Or so they thought.

The silence stretched—three seconds… four… five…

Then the right arm moved.

A sudden, violent spasm.

"No," Myreign whispered hoarsely, eyes wide. "No."

The arm jerked again, swinging sideways with unnatural force, albeit weaker.

Myreign stumbled back

"This isn't right, it's not stopping!" she shouted, his voice cracking. "We crushed its head. We crushed it!"

"Shit—quiet down!" John snapped, turning sharply toward her. His voice was low, but urgent, laced with frustration and fear. "You'll draw more of them if you keep yelling."

Myreign froze, wide eyes darting between the body and John.

John turned toward the officers, steadying his breath. "Can we drag this thing into one of the nearby classrooms? To see what its weakness is and how to kill it."