Casey Reaves was dead.
At least, he should've been.
But there he stood — fused chest, cracked jaw, blistered skin, and empty, boiling eyes. His body steamed like wet pavement under a blowtorch. His mouth peeled open, revealing blackened teeth that glowed faintly, as if kissed by a star.
The room was chaos. Students screaming. Desks overturned. Mr. Callahan had fainted. Some ran, others froze.
Samuel didn't run.
He grabbed the metal leg of a broken chair and stood his ground.
Casey took a step.
His foot sizzled against the floor, leaving a scorched footprint behind. The air warped around him like a mirage.
"Casey?" someone whimpered.
Casey didn't answer.
He lunged.
A girl near the front shrieked as his mouth clamped onto her shoulder. Steam exploded from the contact, her flesh bubbling instantly as Casey's teeth melted through skin and bone like butter. She collapsed screaming, but still alive.
Samuel swung.
The chair leg cracked across Casey's temple, knocking him back—but barely. Steam hissed from the impact point, metal slightly warped from the heat.
Casey turned to Samuel now.
And charged.
Samuel rolled aside, heart slamming in his chest. The seared floor smoked where Casey landed. No blood. No hesitation.
Not human.
Not anymore.
Samuel dove for a fire extinguisher by the door. The red paint was faded and hot to the touch, but it wasn't melted. Not yet.
He yanked the pin.
Casey snarled, stumbling toward him, arms outstretched like a walking furnace.
FOOSH.
Samuel pulled the trigger.
A white cloud blasted into Casey's face. For a second, it worked — the hiss, the sizzle, the stagger — but then Casey screamed, a sound that rattled windows and ears.
Samuel didn't wait.
He ran forward and slammed the extinguisher into Casey's head again and again until the thing stopped moving.
When it finally dropped, Samuel was gasping. His hands trembled around the bloodless fire extinguisher.
It smelled like burnt hair and melted pennies.
---
They barricaded the classroom after that.
Five students stayed behind with him — including the girl who'd been bitten. Her shoulder was cooked, but she was alive. They tore up fabric, made crude bandages. Someone suggested checking the nurse's office. No one volunteered.
They weren't thinking that far ahead.
Not yet.
---
As night fell, the orange sky dimmed slightly.
Still no rescue.
Still no help.
Samuel sat against the chalkboard, eyes half-shut, holding his lunch bag. It was warm now. Not rotten — not yet — but almost too hot to touch.
Inside was a bottle of water, a smashed turkey sandwich, and two granola bars. Nothing fancy. Just enough to keep someone alive.
He didn't eat it yet.
Something told him he'd need it later.
---
Outside the classroom, the hallway lights flickered.
And somewhere, farther in the building… something was moving.
Something was breathing.