The deeper Samuel moved into the school, the quieter it got.
Quieter… and hotter.
The ceiling tiles sagged like wet cloth. Lockers bulged from internal pressure. Even the fire extinguisher cases had melted slightly, their glass covers distorted into jelly-like curves.
And then he saw them.
Three figures stood at the far end of the hallway — skin dark and cracked like overcooked clay, eyes hollow and glowing dim orange, heat bleeding off them in waves. They didn't move like people.
They moved like furnaces with legs.
Samuel froze. Slowly reached for a nearby classroom door. Locked.
The first zombie snapped its head toward him.
The others followed.
They began to move — not fast, but steady. Like they already knew they would catch him.
Samuel's eyes darted. Nearby, a busted chair lay in pieces — and sticking from the wreckage was a long, warped metal bar. Probably the leg.
He grabbed it.
Too hot.
He wrapped his shirt sleeve around his hand and gritted his teeth.
"Let's see if this still works," he muttered.
They came at him together.
---
The fight was chaos.
Samuel swung low — the bar struck the first one's leg with a crunch, knocking it sideways. He pivoted, ducked under a burning swipe, and jammed the bar straight through its chest.
No blood. Just smoke and a shriek that rattled his skull.
The other two came in flanking.
One lunged — he sidestepped, smacked it across the face, and it hit the ground hissing, skin flaking like black ash.
The last one rushed, arms out, glowing teeth gnashing.
Samuel gripped the bar in both hands and drove it into its neck with a roar.
The hallway was still again.
His heart thundered in his ears.
And then—
Whack!
Something hit him from behind.
He stumbled forward, nearly tripping over a half-melted floor tile.
"Got him!" someone whispered.
Hands grabbed him.
He turned, swung the metal bar, but there were four of them — students, rough-looking, sweating and twitchy. Not Empire soldiers. Not guards.
Bounty hunters.
"We don't need him," one said. "Just the peaches."
Another tried reaching into his bag.
Samuel twisted, elbowed the boy in the nose, and kicked the third one in the shin. He broke free — ran — didn't look back.
---
He turned a corner blindly and found himself in a different hallway — wide, clean, reinforced.
The air smelled different. Like food.
He saw them.
Two students in makeshift armor — one holding a sharpened broom handle, the other a kitchen knife tied to a mop — standing in front of a set of double doors.
Above the doors, a paper sign written in thick marker:
"THE EMPIRE"
Samuel ducked behind a vending machine.
He watched them — saw how they stood, how alert they were.
And how every now and then, they yawned.
He didn't approach. Just listened.
Two voices behind the door, muffled:
"...yeah, enough supplies to last a year."
"...freshmen all follow orders now. That's why they don't eat with us."
"...fifteen teachers running it. Real organized."
Samuel's eyes narrowed.
So this was the power structure.
The cafeteria was a fortress.
The gym its walls.
And the Empire ruled it all.
---
He waited until dark.
When the guards began to droop.
Then he moved.
Not toward the Empire.
Toward the library.
---