Water dripped softly into the sink as Rose stared at her reflection, her hands pressed against the edge of the countertop.
Her face was young—too young. Her features still soft, untouched by age or regret. Her long black hair framed piercing blue eyes, wide with disbelief. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't some twisted illusion.
She was seventeen again.
Rose leaned closer to the mirror, whispering, "I'm really back. Lovedisha… you actually—"
The door behind her creaked.
She turned.
A boy stood frozen in the entrance of the girls' restroom, mid-step. Tall, lean, calm despite the awkward situation. His dark eyes met hers and widened slightly.
"Seriously?" Rose said, folding her arms. "You're in the girls' bathroom."
"I—uh—yeah, that's… not intentional," he said, backing up slowly. "I thought it was the other one."
Before Rose could respond, both their phones vibrated at once with a shrill, jarring buzz.
> ⚠ EMERGENCY ALERT
"Widespread violent outbreaks reported across Lusaka. Citizens are advised to remain indoors. Avoid contact with infected individuals. This is not a drill."
They both looked down at their phones. A live video feed popped up.
On-screen, a girl in a torn uniform screamed, backing away from someone off-camera. Then the figure came into view—eyes glazed, mouth bloody. He tackled her. There was a flash of teeth. Screaming. Blood. The feed cut.
Rose's fingers tightened on the phone.
The boy's face stayed strangely calm.
A voice crackled through the school PA system.
> "All students, return to your classrooms immediately. Remain calm. Do not leave the building."
"Come on," the boy said. "I'm Zane. You?"
"Rose," she replied.
They hurried through the halls together, weaving past confused students and muttering teachers.
The classroom was buzzing when they got there—half the students staring at their phones, the other half still clueless. Then came another announcement, this time with a harsher, more commanding tone.
> "Attention, students and staff. All individuals are to report to the auditorium immediately. Bring anything that can be used to defend yourselves—tools, bats, poles, anything. This is a citywide emergency. Move quickly and stay together."
Silence fell.
Then motion. Desks scraped. Chairs tumbled. Everyone began moving at once.
Zane glanced at her. "Looks like things are getting serious."
Rose gave a small nod. Her heart was steady, her mind already running ahead.
The hallways were packed now. The buzz of voices and shuffling feet drowned out any official instructions still coming from the speakers. Rose walked beside Zane, her eyes scanning everything.
She spotted students grabbing whatever they could find—broomsticks, chair legs, even broken window bars. The smarter ones raided the janitor's closet. The rest panicked.
"Why do you think they told us to defend ourselves?" a boy asked behind them.
"Maybe it's some drill," someone else replied weakly.
Rose knew better.
"They won't believe it until they see it," she muttered.
Zane glanced at her. "And what about you?"
"I already have."
He said nothing more, but she noticed the way he kept looking over his shoulder—every few seconds, like he was tracking something. Or someone.
---
As they neared the auditorium, Rose noticed the nurse's office door hanging open. A pool of dark fluid trailed from inside. A few students paused near it.
Zane grabbed one by the collar. "Keep moving."
"But—"
"Now."
The group hesitated, then obeyed. Rose didn't argue. She glanced inside as they passed.
The nurse's desk was overturned. Blood smeared across the wall like someone had tried to claw their way out. No body. Just chaos.
And silence.
Her grip tightened as they turned the corner.
---
The auditorium was only half full when they arrived. Teachers herded students to the back rows. A few older boys had formed a barricade near the main doors using tables and benches.
Rose and Zane took seats near the front, closer to the stage.
She could feel her heart slow—not out of calm, but focus. The adrenaline sharpened her senses. The echo of footsteps, the flicker of movement in the corner of her eye—it was all too clear.
Zane was the same. He sat two seats away, watching the doors, elbows resting on his knees, still and quiet.
"This isn't your first time," she said under her breath.
His eyes slid toward her. "You're not the only one who's been preparing."
Before she could ask what he meant, the lights in the auditorium flickered.
Then a scream echoed through the hallway.
Real. Raw. Close.
Everyone froze.
And the auditorium doors creaked.
The auditorium doors swung open.
For a moment, everyone expected a teacher. Maybe the headmaster. Maybe a prefect yelling instructions.
Instead, a girl stumbled in.
Her uniform was ripped, her arm soaked in blood. She gasped like she'd been running for miles, one shoe missing, eyes wide with raw terror.
"They're here," she choked out. "They're inside!"
Gasps rippled through the room.
One of the teachers rushed forward. "What do you mean? Who's inside?"
The girl tried to speak—but then she collapsed, twitching. A few students rushed to help her. One boy knelt beside her, placing a hand on her back.
"She's bleeding bad," he said.
"No," Rose said quickly, rising from her seat. "Don't touch her!"
It was too late.
The girl on the floor jerked once—twice—and then went completely still.
Silence.
Then—
Her eyes snapped open.
Milky. Lifeless. Wrong.
With inhuman speed, she grabbed the boy beside her and sank her teeth into his neck.
Screaming. Blood.
The auditorium erupted.
---
Students scattered in every direction. Some jumped over chairs. Others fell and crawled, trying to reach the exits.
"GET BACK!" a teacher yelled, brandishing a fire extinguisher.
Another student tried to pull the infected girl off her victim—but her strength was terrifying. She flung him backward like a rag doll. His head hit the floor with a sickening crack.
Rose didn't hesitate.
She kicked a chair aside, grabbed a broken wooden plank from the barricade pile, and rushed forward. Every move came naturally—her muscles remembering what her old life had once been forced to learn.
She struck the infected girl in the head. Once. Twice.
The girl collapsed, unmoving.
Blood soaked the wooden floor.
The boy she had bitten was twitching now—his breathing shallow, pupils dilating.
Zane appeared beside her, gripping a metal pole he must've yanked from a light fixture.
"We need to contain this," he said. "Now."
The auditorium had descended into screaming, stampeding chaos. Doors slammed. Students tried to flee, only to find other infected already entering from the back corridors.
"This place won't hold," Rose muttered.
"No," Zane agreed. "We need to get the survivors out. Now."
---
In the middle of the chaos, their eyes met again—Zane's expression sharp, focused. Rose felt something stir deep inside her—not fear. Not even panic.
Readiness.
She nodded once.
Zane turned and started shouting orders—firm, direct. "Anyone who can fight, help push the infected back! Block the lower doors! Move injured to the stage!"
Some students listened. Others didn't. A small group, seeing Zane's confidence, rallied to him.
Rose looked toward the fire exit at the side of the stage.
Zane moved like he'd done this before—his grip firm on the metal rod, strikes deliberate. Rose kept beside him, her wooden plank breaking apart after the third infected student lunged.
One of the older boys, a tall guy from the football team, ran forward to help—but froze when an infected girl screamed, her mouth stretched unnaturally wide. His courage dissolved in seconds, and he turned and ran the other way.
"Coward," Zane muttered under his breath.
Rose took in the scene—four infected inside already. Two more pushing through the lower auditorium doors. The teacher who'd tried to stop them earlier was nowhere to be seen. There was blood, panic, and noise—but also survivors still trying to do something.
She spotted a smaller girl crying under the stage stairs, clutching her bleeding knee.
"I'll cover," Zane said, already anticipating her move.
Rose nodded and sprinted across the auditorium. She ducked under a bench as another infected student tackled a boy in front of her. She reached the girl and knelt beside her.
"You hurt bad?" she asked quickly.
"N-no—just... just my leg."
Rose glanced behind her—an infected girl had noticed them and was approaching.
"Hold on," she said, rising to her feet.
---
The infected girl rushed forward—blood dripped from her chin, and her left eye was missing.
Rose grabbed a fallen mic stand from the floor, its cord still dangling.
She spun it like a staff—once—then jabbed it straight into the infected girl's neck. The body collapsed instantly.
The girl on the floor stared at her, horrified. "H-how did you do that?"
Rose didn't answer. "Get up. We're moving."
The girl obeyed.
They slipped through a side aisle, Rose guiding her toward the emergency exit near the stage. Zane was already nearby, pushing back another infected boy with the help of two other students—one armed with a cricket bat, the other swinging a metal chair.
"Here!" Rose called.
Zane spotted her and moved toward the door, clearing the path with two well-aimed blows. He kicked the fire exit open.
Fresh air poured in.
---
Students poured out through the exit—some crying, others panting, eyes wide with disbelief.
A few of them didn't even know where they were going. They just ran.
Rose stayed near the rear, helping the injured girl limp outside. Once they were out, Zane slammed the door behind them, jamming the broken metal rod between the handle and the wall hinge.
It would hold. For now.
They were in a courtyard behind the auditorium. It was quiet—too quiet. The only sound was labored breathing and the distant hum of sirens from the city beyond the school walls.
Rose looked at Zane.
"You trained for this?"
"Let's just say this isn't my first outbreak."
She raised a brow. "You going to explain that?"
"Not yet."
Rose sighed. "Figures."
---
About two dozen students had escaped with them. They gathered near a shaded wall, far from the auditorium doors.
One of the teachers—Mr. Tembo, the ICT instructor—had made it out, but he was badly injured. His arm was bitten, wrapped in a bloodied tie. He sat slumped against the wall, sweating heavily.
Rose approached and knelt.
"Where's the bite?" she asked.
Mr. Tembo groaned, lifting his arm.
She unwrapped the cloth.
The bite was deep. Already dark around the edges. Her stomach sank.
He didn't have long.
"Do you want me to lie to you?" she asked softly.
He managed a weak smile. "No."
"You've got minutes."
He nodded slowly. "Then do what you must."
Zane appeared beside her. "I'll do it."
She looked at him, surprised—but grateful.
He crouched. "It's better if she doesn't have to remember this part."
Mr. Tembo closed his eyes.
Zane placed one hand on the teacher's shoulder and, with the other, drew a sharp piece of rebar from the debris pile.
It was over in one motion.
Rose turned away, jaw clenched.
The other students stared in silence—some turned pale, others cried. But none argued.
Reality had sunk in.
--
"We need to move," Rose said, stepping forward.
She had dirt on her knees, a thin line of blood across her cheek—but her voice was firm now. Different.
"The school won't hold. Not for long. There'll be more coming."
"Where do we go?" one student asked.
"There's a toolshed near the sports field," Rose said. "Fencing, poles, old gym mats. Weapons. Shelter."
Zane gave a small nod. "Smart."
"Then what?" another boy asked. "We can't survive off gym mats."
"We regroup. Gather supplies. Secure exits. And start figuring out how to stay alive."
Zane stepped beside her. "Those who want to stay in the open and die, fine. The rest—follow us."
He didn't raise his voice. But they followed anyway.
---
The small group began moving—quietly this time, avoiding open courtyards. The school, once loud with student chatter, now felt like a tomb. Distant groans echoed from inside.
On the way, Rose noticed how natural it all felt.
Taking charge. Moving in cover. Spotting movement before anyone else.
She wasn't the same girl who died at 29.
This version of her moved like a soldier. She had no training in that life—but this new one? She had the instincts, the reaction time. Lovedisha had been serious.
Zane walked ahead, scouting. Occasionally, he glanced back to check if she was still there.