The street ahead was empty, but the air was thick with uncertainty. The sound of the wind cutting through the silence felt almost like a warning that the calm wouldn't last. Bruno took a deep breath, showing not an ounce of weakness, as if this moment was just another test of endurance. He was calmer now, like he had already expected the worst. There was no room for hesitation in his mind.
Bruno clearly sensed Camille's intentions. It felt like she was trying to push him down, testing his limits. He knew that if he let it get to him, he'd lose control of the situation. With an arrogant grin, he approached her, eyes sharp and confident.
— Chill, I can handle myself… — he said, his tone dripping with irony, before adding, almost deliberately provoking her: — Hmm, you lack hate, dummy. — He chuckled softly, as if he were enjoying her reaction.
Larissa, already fed up with Bruno's cocky attitude, couldn't hold back. With a look of pure disgust, she faced him and said without hesitation:
— You're ridiculous, you know that?
The words cut through the air, but Bruno didn't flinch. In fact, he almost seemed to expect it. His grin widened as he replied, mixing irony and disdain:
— Of course, that's the big charm of my being… — He paused, letting the sentence hang, before adding in the same sarcastic tone: — But unlike you guys, I'm humble enough to thank those who help me…
Larissa felt her blood boil. She knew he was right, but admitting it was completely out of the question. Thanking Bruno wasn't an option — especially with the unbearable attitude he was showing. Determined to keep her stance, she crossed her arms and replied with false calm:
— Really? Then why did you even bother helping me? I always thought you didn't like me.
Bruno immediately caught on to her trap. He knew it was just a game to avoid giving thanks, but he didn't care. He had nothing to prove to anyone. And for him, it was the perfect opportunity to flip the script and throw a little provocation. With a glint of mischief in his eyes and a grin dripping with irony, he said:
— Well, I never said that… — He chuckled lightly, leaning in just enough so she'd feel the weight of his words. — But don't worry, later your ass won't be forgiven. My preference? A little pink snack. — He laughed loudly, satisfied with the reference he knew few would get. Larissa, on the other hand, fell silent, clearly annoyed. The tension hung thick in the air, but Bruno seemed completely at ease. For him, this was a game, and he was winning.
Fueled by anger, she tried to slap him. Bruno, with lightning-fast reflexes, grabbed her hands firmly, squeezing enough to stop her. His eyes locked onto hers, cold and loaded with a silent warning: he wouldn't hesitate to react. Larissa felt the weight of that gaze. With no choice, she pulled her arms back sharply, turned her face, and hissed, full of spite:
— Fuck you, Mohammad.
João Paulo watched the scene and immediately felt uncomfortable. Bruno's kind of aggressive behavior was something he couldn't ignore. As usual, he acted as the conscience Bruno often seemed to dismiss. Without hesitation, he smacked him on the head and scolded:
— Dude, what the hell is that? Why talk to the girls like that?
Bruno lifted his head, rubbing the spot where he'd been hit. He shot João a challenging look, but his expression carried something more — a mix of resignation and cynicism.
— Jão, try the cherry on top… — He said with irony, letting out a heavy sigh. — Man, it's the end of the world. I'd rather be sarcastic and laugh at everything than drown in the atrocities and shitty choices we're gonna face from here on out.
He then pointed at Larissa and Camille, his gaze hardening and a sinister smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
— And, by the way, these two? Feminists, activists, always thinking their ideas had to be shoved down everyone's throats. — He paused, his voice growing darker. — I haven't forgotten the times they tried to humiliate me in public just because I opposed the bullshit they stood for. Or the times they made me look like the idiot in the story.
Bruno shrugged, his indifferent expression making it clear that helping them had been purely a selfish decision.
— Just to be clear: helping you wasn't out of kindness or altruism. I did it because I wanted to. My whim, that's it.
Camille, irritated by Bruno's cynicism, couldn't stay silent. She stepped forward, staring him down with disbelief in her voice:
— That makes no sense! If you hate us so much, why the hell did you even bother helping?
Bruno took a deep breath, as if preparing to explain something that seemed painfully obvious to him. He looked at her, his eyes full of indifference. His voice, however, carried a sharp edge of rancor:
— Well, Camille, you were one of my best friends as a kid. That's why I still have a shred of respect for you. — He then shifted his gaze to Larissa, his arrogant smile returning as he deliberately provoked her. — You, Larissa, you're different. I just love the idea of having a feminist with a cute face to annoy. Makes it fun to joke like: "Hey, girl, I want my steak rare and my clothes sorted by color."
Camille crossed her arms, clearly annoyed, while Larissa narrowed her eyes and shook her head in frustration. Bruno, however, seemed completely oblivious to the impact of his words. Larissa crossed her arms, huffing, but with the expression of someone who finally understood Bruno's reasoning. She took a deep breath before snapping:
— Dude, are you retarded or what? Is it that hard to admit you like me? I figured it out a long time ago… But hey, I'll save you the trouble: you're ugly as hell and a total sexist jerk. Zero chance with you.
Bruno paused for a moment, taking in her words, then burst out laughing, a laugh full of mockery and disdain. His eyes glinted with cold mischief as he shook his head slowly.
— Oh, what a cute little thing, huh? — he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. — Makes you almost want to pet it… but you know what's funny? — He turned to João Paulo, pretending to ignore Larissa. — Look at how certain insects think they have some importance. This pest is going to die the moment it gets near me.
Larissa narrowed her eyes but chose not to reply. Camille sighed, clearly tired of the endless back-and-forth of provocations. João Paulo, realizing the conversation was going nowhere, gave Bruno a light smack on the shoulder to get him to stop being rude and ignorant with the girls.
— Oh, man, let's go. We've wasted enough time with this nonsense.
Bruno, still wearing a cynical smile, looked at the girls one last time. He knew that sooner or later, they might end up needing him. He decided to leave a door open, but showed nothing but arrogance.
— Alright, Jão, let's move. — He turned to Larissa and Camille, speaking in a tone that mixed condescension and indifference. — Look, if things get tough for you, the meeting point is the market. You'll manage there. Sayonara, girls.
Without waiting for a response, Bruno and João began running, following the streets toward the other school, a few blocks away. Meanwhile, as the girls headed toward their homes, João Paulo broke the silence, glancing sideways at Bruno.
— By the way, the correct term is "femism," got it? Not feminism.
Bruno stopped abruptly, frowning, confused.
— What?
João Paulo rolled his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh, and explained with a teasing tone.
— When a woman thinks she's superior to men, the term is femism. Feminism is something else, you mule.
Bruno shook his head, snorting in irritation, before continuing to walk.
— I couldn't care less about the right term, Jão. Let's go already.
João let out a short, slightly indignant laugh and followed him, while the deserted streets ahead seemed as silent as they were dangerous.
As they walked through the empty streets, Larissa and Camille kept their steps light, alert to any sound or movement. The silence around them seemed to amplify Larissa's thoughts, and she couldn't contain her frustration. Clenching her fists, her face tense, she vented, trying to calm herself by sharing her anger:
— Camille, I can't stand that bastard Mohammad. — Her voice carried a mix of rage and fear. — That little shit, sexist, psycho… I just want to slap him! But damn, that bastard scares me. Just thinking about him killing the principal and the teacher like it's nothing… gives me chills.
Camille, walking beside her with her brow furrowed, seemed to absorb every word. Shock mixed with disbelief reflected on her face. Bruno, the childhood friend she once knew, was now a stranger. She sighed, shaking her head, and replied:
— I left the classroom right after Jão, so I didn't see what happened. — Her voice carried doubt and sadness. — I can't believe he killed them in cold blood… It's insane. I remember when he was younger… He couldn't stand seeing anyone sad. Seriously, he was such a nice kid, always trying to cheer everyone up. It's impossible that he's turned out this bad.
Camille looked at Larissa, trying to find some explanation that made sense. Maybe it was the chaos transforming everyone around, but Bruno seemed to go beyond what she could understand. Deep down, she wanted to believe that the boy from before was still somewhere inside him, but each recent action made that harder to accept.
Larissa spotted the gate of her house as they turned the corner. Her heart raced with relief, and without thinking, she interrupted Camille, pointing toward it:
— There! My house is right at the corner, let's go!
Eager, she started running toward the gate, but Camille grabbed her arm firmly, pulling her back. The unexpected touch made Larissa stop mid-step, staring at her, confused.
— Wait, Larissa… — Camille whispered, her eyes scanning the surroundings nervously. — Something's wrong here.
Larissa blinked, surprised, looking around without understanding.
— What is it? Something's wrong? — she asked, her voice revealing the urgency of the moment.
Camille didn't respond immediately. Her gaze remained sharp, as if trying to pinpoint the source of her unease. The silence of the streets was suffocating, especially after the deafening chaos at the school. Finally, she spoke, suspicious:
— At the school, it was pandemonium… People screaming, running, infected everywhere. So why are the streets here so… empty? It doesn't make sense.
Larissa quickly glanced around, her eyes scanning the lined-up houses and deserted sidewalks. The windows were shut, the doors locked, and the sense of abandonment was almost tangible. She sighed, trying to ease her friend's paranoia:
— This is a small neighborhood. There aren't many people around. It's probably just that.
Before Camille could respond, a sound pierced the silence. At first, it was muffled, almost imperceptible, but it quickly grew louder. Dry cracks, like splintering wood, distant screams, and gunshots echoed from the houses. The noises came from all directions, like an invisible siege.
Larissa felt her blood run cold. What once seemed like a safe place now felt like a trap ready to snap. Without hesitation, she dashed toward her house's gate, fear for her mother's safety overriding all other thoughts.
— MOM! — she shouted, rushing through the gate, ignoring the sounds around her.
Camille, on the other hand, froze for a moment. Her instincts screamed at her not to enter. Every fiber of her being warned that danger lurked inside the quiet, seemingly normal houses. She glanced at Larissa, already running toward the front door, and took a deep breath. Despite her pounding heart and consuming fear, she ignored her instincts and followed her friend.
The two of them disappeared inside as the sounds outside grew louder and more threatening, as if something was closing in.
Once inside the house, Larissa charged straight through the living room, her hurried footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. Without stopping, she ran toward the kitchen, her heart hammering with anxiety. Camille, however, hesitated at the doorway. Something didn't feel right. Her eyes scanned the corners of the house, her body tense and alert. A shiver ran down her spine, but before she could call out to Larissa, a scream caught in her throat.
Larissa was crossing the hallway when, suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows of the kitchen. Her mother—but no longer the same. Her face was twisted, her eyes completely void, and her mouth slightly open, dripping saliva mixed with congealed blood. Before Larissa could react, her mother lunged at her with unimaginable force, knocking her to the floor.
The impact was brutal. Larissa's head struck the floor with a sickening thud, a scream of pain escaping her lips, cut short as her mother's hands clamped around her neck. The thin, merciless fingers squeezed with impossible strength, crushing her windpipe and restricting the flow of air. Her head was slammed against the ground repeatedly, the dull thuds mixing with the muffled groans that escaped from her throat.
Camille, frozen in the hallway, couldn't move. Shock consumed her entirely; her legs gave out beneath her. She wanted to run, to scream, to do anything, but her body refused to obey. Her eyes were fixed on the horrifying scene before her. Larissa's face twisted in panic, her eyes wide and glistening with tears, silently begging for help.
A tremor overtook Camille, and a warm sensation ran down her legs. She realized in horror that she had wet herself, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
Suddenly, Larissa's mother did something even more terrifying. With a grotesque motion, she forced her fingers into her daughter's mouth, prying it open. Then, as if some invisible command had been triggered, her head jerked back in a bizarre spasm. Her entire body shook violently, as if about to explode.
Larissa tried to scream, but all that escaped was a hoarse, desperate moan. Her hands scratched uselessly at her mother's, her eyes searching Camille's for silent pleas. But Camille was frozen.
Then, with a horrifyingly fast movement, her mother lowered her head again. Her eyes, now locked on Larissa, were completely inhuman. She released her daughter's neck for a brief moment, and Larissa gasped, desperately trying to suck in air. But before she could react, her mother vomited a dark red liquid directly into Larissa's mouth.
The viscous liquid ran down the girl's throat, causing her to choke, cough, and thrash violently. The sounds were suffocating, almost animalistic. Larissa's body convulsed, her screams blending with retching attempts.
Camille finally moved. Terror had activated a primal instinct within her. She spun around and bolted with all her strength, passing through the door like a blur. Without thinking, she grabbed the doorknob and locked the door behind her, trapping Larissa and her mother inside the house.
She didn't look back. The sound of screams and pounding echoed in her mind, but Camille knew that hesitation would mean death. Tears streamed down her face as she ran through the streets, ignoring the chaos around her. The distant gunfire and screams meant nothing.
Her wet pants and the smell of urine humiliated her, but it was insignificant compared to the weight in her chest. Larissa was dead—or close to it—and Camille had done nothing. She couldn't stop crying as she ran desperately toward the supermarket.