"We need to get out of here," Miraza yelled. "Now."
She was right. Whatever was happening out there had spread to the school. And Mr. Yoshida wasn't coming back.
Zenjiro wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. His face throbbed where Daichi had hit him, his ribs ached, and part of him wanted to just curl up and let someone else handle this.
But Miraza's hand was gripping his arm, and he could feel her shaking.
His training had been focused on scenarios exactly like this.
"The back exit," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "We go down the back stairwell. It leads to the gym. From there, we can get outside."
"Who put you in charge?" Kenji snapped, but his voice lacked its usual venom. He was scared. They all were.
The pounding on the door got louder. A crack appeared in the wood.
"Anyone else have a better plan?" Zenjiro asked.
No one answered.
"Then move. Single file. No running, you'll trip and kill everyone behind you. Stay quiet."
They looked at him like he was speaking a different language. But they listened.
They scrambled for the back door of the classroom, the one that led to the emergency stairwell. Zenjiro helped Miraza go first, then gestured for others to follow. Even Daichi's crew went without argument.
As he stepped into the hallway, he looked back one last time. The front door was buckling inward. Through the growing crack, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
Pressing against the opening. Watching them.
Then the door burst open.
He didn't wait to see what came through. He ran.
They ran out of the school building, expecting order. Instead, they walked into hell. He looked back and couldn't spot Miraza by his side.
The streets of Jonakvi City had turned into something out of a nightmare. People were running in every direction like scattered ants. Smoke rose in thick, black columns from the direction of the forest. Sirens, ambulances, police cars and fire trucks blared in a dissonant symphony.
"Run!" someone shouted, shoving past Zenjiro so hard he stumbled into a lamppost.
He scrambled to regain his balance, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked toward the convenience store across the street, the one he passed every morning.
Mrs. Tanaka was on the sidewalk. She was on all fours, her body twisted at angles that shouldn't be possible. Her skin had turned a sickly gray, veins bulging black beneath the surface like roots spreading through dead soil. She lunged at Mr. Hiro, the mailman, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.
His scream cut through the chaos, before turning into a gurgle as she tore a chunk of flesh from his neck.
Sigma Protocol. Transmitted through bodily fluids. Incubation: 24 hours. Symptoms: aggression, enhanced strength, loss of higher cognitive function.
The training manuals had made it sound so clinical.
Nothing had prepared Zenjiro for watching his neighbor eat the mailman.
He backed away, trembling. A woman sprinted past him, her clothes torn, blood streaming down her arm. "Get inside! They're everywhere!"
They.
That was when he saw one up close.
It was standing near the school gates. It used to be human. He could tell by the tattered remains of a business suit clinging to its body. But everything else was wrong. Its spine curved forward like a predator, arms hanging too low, fingers ending in claws that scraped against the asphalt.
The face was slightly stretched and distorted.
It turned toward him, sniffing the air. Then its cloudy white eyes locked onto his.
There were no pupils or recognition. Nothing human left behind.
It screeched, a sound like metal grinding on bone, and charged toward him.