I still remember that split-second while sprinting up the staircase—I caught sight of a small food stall tucked in a corner.
"Guys! We're running out of food. Should we grab whatever we can from that stall before it's too late?" I called out.
"You really think we'll waltz out there and they'll roll out a red carpet for us? Be serious," Zayn shot back, sarcasm still intact despite the apocalypse.
{TIME: 12:32 p.m.}
Insha, after an intense two minutes and two seconds of what I can only describe as illegal overthinking, hatched a plan.
"We can use our bags—grab what we can and pack it fast. In and out."
The boys, as usual, had no choice but to comply.
"Fine," Zayn sighed, "but we split whatever we get. Fair and square."
"Sure. But... are the others even alive? It's way too quiet," Insha asked, her voice low.
I hadn't thought about it till then—but yeah, it was too quiet. Forty-something people crammed into two rooms and not a single sound?
Suspicious. No, terrifying.
Storm clouds began to gather, wind howling through the cracks. I usually love storms. But this one felt like Heaven trying to sweep the flames of Hell off Earth.
"Alright, here's the plan," Insha said, clutching two padlocks like grenades. "I'll throw the first one toward the stairwell—it'll draw those freaks. While they're distracted, you two hide behind those flipped tables near the food stall. After that, one of you sprints, grabs whatever you can, and I'll chuck the second lock for noise cover. Got it?"
"Eleven seconds to the checkpoint. Two minutes tops to grab food and come back. No screw-ups," she added like a field general.
"Two minutes?!" Aaron blinked. "Are we doing a grocery sprint or running for President?"
"We don't have time for drama," I said flatly. "Two minutes is max—less if you love your limbs."
{TIME: 1:18 p.m.}
After a solid five minutes of pointless arguing and high-pitched groaning—
"We're ready," the boys said.
"We're set," Insha replied, tossing the lock like it was a Molotov cocktail.
{Plan: launched.}
The lock clattered down the staircase with a sharp CLINK-CLINK-CLINK! echoing through the dead silence like a live wire in water.
That was our greenlight.
Zayn and Aaron bolted like sprinters out of the gate, shadows weaving through the debris-strewn corridor. Within eleven seconds—on the dot—they were crouched behind the flipped tables, barely breathing. From our side, we watched with hearts pounding so loud it felt like our bodies were betraying us.
"It's a crazy situation but we've to stay intact, okay? :)".....I say
Then came Phase Two.
CLANK!—Insha hurled the second lock across the hall in a perfect arc. It smacked against a rusted trash bin with a loud metallic crash, echoing like gunfire.
We waited.
A low growl rose from the shadows, followed by snarling and dragging footsteps—our uninvited audience was officially moving toward the sound trap.
Zayn gave Aaron the signal. Aaron dashed out, low and quick, zigzagging through the overturned chairs, slipping behind the stall like a ghost. We could barely see him from where we stood, but his silhouette moved fast, grabbing whatever he could and tossing it into the bag like it was a heist.
But then… a voice.
"HEY! What do you think you're doing!?" someone barked from behind us.
I turned, and my stomach dropped.
It was them—that same group of students who always acted like they ran the school. The ones who mocked us, pushed past us, treated us like side characters in their private drama.
They had come out of their hiding spots, armed with nothing but arrogance.
"This isn't your food!" one of them hissed. "We should get it!"
"You serious right now?!" Insha snapped, eyes wide.
"We found this opportunity. Don't ruin it for everyone!" I growled.
But before we could say more—they rushed toward the hallway, loud, clumsy, uncoordinated. And loud.
Zayn peeked over the table. His face went pale.
"Abort!" he hissed to Aaron, who was just stuffing the last pack of biscuits into the bag.
But it was too late.
The noise had drawn them in.
Snarls erupted—more than we expected. One of those things lunged from the far hall, slamming one of the arrogant kids into the wall. Blood sprayed like paint, and screams ripped the silence apart.
Zayn grabbed Aaron's arm and they bolted, but the creatures were right behind. We screamed as they came into view—twisted, broken-limbed figures snarling with blood-laced teeth.
"GET THE DOOR!!" Zayn yelled.
We threw it open. Aaron dove inside first, skidding across the floor, followed by Zayn who slammed into the doorway just as we shut the door behind them.
BANG!!!--The door shook.
Again.BANG BANG!!
We threw everything we could against it—racks, crates, even the busted bedframe.
Outside… silence returned. Except for the chewing. And the screams, But none of them were ours.
Inside, Zayn collapsed against the wall, sweat dripping from his hair, his chest heaving.
"We got the food," he said, tossing the bag in the middle of the floor. "But they… they didn't make it."
We didn't speak.
Not out of guilt.
But because in a world like this—sometimes, silence is respect.
And sometimes… karma speaks louder than anything else.