4.

A Chapter by Kira

By now the whole cafeteria was whispering, yelling, speculating in barely audible voices. Something was going on, and it had sprung up fast, and everyone was absolutely scared out of their skin.

Half the people barely noticed when the bell rang for fourth period. Tracy said not a word to any of her friends but dumped her cheeseburger--with only one bite missing--into the trash can and tore off for choir.

The atmosphere was cold and tense, and even Mr. Packard knew something was up. Especially nobody felt like singing. They all sat in their little groups, discussing a few nosebleeds like it was the declaration of World War III.

Tracy had just popped in her headphones and was reading the required book for next period English: "The Kite Runner". Despite the fact that she'd never admit it, she was nervous too, and not about Lucas for the longest time. Her eyes skimmed over the words without seeing; the music was like a knife in her ears.

Even though she'd turned her volume as loud as she could go without worrying about permanent damage, she still noticed when she looked up and saw people screaming again. One girl--Tracy knew her only as Bailey--was surrounded by a crowd of students and Mr. Packard, trying to push them away. Blood was like a hose being turned on--drowning her clothes and hands and mouth in a shiny, terrifying scarlet. She looked like she was crying, and she was already too pale under her layer of blood.

They weren't letting her out of the room.

They were trying to get her to lay down, to try and stem the flow, but she looked already like she'd been swimming in a bloody lake, and everyone in the circle was spattered red. Tracy stood up right away; her headphones were yanked out and instantly replaced by fresh, agonized screams. As she watched in horror, the girl coughed, choked, and vomited a wad of blood.

Everyone's eyes were on Bailey, so Tracy must have been the only one to notice the single drop red drop rolling down the side of another girl's dark-skinned face. It immediately turned to a rapid thrum of falling drops, which then seamlessly fused into a stream, and then a fountain just like Bailey's.

By now, Bailey had collapsed--she was gagging and sputtering and covering people's sneakers with blood, and the whites of her eyes looked less white than usual--red tendrils were surrounding her dead-looking stare. Her pale hands were scrabbling at others' pants, but she no longer had the strength to stand.

Tracy watched in horror as the scene unfolded, still pressed far up against the back wall. Slowly, terrified out of her wits, she watched as all of her classmates, including Mr. Packard, succumbed. They all crumpled so fast she hardly believed it was possible; they were soaked red, crawling over each other in some desperate attempt--for life, for the door, she no longer had any idea. And then, so slowly but collectively as if all their eyes alighted upon the same thing at one moment, their red-eyed gazes, their scarlet-stained faces, all landed upon her, the one person who was at this point well and whole.

The classroom of near-corpses stretched out their hands, their ice-pale and bloodied hands.

Tracy screamed and spun, wrenching open the door and tearing out into the hallway--towards what, she had no idea.

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