The dim corridor seemed to pulse with shadows as Lily led the small group away from their makeshift barricade. The sharp tang of bleach and old paper lingered in the air, smothering the faint sound of their footsteps. Every few steps, Lily paused, holding her breath, listening for the guttural moans that echoed from deeper in the building. The phone in her pocket buzzed against her hip, a reminder that time was slipping away.
Tom's boots scraped the tile. He clutched his arm tight to his side, jaw clenched. Emma edged close to Ben, keeping her gaze fixed on the swinging emergency lights at the far end of the corridor. The battery-powered lamps flickered, casting dizzying shadows across the trophy cases and faded banners.
A shuffling noise sounded from up ahead. Sarah flattened herself against the lockers, and Lily motioned everyone to stop. For a long moment, nothing. Then a single firefly drifted over the linoleum, glowing bright blue, tracing lazy circles near the cracked double doors of the main stairwell. Lily’s heart stuttered. The fireflies had been everywhere since the outbreak — drawn to certain spots, as if they remembered something the living had forgotten.
Ben whispered, "Is this a sign?" but Lily pressed a finger to her lips. She took a slow step forward and the firefly hovered, pulsing, then zipped upstairs.
They moved quietly, ducking past the trophy case and slipping through the stairwell doors. The stairwell itself was choked with old posters and a scattering of abandoned backpacks. Lily counted the steps as they rounded the landing, the moans growing fainter, replaced by the trembling hush of early evening outside.
On the second-floor landing, Lily stopped. Someone — or something — had scratched letters into the paint beside the greenhouse sign: "SAFE AT MIDNIGHT."
She reached out, tracing the jagged lines with her fingertips. The letters were fresh, the paint still crumbly beneath her nails. Tom caught her eye. “Someone wants us to go,” he murmured, voice hoarse.
She nodded, her grip tightening on his waist. “We’re not turning back.”
A crash erupted below: a door slamming open, then heavy, dragging footsteps. The moans swelled, swelling into a chorus. One sharp scream cut through the air and died abruptly.
Mia stumbled, nearly dropping her flashlight. Ben grabbed her wrist. Emma’s knuckles whitened on her jacket.
Lily forced herself not to look back. They needed to keep moving. Two hallways stood between them and the courtyard exit. If they moved quickly, they could make it before whatever was downstairs found the stairs.
She led them into the math wing, side-stepping overturned chairs and a scattering of broken calculators. The door ahead had been wedged open with a thick biology textbook. Just beyond, glass double doors led to the open courtyard, where the dusk light slanted across overgrown grass and broken benches. The greenhouse shimmered at the far end, glass panes streaked with dirt, blue fireflies clustered thick around the roof.
But between them and the greenhouse, the courtyard was not empty. Three figures shuffled among the benches, moving with the slow, jerky rhythm Lily had come to dread. Their faces were gaunt, mouths slack. Bits of uniform clung to their limbs. Zombies.
Tom leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Sarah pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes wide. They could try to sneak past — or wait, and hope the figures drifted away. All the while, that message burned in Lily’s mind: Meet at the greenhouse at midnight. Bring the key.
A fourth shape moved in the darkness, not like the others — faster, head turning sharply. Someone alive. They darted from bush to bush, skirting the zombies, and vanished inside the greenhouse. For a second, the interior lit up: a blue glow, brighter than any firefly.
Lily’s pulse hammered in her throat. If they waited, the others might not make it. But if they rushed, the zombies would see them.
A low moan echoed from the stairwell behind. The sound of doors, creaking open — something else was approaching from inside the school.
Lily held her breath, caught between the courtyard and the growing noise behind. The next move had to count.