The sight momentarily paralyzed Dal. He was close enough to see the gory detail. The infected woman tore a chunk of flesh from the chubby boy, then leapt away and continued to chase after the other fleeing kids. The boy sat on the grass, screaming while blood poured out of him. The entire attack took no more than fifteen seconds.
“We have to go,” Mr. Cecchino said softly. “We need to get the word out. That’s our best way to help them.”
Dal forced himself to turn away. Mr. Cecchino was right. They had to get to the broadcasting studio. He didn’t turn around when more screams peppered the air.
He led the way into campus. There were dead bodies everywhere. Blood made dark puddles in the gathering dark. Dal felt sick. He recognized some of the bodies they passed. They’d been shot down like cattle.
The sight of it hardened something inside of Dal. The Russians had caught them off-guard. He didn’t know how they’d managed it, but he would do everything he could to fight them.
The broadcasting studio was in the center of campus in an unassuming second-story classroom. Dal had taken an introduction course last semester. The modest studio had two small transmitters and a handful of microphones. Nothing fancy.
Dal had always dreamed of sitting behind a large transmitter that could be heard all over the county. Today, he was glad for the simple studio. It meant the equipment was small enough to be portable. Once they had that, it was just a matter of finding an antenna large enough to transmit their broadcast.
They had almost reached the studio when the sound of Russian voices reached them. With all the tall buildings, it was difficult to tell where the sound came from. Dal scurried toward a hedge fence that concealed the cafeteria garbage bins. It reeked of rotting food.
They crouched behind the hedge, listening. Lena’s head was cocked, her eyes wide as she listened to the Russians talking freely. Dal watched her face, trying to gauge what she might be overhearing. From the look on her face, it wasn’t good.
One of the Russians raised his voice and called out. He was somewhere near the astronomy building.
Someone answered him. That voice came from a different direction, from the language arts wing.
Within the next thirty seconds, Russian voices rang out all over the campus.
Dal barely dared to breathe. Thank God the sky had transitioned from dusk to nighttime. The pocket behind the cafeteria where they hid was inky black. They were well hidden.
Peering through the hedge, he had a clear view of the small quad beyond. Half a dozen picnic tables filled the area. As he watched, nearly two dozen Russians sauntered into view, all of them congregating around the tables. They talked in jovial tones, laughing and passing out cigarettes.
Lena poked him in the arm to get his attention. She pointed to the far side of the quad, in the direction of the Language Arts building.
Something moved in the dark. There was just enough light from a lamppost for Dal to make out a black-veined face. An infected man eased out of the shadows, stalking toward the Russians. Four others followed him, their black-veined faces eerie in the darkness.
Dal’s pulse kicked in his chest. He wanted to see those Russian fuckers attacked and killed by their own creations. It would serve them right. He and the others could slip away in the confusion.
The lead infected was only five feet away from the Russians when he was spotted. Dal expected the Soviets to pull out their guns and start shooting.
The men only laughed, smoke from their cigarettes puffing up into the night. They gestured in the direction of the infected, chuckling.
What the hell? Dal exchanged looks of confusion with Lena and Mr. Cecchino.
The five infected spread out in a semicircle. They snarled and growled, nostrils flaring as they regarded the Russians. The invaders laughed, a few of them flicking cigarette ashes in their direction.
Why weren’t they attacking? Why were they just standing there? Why—
The answer hit Dal like a sledgehammer. It was Russian poison that had turned these people into monsters. Was it really such a stretch to imagine the Russians had engineered a vaccine that made them immune?
His theory proved correct as, one by one, the infected slunk away into the dark. The Russians jeered at them as they disappeared.
Dal gripped the poker so hard his hands ached. The soldiers hung around and finished their cigarettes. Then they dispersed, breaking off into groups of three and four. All that remained was the cloud of cigarette smoke.
“What were they talking about?” Mr. Cecchino asked Lena.
She hesitated before answering. From the look on her face, Dal could tell she didn’t like delivering the news.
“The . . . infected don’t die like normal people,” Lena said. “They’re like drug addicts. The poison amps up their systems. Sometimes it takes multiple blows to kill them.” She held her breath. There was more, but she wasn’t speaking.
“Lena?” Dal asked.
She shook her head. “I’ll tell you later. We should get out of there.”
The fact that she didn’t want to say anything else meant the information she had was either bad, or complicated. Or possibly bad and complicated.
They dashed through the quad and past the astronomy building. Just on the other side was the science building. The second floor was where the communications classes were held. Dal tested the door, sighing with relief when it opened.
As it swung closed behind them, he wished it was still daytime. None of the hall lights had been turned on; it was even darker inside than outside. Unable to see more than the dim shape of the hallway, it was impossible not to hear Mr. Cecchino’s
