By instincts not yet trained by that world, it wasn’t until several seconds later that I had the urge to turn around to see if the hallway would be clear.

I came across an almost empty hallway, but that wasn’t what made my stomach turn.

Only after taking my attention away from the two zombies trying to punch a hole in the glass door did my ears adjust to distinguish a sound that sounded familiar: busy classrooms. I could hear sounds behind the wooden doors, but they weren’t common sounds of conversation between students, but intermittent groans, angry grunts, slamming on doors, and—very softly, deep down—anguished screams from people like me, a stunned reminder that not everyone was lucky enough to escape.

Some rooms, however, had their doors open and were presumably empty. Still, I can only imagine how many people were unlucky enough to find themselves trapped, unable to reach the door that separated their lives from death. Locked doors like the one behind me, having been sealed in an act that could be enough to take the life of any still human souls inside.

The disturbance this observation brought me, however, was no greater than the fear of seeing other beings – a total of 4 in that corridor – heading my way. They all had slow steps, yet uninterrupted, determined, and they were coming towards me. Most were in uniform, but this time I didn’t waste much time trying to identify them and I immediately started running to the opposite side, which would lead me to a staircase.

An unsettling thought opened up in my head: was I crazy, or were those shorter? So small they could be…

I pushed that idea away, feeling an absurd inclination not to complete the sentence.

I ran down the white-tiled hallway, peering through the windows of evenly spaced windows along the wall. How I wish I hadn’t looked.

If my situation seemed hopeless, running from zombie children locked in a college building, that hideous open-air festival felt like a retelling of hell. There were a few people running, I could hear screams of despair and there was a predominant color in that blasphemous painting: the red of blood. Any idea of following the staircase towards the courtyard died in its own birth.

For the first time I began to notice that there were several marks of sneakers on the floor, which was smeared with blood. I wondered if it was safe to continue with such speed in a direction where I didn’t know what to expect, but there was no choice.

I slowed to a brisk walk, as I realized I was far enough away from the infected behind me. If they don’t move until something catches their attention, I figured trying to make less noise with my footsteps would be ideal.

I thought to myself if I should get something to use as a weapon, but I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to use something against those things. Wouldn’t he be able to spit on the fact that, despite whatever happened to them, they were once human—could they ever be again

Ha ha. How silly.

When the hallway opened into a wider area, which gave access to the staircase, I was even more careful with my movements. The floor and white walls were covered in bloodstains. The smell was so strong it made me catch my breath.

The smell, or the half-dozen monsters that gathered in the corner of the room. 

I could see some parts that appeared under the heap of bodies: legs, arms, heads completely disfigured. Things were feasting amid bloodied corpses and I forced myself to look away so as not to go mad. The urge to throw up came over me again, but I had to ignore it.

I moved slowly, my back pressed to the wall behind me, not caring if it stained the white polo shirt of my uniform. They were distracted, making guttural sounds, and you could hear the sound of flesh tearing as they threw their heads back, violently pulling chunks into their teeth. The smell of death and decay made my nose hurt.

As soon as I reached the stairs, I saw that three of them — two in uniform, but who I couldn’t identify, and another one I knew: a kindergarten teacher — slowly ascending the stairs. The noise of their colleagues’ banquet had attracted them, I thought. As soon as his eyes landed on me, I noticed his movements speeding up, as his veined eyes widened.

“They went into hunting mode," I thought to myself.

I hurried up the stairs, heading for the third floor of the classroom building, ignoring the noise I was making. How I wanted to scream like an idiot in danger and wait for help. Why did I need to keep running?

I was completely weak with fear, realizing that the third floor was the last of that building. There was another staircase besides the one I used, but it was at the end of a long hallway and would be my only exit, in case that floor was even worse than the one below. I ran like a mouse and feared I was heading for the trap I had created myself.

I tripped on the last step, moving my legs fast so I wouldn’t fall to the floor, but throwing myself off balance. I looked up, afraid I’d gotten the unwanted attention of anything that wanted to eat my face.

The green eyes that caught mine, however, bore no resemblance to the eyes of my predators.

I stopped while balancing and fixed my eyes on the boy who was leaving the coordinator’s room as if it were an ordinary day when he had just been scolded. He wore the same uniform as me, his eyes were green, his hair was light brown and his name was Guilherme. He was also in the third year and studied in room B, while I studied in A. He was completely in one piece, except for a few drops of blood on his neck, slightly staining the collar of his shirt. I couldn’t identify any signs of bruises or infection.

With the same surprise, he stared back at me, unmoving. I felt my heart ride, probably at the surprise of seeing another person alive. I thought he must be feeling the same. We stood looking at each other for a few seconds, but time seemed to stop for years as my body was filled with the joy of seeing something different from those monsters, even if it was a person I barely knew. A breeze reached my body, causing an icy sensation and pulling me out of the trance.

“William?” The question was rhetorical. His name was Guilherme Borges Schmidt and I knew it, although we never exchanged more than two words in our lives. I studied in that same school since the fifth year, while Guilherme only entered high school. The reason I knew his name was because he also played sports and more than once we went to national sports championships on the same school bus, but also because my friend Débora was always talking about him.

He knitted his brows, frowning. He didn’t know my name. I didn’t feel any resentment, after all, my contact with the third years of other classes was limited to the girls who trained handball with me.

His expression cleared.

“Rebeca,” he said, to my surprise. Hearing his voice brought me relief as I realized it was the first voice—not screams—human that had reached my ears in hours.

Then the grunts behind me snapped us out of our silly reveries. Guilherme started to run, coming towards me.

“Come, come!” I felt his hand closing around my wrist and a tug just before he started to run. Without any delicacy, he dragged me behind him as I tried to find my balance. I didn’t protest, even though I didn’t like it.

“There are more people alive up here.”

Oh yes.

I was safe then.