Chapter Two : Cassie

I'm doomed. I’m doomed. I’m so f*****g doomed.
There’s a zombie just around the corner of my corridor. Oh hey I know that one. It’s Elizabeth. Elizabeth from my class. Except now she looks like s**t, her skin split and peeling, blood dribbling from torn flesh, eyes vacant and hungry, just waiting for the chance to sink her teeth into me.

Okay -- focus. That thought’s helping no one.
I force myself to take a slow breath. My room sits right at the corner, closest to the stairs. She’s at the far end. If I stay quiet, if I move carefully, I can make it -- I can slip past and get the hell out before she even notices.

I clutch the pan and knife tightly, creeping forward on my toes, heart pounding so loud it’s all I can hear. Step by step, inch by inch, I move toward the stairwell. And then, of f*****g course, my phone rings. Not that loud yet impossible to ignore. It’s buried somewhere deep in my bag, out of reach, and I can’t risk fumbling for it without dropping the weapons in my hands.

Elizabeth’s head snaps up at the sound. She lets out a guttural groan, and suddenly she’s sprinting at me -- faster, angrier, more desperate than I’d ever imagined. Panic surges through me. I can’t outrun her. If I try to make a break for the stairs now, she’ll chase, and worse, she’ll bring a whole goddamn horde down on me. I have to end this. Here. Now.

I turn sharply, facing her head-on, gripping the pan so tightly my knuckles burn. As she closes the last few feet between us, I swing the pan back and smash it into the side of her head with everything I have. It’s not enough. Her body staggers, but she’s still pushing forward, snarling, teeth bared. I shove hard, slamming the shallow side of the pan against her face, pinning her head to the wall. She thrashes wildly, but I don’t let go. Moving on sheer instinct, I raise the knife and drive it into her neck before she can leave any marks on my skin.

The blade sinks in easier than I expect -- the flesh is soft, rotten, almost falling apart  but it still takes force, determination. My arms strain as I saw through muscle and sinew, teeth clenched as I choke back the rising bile. She flails against me, but I push harder, cutting, slicing, until at last her head tears free and drops to the floor with a wet, final thud.

Silence. No growls. No footsteps. Nothing. I freeze, scanning the corridor, waiting to see if anything heard the noise, if anything’s coming. But for now, it’s still.

I exhale slowly, feeling the tremble in my hands, the weight of everything pressing down on me all at once. That was too close -- way, way too close. But I’m still standing. Still breathing. Somehow, against the odds, I’m alive. Thankfully, somewhere in between that chaos, my godforsaken phone has stopped ringing.

I don’t waste a second. I rush back into my room, heart hammering, shove my hand deep into the bag, and yank the phone out, switching it the f**k off. I can’t risk that happening again -- not out there, not in the open. I can’t afford even a sliver of vulnerability, not when one stupid mistake could mean getting torn apart or, worse, chased down by a whole goddamn swarm of zombies.

I take another shaky breath, grounding myself, forcing the panic back down where it belongs. No more mistakes. No more stupid slip-ups. I got lucky this time, but I can’t count on luck to save me again. Now -- it’s time. I need to get downstairs.

I didn’t expect to find a shitload of zombies waiting by the entrance for me. But then again, am I really in any position to expect anything in the middle of a f*****g zombie apocalypse? Great. Just great. What the hell do I do now? I’m frozen, heart pounding, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to get to the storage room without getting torn apart -- when suddenly, the zombies all rush to the other end of the floor.

A bone-chilling screech echoes down the hall. Someone’s getting eaten. My stomach turns; nausea rises up sharp and bitter, and for a split second, I wish I could help -- but I know I can’t. I can’t afford to waste this window of time. Not if I want to make it out alive. So I bolt, sprinting for the storage room as fast as I can, feet slamming against the ground.

Inside, I fumble through the shelves, hands shaking as I dig past hammers, nails, rusted tools -- searching, hoping, praying for something useful -- and then, like a goddamn miracle, I find it: a chainsaw. Holy s**t. I don’t even hesitate. I test the starter -- and it roars to life. Thank f**k. I sling it across my back, toss the knife into my pack, and decide to keep the pan in hand. It saved my a*s once; it’s earned its place.

When I push open the door that leads out of the dorm building, the night air hits me sharp and cold. That’s when I spot it -- a battered bicycle, just abandoned outside, like someone left it behind in a desperate attempt to escape. I don’t even think. I sprint for it, hop on, and start pedaling like my life depends on it -- because it does.

The sky’s fading fast into night, the streets growing darker, and while I can still make out the scattered zombies on the road, I doubt they can see me as well. I weave past them, heart hammering, breath tight, pushing forward.

And then -- s**t -- a zombie stumbles onto the street in front of me, groaning, arms flailing, and for a second, I swear its fingers graze the front wheel. My stomach flips; I jerk the handlebars hard, nearly losing balance, tires skidding on the cracked asphalt. My legs pump faster, chest tight, eyes wide as I dart past, leaving the outstretched hands and snarling mouths behind.

I made it out this time -- but I know it won’t always be this easy. I can’t let my guard down. I need to stay alert, stay sharp, stay alive.
Next stop: the cafeteria.