Part 1

"Wake up."

The words came drifting out of the dark like something said underwater, slow and heavy. Alex cracked one eye and groaned, the sound stuck somewhere between a cough and a complaint.

"Time for school. Don't forget to shower."

It was his dad—Lee—standing in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light, already halfway gone. Parents always mastered that trick: delivering responsibility and vanishing before you could argue with it.

"Mmhmm," Alex muttered, promising nothing.

The door creaked shut. Silence rushed back in, thick and warm. Alex stayed where he was, cocooned in blankets that still held the last scraps of a dream he couldn't quite remember. Five minutes passed. Maybe more. Time did funny things when you were half asleep—it stretched, bent, and occasionally disappeared altogether.

"Well," he said to the ceiling, finally, "guess I should get up."

The shower steamed up fast, fogging the small bathroom mirror like a cheap horror movie effect. Alex peeled off his pajamas and stepped under the spray, letting the water drum against his shoulders. His thoughts drifted. School. Football. Nothing. Everything.

Then—

"Alex! Get out of the shower!"

His dad's voice hit the bathroom door like a thrown rock.

"Shit," Alex whispered, fumbling for the knob. "How long has it been?"

He shut the water off before he was really clean, like always. Some mornings felt like they were actively trying to shove him forward, hands on his back, rushing him toward something he didn't want to face yet.

He dried off and stood in front of the mirror, studying the boy staring back at him. Brown, wavy hair. Sleep still clinging to his eyes. He adjusted his hair with careful fingers, trying to make it look effortless—which, paradoxically, took effort.

"Come on!" his dad yelled. "Your mom's gotta get in there!"

"Every morning," Alex muttered. "Every damn morning."

He pulled on his usual uniform—sweatshirt, sweatpants, sneakers. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that screamed look at me. He was, by most definitions, just a regular guy.

"Here," his dad said a few minutes later, snapping him fully awake. "I made breakfast."

The plate was stacked like a promise: pancakes, eggs, bacon, all soaked in maple syrup tapped from the tree out back. Real syrup. The good stuff.

"Thanks," Alex said, already digging in.

"Eat wherever," Lee said, smiling. "Your mom prefers the table, but I won't tell."

"Wow. Thanks, Dad."

Alex collapsed onto the couch and pulled up his favorite YouTuber, blinddrunkdaniel, the video playing while he shoveled breakfast into his mouth. For a few minutes, the world felt normal. Safe. Predictable.

He rinsed the plate and slid it into the dishwasher.

"Don't forget your teeth!" his mom called, already halfway out the door.

"They're in my mouth!" Alex yelled back. "I don't know how I'd forget them!"

"You know what I mean!" she said, and then she was gone. His dad followed—one car household—leaving the house suddenly quieter, like it had exhaled.

"Huh," Alex said to no one.

He brushed his teeth, then sat with his cats, scrolling through his phone. A flood of texts waited for him. Nathan. Dacre. Tyler. Stanley.

They were talking about a pandemic.

Seminole, the town next door.

Alex frowned.

"That's weird," he typed. "My mom works at the hospital and didn't say anything."

"Probably hasn't gotten here yet," Tyler replied.

Yet.

The word sat funny in Alex's head.

He checked the time.

7:35.

"Shit!" He grabbed his backpack and bolted out the door, the cold morning air biting at his lungs. He reached the bus just as the doors hissed open, every eye inside turning toward him like judgment.

He slid into the seat next to his bus buddy—Alexander. Same name, different worlds.

"Almost late, huh?" Alexander giggled.

"Yeah," Alex said, still gasping.

"So Danielle texted me," Alexander went on. "I think she likes me."

Alex felt something sink in his chest. Alexander wasn't cruel, or stupid—just painfully uncool. Autistic. Loud. A walking target. The kind of kid people smiled at while sharpening the joke.

"So yeah," Alexander finished, glowing. "I think she really likes me."

Alex nodded, forcing it. "Yeah, man. I think she does."

Alexander smiled and immediately started singing. Loudly.

Heads turned. Stares burned. Alex looked out the window, pretending the world outside was suddenly fascinating. Thankfully, the bus lurched to a stop.

School.

Inside the cafeteria, Alex spotted Dacre sitting alone at their usual table.

"Dacre."

"Alex."

"You drive today?"

"Yeah. Got the minivan. Sports car soon, though." He barely looked up from his phone.

"You still working on your house?"

"Almost done. Love building it myself. Gets to be exactly how I want."

Alex nodded, half-listening, half-blocking out Alexander's continued singing. Dacre laughed at it. Eventually, the rest of the group filtered in—Nathan, Tyler, Stanley, Jeff.

The bell rang.

Music class with Tyler.

"Sup," Alex said.

"Sup. You see the Tigers game?"

"Yeah. Can't believe the Badgers pulled that upset."

"I had Jaxen Wood on my fantasy team," Tyler said. "Three picks."

"Glad I didn't—"

"Quiet!" Mrs. Anderson snapped.

The room fell silent.

Alex leaned back in his chair, unaware that this ordinary morning—the rushing, the jokes, the stupid singing, the talk of pandemics next door—was already slipping into the past.

Mrs. Anderson stood at the front of the room like a prison warden who'd traded her baton for a baton stick. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back tight, as if even a single loose strand might invite chaos. She waited an extra beat after yelling—long enough for silence to really sink its teeth in—then turned to the whiteboard.

"All right," she said, calmer now, which somehow felt worse. "From the top. Page forty-seven. Rhythm exercises."

A collective groan rippled through the room. Music class was supposed to be fun. That was the lie they told you. In reality, it was counting beats until your brain went numb.

Alex slouched in his chair and flipped open his book. The pages smelled faintly of dust and old paper, like they'd been passed down from students who were probably dead now. Tyler leaned over.

"Kill me," he whispered.

Alex smirked but didn't respond. Mrs. Anderson had ears like a bat. Or maybe she just had the supernatural ability to sense joy and extinguish it.

They began clapping rhythms. One-two-three-four. One-two—pause—three. The sound filled the room, uneven and ugly, hands slapping together like a roomful of people trying to swat invisible flies.

Alex clapped on autopilot. His mind drifted, the way it always did when things got repetitive. His eyes slid to the window. Outside, the sky hung low and gray, clouds piled on top of one another. It felt heavier than it should have for a morning.

Seminole, he thought again.

Pandemic.

The word echoed faintly.

"Alex."

He jumped.

"Yes?" he said, a little too fast.

Mrs. Anderson stared at him over her glasses. "Care to tell us what comes after measure twelve?"

Alex looked down. Measure twelve might as well have been written in another language.

"Uh," he said intelligently.

Tyler coughed and muttered, "Rest. Quarter rest."

Alex seized it. "Quarter rest," he said.

Mrs. Anderson held his gaze for another second, as if deciding whether to call bullshit, then turned away. "Correct. Pay attention."

Alex exhaled slowly. His heart took a second to stop racing. He hated that feeling—that sudden spotlight, like the world had caught him doing something wrong even when he hadn't.

They moved on to listening exercises. Mrs. Anderson dimmed the lights and pressed play. Classical music spilled from the speakers—slow, dramatic, swelling strings.

Alex sank lower in his chair.

At first, it was just music.

Then—he couldn't have explained it if someone asked—but it started to feel off. The notes dragged. Warped. Alex glanced around, expecting someone else to notice.

No one did.

Tyler stared at the ceiling. A girl in the front row doodled in her notebook. Mrs. Anderson sat at her desk, eyes closed, conducting faintly with one finger.

The music grew louder.

Alex's skin prickled. For just a second—just one—he thought he heard something underneath the melody. Not music.

Breathing.

He shifted in his seat. The sound vanished the moment he focused on it, leaving only violins and cellos rising and falling like waves.

Get a grip, he told himself.

The track ended. The lights flicked back on.

"All right," Mrs. Anderson said. "Write down how that piece made you feel."

Uneasy, Alex wrote without thinking.

He stared at the word, then underlined it.

The bell rang a moment later, sharp and sudden. Chairs scraped back. The spell—if that's what it had been—broke instantly, replaced by noise and movement and the relief of being done.

Tyler stretched. "Man, that class always makes me sleepy."

"Yeah," Alex said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Ready for construction class now?" Tyler asked.

The words slid past Alex at first.

Right, Alex thought. Construction.
"I forgot," he muttered to himself. "I'm with Tyler the first two periods."

"Helleeelllooo?" Tyler said, waving a hand inches from Alex's face.

Alex blinked. "Sorry. Yeah. What're we building today?"

Tyler shrugged. "I think just a wall or something."

"A wall," Alex repeated, studying him.

Tyler looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over. Short. Skinny. The kind of kid gym teachers worried about during dodgeball. His hoodie hung off him like it belonged to someone else. Alex had always wondered how Tyler survived football season just by standing near the field.

They reached the construction room, and the smell hit Alex right away—sawdust, glue, old wood, and something faintly metallic. It was the smell of doing something, of hands and effort, and Alex liked it instantly. It felt real in a way the rest of school didn't.

The teacher barked instructions. Wood was measured. Nails were hammered. The noise filled the room—thuds, taps, the buzz of power tools. Time behaved differently here. It sped up, slipped through cracks in the floor.

Alex worked without thinking, hands moving on instinct. Measure. Hold. Hammer. Tyler concentrated like his life depended on it, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth.

This class went fast. Too fast.

The bell rang, sharp as a slap.

"Damn," Alex said. "Already?"

Tyler sighed, sliding his half-finished wall onto the shelf. "Guess so. I've got English next. Boringgg."

"Yeah," Alex said. "I've got Global History. Would be fun if my teacher wasn't fucking monotonous."

"And he's bald," Tyler added, grinning.

Alex laughed. "At least Stanley makes it tolerable."

They split in the hallway, swallowed by the river of bodies moving between classes.

"See you at lunch, Alex!" Tyler called.

Alex didn't answer—not because he didn't hear, but because something else had his attention. His locker stuck for half a second before popping open, metal shrieking like it was annoyed at being disturbed. He grabbed his notebooks and headed for Global History, already feeling his brain begin to shut down.

"Alex, my man," Stanley said, slapping a hand against his own palm and then Alex's in a complicated dab that ended in laughter.

"Sup," Alex said. "Mr. Johnson here?"

Stanley grimaced. "Unfortunately."

Mr. Johnson stood at the front of the room, bald head gleaming under fluorescent lights. Dates. Treaties. Names that slid off Alex's mind the second they landed.

The clock ticked. Loud. Mocking.

Alex whispered jokes to Stanley. Stanley snorted. Mr. Johnson paused once, staring at them like he was trying to remember why he hated teenagers, then continued right on talking.

Finally—mercifully—the bell rang.

Freedom.

Alex felt it in his chest as he stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Lunch.

At last.

Lunch was four chicken tenders and a scoop of mashed potatoes that looked like they'd already given up on life. Pale. Watery. Sad. Alex had never liked the cafeteria food—there was something about it that felt off, like it wasn't meant to nourish you so much as remind you where you stood in the grand scheme of things.

He sat at the usual table.

Nathan. Dacre. Tyler. Stanley. Alexander.

Same cast. Same stage.

Nathan Kaye sat sprawled like he owned the place, long legs stretched out, shoulders loose, laughing too loud. Six-six and built like he'd been designed in a lab for basketball. Fluffy black hair, tan skin, blue eyes that always seemed half-amused. He was dating Keira Miller, one of the cheerleaders, which surprised exactly no one.

Alex watched the cheerleader table without meaning to.

Aliyah Ross sat there, laughing at something one of the girls said, ocean-blue eyes bright, curly brown hair pulled back just enough to be distracting. She had this way of smiling like the world wasn't nearly as bad as it actually was. Alex felt the familiar ache settle in his chest.

A snowball's chance in hell, he reminded himself.

Dacre Robinson leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, muscles stretching the sleeves of his hoodie. Tall. Blond. Blue-eyed. The kind of guy teachers liked and parents trusted. Ladies' man without ever actually dating—his parents had made that decision for him. Graduate first. Live later.

Tyler Lara picked at his food. Scrawny. Uneven brown hair. Crooked teeth. He looked like he might snap in half if someone sneezed too hard near him. Somehow, inexplicably, he had game. Alex had long since stopped trying to understand how the universe worked.

Stanley sat beside Alex, normal in a way that almost felt rebellious. Skinny. Curly brown hair. Blue-gray eyes. Dating Sadie Sanchez—another cheerleader. Complicated, from what Alex heard. Everything was complicated once feelings got involved.

And then there was Alexander.

Alexander took up too much space. Pale skin. Ugly blue eyes—yes, ugly, somehow—and a body that slumped inward. He laughed too hard at jokes made at his expense and sang when no one asked him to. The table's favorite target.

Jokes flew. Mostly about Alexander. He laughed along, because that was easier than noticing the silence that followed if he didn't.

They talked about everything—sports, teachers, dumb internet drama—until the cafeteria speakers crackled.

Feedback squealed.

Then the principal's voice filled the room.

"Dear Stillwater students and staff. Due to an epidemic occurring in the nearby town of Seminole at an alarming rate, classes are suspended. Please assemble at the auditorium immediately."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then the room exploded.

"What the hell?"
"Is this real?"
"Are they serious?"

"Shit, is what they're saying true?" Alex yelled over the noise.

"I guess so!" Nathan shouted back.

Teachers were suddenly everywhere, herding students toward the exits like panicked cattle. The hallways filled fast—too fast.

Alex glanced back.

Alexander tripped.

He went down hard, disappearing beneath a tide of legs and backpacks. Someone shoved past him. Someone else stepped on his arm.

"Alex!" Stanley grabbed his sleeve. "Leave him!"

Alex hesitated—just a second too long—then let himself be pulled forward.

"Guys!" Tyler yelled. "Look at your phones!"

Everyone did. Even the teachers.

Notifications stacked on Alex's screen like bad news refusing to wait its turn.

Videos. Headlines. Shaky footage.

There's a zombie outbreak!

Keira Miller screamed it just as they reached the auditorium.

Panic took root.

Inside, the principal stood onstage, sweating through his suit, eyes darting like trapped animals.

"Listen to me!" he shouted. "The news is confirming reports of a—of a zombie outbreak. We are on lockdown until further notice."

That was the wrong thing to say.

Students screamed. Some cried. Some laughed hysterically.

Stanley dragged Alex into a row of seats. Nathan, Dacre, Tyler—all there.

Alexander wasn't.

Alex's eyes drifted, unbidden, to Aliyah. She sat with the cheerleaders, arms wrapped around herself. She caught him looking. Blushed. Looked away.

"Dude," Nathan whispered. "You're still crushing on Aliyah? She's way outta your league."

"Yeah," Dacre snorted. "Cheerleader. You're just... you."

"Shut up," Alex muttered, punching Stanley lightly.

"Do you actually think this is real?" Alex asked.

The joking stopped.

Stanley swallowed. "My mom works at Seminole Hospital. She said they're getting overwhelmed."

"And it's spreading," Dacre added.

Then—

BANG.

The auditorium doors shook.

Another crash.

They burst open.

Alexander staggered inside.

Except it wasn't Alexander anymore.

His eyes were dead glass. Blood dripped from his mouth. Something dark moved beneath his skin, like it didn't belong there.

"Is that... Alexander?" Alex whispered.

The principal screamed for calm. No one listened.

Students ran. Screamed. Fell. Alexander jumped on one and just started eating him.

"Go!" Alex yelled. "We gotta go!"

They moved together, shoving through the crowd toward the side exit near the stage—right where the cheerleaders stood frozen in terror.

"Move!" Alex shouted.

Aliyah didn't.

Alex grabbed her, lifting her without thinking. The others did the same, cheerleaders clinging to them, screaming.

Aliyah wrapped her arms around Alex's neck, shaking.

"Where do we go?!" Alex yelled.

"The gym!" Dacre shouted. "Strong doors!"

They ran.

The gym doors slammed shut behind them.

Inside, the echoing space felt too big. Too empty.

Aliyah pulled away, embarrassed, terrified, rushing back to Keira, Sadie, and Avril. Alex barely noticed.

"You saved them," Tyler said, awed.

"No," Alex said. "We did."

The doors rattled.

Hard.

"Guard the doors!" Alex ordered.

They moved without question.

Then the doors gave way.

Alexander lunged.

Straight for Aliyah.

Alex shoved her aside and felt rotten hands slam into his chest. Breath left him in a rush. He swung the wiffleball bat.

Crack.

Alexander dropped.

But the doors burst open wider.

More came.

"Shit!" Tyler screamed.

They formed a circle around the girls.

Aliyah grabbed Alex's arm—