Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LUCAS
Saturday school was usually quiet. But not this quiet.
By eight thirty, it was already clear that most of the staff hadn’t shown. A few had called in sick, and a few we hadn’t heard from at all. Principal Morales’s office was dark, the admin wing locked, and the front desk abandoned except for a handwritten sign taped crookedly to the window:
Saturday Classes in room C-12
I stood there longer than I needed to, keys heavy in my hand, wondering why any of this was my problem after yesterday.
I was supposed to be on administrative leave.
But when the call came— “I know this is unprecedented, but can you come in today?” Morales started coughing up a lung.
“I think the flu spread at the game last night. Just for today,”—I hadn’t said no.
I never did when someone asked for help.
That’s why the way I was being hung out to dry pissed me off so much.
I stopped by Taryn’s house to talk to Ben, but they weren’t there.
I lay awake all night, racked with guilt, even considering everything Taryn had done, because I knew Ben could be intense.
I shouldn’t have called him, but I was so angry that I wanted to make sure the brat was punished for her actions.
I thought about how I felt with my hand around her throat. My dick started to get hard, and I shook my head. Nope. Not going there.
When my temper takes over, I tend to act impulsively. I’ve tried to curb it over the last few years, but I haven’t always succeeded. That’s all it was. My temper. Not desire for one of my students, someone I’d known since she was a gap-toothed little girl with pigtails.
I drove out there again this morning, but Ben's truck was still missing. I hated how worried I was about a girl who had single-handedly destroyed my career.
Room C-12 smelled of dry-erase markers and disinfectants. Twelve students sat scattered among the desks, some staring at laptops, some at nothing, most looking sick.
One kid had his hood up and his head down, breathing through his mouth like he was trying not to throw up.
“You can log in and get started,” I said, clearing my throat as a few kids kept their heads down on their desks. “If you have questions, raise your hand.”
The few that looked healthy nodded. The others didn’t acknowledge me at all.
I sat at my desk, playing a game on my phone to distract myself from my troubles.
Twenty minutes had gone by when a girl near the window suddenly stood up.
“I don’t feel good,” her voice shook like she was embarrassed by it.
“You’re excused to the restroom,” I told her, concerned by the green hue of her face.
Instead of heading to the door, she started swaying—just a little—and grabbed the edge of the desk. Her fingers dug in hard enough that I heard the plastic creak.
“Hey,” I was already moving in her direction. “Sit down before you fall down.”
She started gagging instead. Dry, violent. A boy nearby recoiled as she stumbled into his desk, knocking it sideways.
“I need—” She tried to speak, then vomited. Not just a little. It looked like everything she’d eaten in the last week was on the floor.
Chairs scraped back.
Someone cursed, and of course, a few of the boys started laughing. That all stopped when she continued to empty her stomach.
Damn, that was a lot. This didn’t seem normal.
I instinctively stepped between her and the other students, knowing she’d appreciate the slight privacy I could offer.
“Everyone, stay put,” I yelled. “Give her some space.”
Suddenly, her head snapped up.
The sound she made wasn’t a sob or even a cough. It was a low, raw noise that made the hair on my arms stand on end.
I jumped when, out of nowhere, she lunged at the boy behind her, the one whose desk she’d hit.
Her teeth closed on his forearm with a fierce growl, tearing out a hunk of flesh.
He screamed.
I didn’t think, just grabbed her shoulders and hauled her back with everything I had. She fought like a rabid dog—twisting, and snapping, trying to get her mouth back on him.
“Get out!” I shouted. “Everyone get the hell out, now!”
They all bolted.
The boy who had been bitten collapsed against the wall, clutching his arm in disbelief. Blood welling from the wound.
The girl—I believe her name was Misty—thrashed in my grip, eyes unfocused, saliva and vomit streaking her chin. She smelled so strongly of rotting meat that I began to feel nauseous myself.
I shoved her backward into a desk and pinned her there with my weight, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” I dodged back as she bit at the air.
I looked at the boy, Jerry, “Head toward the door.”
He had snot and tears streaming down his face, but he nodded and headed in that direction. As he got close, I pushed Misty aside and ran, forcing Jerry out of the door, then slammed and locked the classroom. My hand trembled as I struggled to turn the key in the lock.
I gathered the remaining students into the neighboring classroom, locked the door, then took a roll of paper towels from the supply closet and wrapped Jerry’s arm as best I could.
What the hell was wrong with her?
I grabbed my phone to call Adrian, but it took several tries for the call to go through.
“What the fuck is going on?” I growled into the phone.
We spoke for several minutes until I heard glass breaking from the hallway.
“I have to let you go!” I hung up and rushed to the door.
There was no way I was leaving these students just to save myself. Adrian was a cold bastard, but I wasn’t built that way.
I glanced over at Jerry, who had slumped to the floor, with blood streaming from his arm, soaking his shirt and jeans.
He looked ill, with sweat breaking out on his brow and a green hue to his skin.
“Fuck.” I muttered under my breath.
Adrian was right. The bastard usually was.
I needed to move the remaining students to another room to isolate Jerry so no one else would get bitten.
“Everyone, get ready to move. I’m going to see where that noise came from.” I started to leave, then turned back. “Stay away from Jerry. Give him room to breathe.”
I opened the door and looked down the hall toward the classroom where I’d locked Misty, and I saw an arm flailing around, having broken through the glass.
“How in the fuck did she break through that?” I mumbled to myself in disbelief.
Someone yelled from the hallway.
“Mr. Rowen!”
Lila skidded to a stop a few feet away, ponytail half out, cheer bag slung over one shoulder. She looked like she’d been crying—or close to it. Her eyes were too bright, and her breath was coming a little too fast.
“What are you doing here?” My voice was sharp.
Fuck, I didn’t need more students to worry about.
“Coach asked us to come in for extra conditioning,” she said, glancing around frantically. “And the football players came in to watch film. We were in the gym when—” She swallowed hard. “We heard screaming. I came alone to check it out because a bunch of the people who came today are sick.”
A thump came from down the hall. It sounded like Misty was trying to break down the door.
“Oh my God,” Lila whispered. “What is that?”
“Go back to the gym,” I said, heading back to the other students. ‘Get the others and lock the doors. Do not open them for anyone.”
Her face drained of color. “Is this some kind of drill?”
“No.”
Despite my orders, she quietly moved closer to get a better look at the classroom where I’d directed the other students. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock when she saw Jerry and the hunk of flesh missing from his arm.
“That’s—” Her voice broke. “That’s my brother.”
He looked up at the sound of her voice.
“Lila?” he croaked.
She dropped to her knees beside him before I could stop her.
“Don’t touch him,” I said sharply.
I was already covered in blood and who knows what else.
She froze, hands hovering inches from his shoulder, panic flashing across her face.
“What happened to him?” she whimpered. “Why are there teeth marks?”
Jerry whimpered and curled up, “It burns, and I feel sick.”
The banging on the door resumed from the hallway.
Harder this time.
Change of plans.
“Take my students with you to the gym. Barricade it if you can. If anyone tries to get in, and I mean anyone, don’t open the door. If anyone looks ill, isolate them in the locker room and have Coach lock the door.”
“What about my brother?” she sobbed.
I gripped her arm and hauled her to her feet. “You can help him by doing what I said. Do you understand me?”
Tears streamed down her face as she nodded.
“I’ll stay with him and try to get help.”
“Come on, I want to get the hell out of here,” Simon—one of the boys who had laughed earlier at Misty—said, eyes wide with fear.
He was far from laughing now.
She hesitated a moment longer, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared at her brother, then motioned for the students to follow her.
As their footsteps faded, the banging intensified.
Behind me, I heard Jerry begin to vomit.
And I knew—absolutely knew—that this day wasn’t going to end with all of my students alive.
Jerry started seizing.
At first, I thought he was in shock. His shoulders jerked once, then again, and his teeth chattered so hard I heard them click. His fingers curled inward as if his hands were locking around something invisible.
“Jerry,” I dropped to one knee beside him. “Hey. Look at me.”
His eyes rolled back—then snapped forward again.
They hadn't turned gray yet, but they were cloudy.
“It hurts,” he whispered. His voice sounded stretched thin, wrong. “It burns.” He repeated.
“I know,” I said, even though I didn’t. “Stay with me.”
His spine bowed violently, and a sound tore from his throat that wasn’t a cry of pain. It was more like a growl. His hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.
His grip was too strong, much stronger than it should’ve been.
“Jerry—let go.”
He didn’t.
His mouth opened—not to speak—but to bite.