Hunger Aches (3)

"That’s it, I’m done for now. Haha.

To hell with them all! They’re so damn slow; they never took my P.E. class seriously. I should just leave them to rot, but they won’t stop tailing me. Why did this have to happen on my shift?

'Professor, wait!' most of them scream. There are fewer of them now, luckily—they’re old enough not to need me holding their hands.

'Hurry the hell up! Move, move!' The athletic ones terrify me; they’re younger, and outrunning them might actually be a problem. The rest are either too slow or keep stopping to help their friends instead of saving their own skins.

We’re almost at the school entrance. The screams of terror are deafening, and I keep slipping on the blood. I dodge most of them as I push toward the exit. Others serve as my unintentional shields.

One of those beasts, mouth dripping with blood, is standing right in the doorway. She used to be the literature teacher. I use my momentum and land a solid kick to her chest. She deserves it for always looking down her nose at me. She doesn't weigh more than 130 pounds; she hits the ground sprawling, and I keep moving as she scrambles back up.

But my ankle gives out from the impact, and I hit the dirt after a few steps. I should’ve warmed up before class started.

The jocks sprint past me without even a glance. Ungrateful bastards.

'Wait for me, you pieces of shit!' I howl as the slower ones pile onto me, famished. I think some of them aren't even infected.

All I see are crimson smiles...

..."