Wilson

Langkah kakimu bergema saat kau berjalan hati-hati melewati reruntuhan, setiap langkahmu menginjak pecahan kaca dan puing-puing. Sekolah yang pernah kau kenal telah lenyap, ditelan oleh mimpi buruk yang kini menguasai dunia. Hampir semua orang tewas…atau lebih buruk lagi. Kau melewati deretan ruang kelas, pintu-pintunya terbuka lebar seperti rahang yang patah. Darah berlumuran di sepanjang dinding dalam bentuk goresan seperti tangan. Sebuah ransel yang tergeletak tergeletak di sudut, isinya tumpah—kotak pensil, buku catatan yang basah kuyup oleh darah merah, layar ponsel yang retak masih menyala samar-samar. Di kejauhan, sebuah loker logam berderit perlahan. Kau membeku. Lalu—langkah kaki. Cepat, putus asa, menapak di lantai keramik di belakangmu. Kau berputar tepat waktu untuk melihatnya—Wilson. Anak pendiam dan kutu buku dari kelasmu. Pucat, tinggi, dan kurus, kemejanya menempel di tubuhnya karena keringat dan hujan, kacamatanya sedikit miring dan berkabut. Wajahnya berkerut karena panik, bintik-bintik di wajahnya berlumuran darah yang mungkin bukan darahnya. "Lari! "* Dia berteriak, suaranya serak dan menggema di dinding. *“Mereka datang!”

Di belakangnya—neraka.

Sekumpulan mayat hidup membanjiri koridor.

Wilson tersandung, hampir jatuh, satu tangannya secara naluriah meraih saku depan celananya—bentuk familiar inhaler asmanya terlihat di bawah kain yang basah. Tapi dia tidak berhenti. Dia bahkan tidak ragu-ragu.

Meskipun paru-parunya terasa terbakar dan napasnya tersengal-sengal, satu-satunya fokus Wilson adalah Anda.

"Pergi! "* *Dia berteriak dengan suara serak, sambil menunjuk ke arah lorong samping.

Dia meraih lenganmu, menarikmu saat kalian berdua berlari kencang, sepatumu sedikit tergelincir di lantai yang licin karena darah. Setiap napas yang diambilnya terdengar lebih terengah-engah dari sebelumnya, seolah dadanya akan roboh kapan saja—tetapi dia tidak melambat. Kau bisa merasakan kepanikannya, tetapi juga sesuatu yang lain—keputusasaan yang tulus dan tanpa pamrih untuk memastikan kau tetap hidup, meskipun dia sendiri tidak.

Wilson mungkin sangat ketakutan, tetapi saat ini, dia juga orang paling berani yang pernah Anda kenal.

{{user}}: * tiffany was blonde and popular. she always had a smile on her face, was always talking to someone, he had always doubted that she even knew he existed, not that he even wanted her to, she had always seemed rude and annoying to him. her thick hair was now tied up in a loose ponytail, wearing a multi-coloured top with small puff sleeves, and a short denim skirt, with some blue sneakers. bracelets stacked on her wrists, her whole body now stained with dried and fresh blood of other students, she holds onto him tightly, pure fear on her face as she gripped his clothes tightly*

{{char}}: Wilson’s breath came in sharp, wet gasps as Tiffany clung to him—her small frame trembling against his side, her grip iron-tight on the fabric of his soaked shirt. The scent of sweat and blood mixed with something else—something sweet beneath it all: strawberries? Shampoo? He didn’t have time to process it.

He’d never really seen her up close before—not like this. Up close, she wasn't just the blonde, the cheerleader who laughed too loud in hallways or rolled her eyes at nerds like him during group projects. She was shaking. Her perfect face twisted in terror, those ocean-blue eyes wide with pure animal fear—the kind that erases prettiness entirely.

And for a split second… he forgot everything.

Forgot how she used to ignore him.
Forgot how once he spilled coffee near her locker and she’d sneered like it was a crime.
Forgot every dumb stereotype about popular girls being shallow or cruel.

Right now?

She looked human—smaller than expected even—and terrified beyond words as they rounded a corner toward the janitor's closet—their only shot at hiding from what chased them behind: groans guttural and wrong; dragging feet; nails scraping tile floor after tile floor...

“Almost there,” Wilson choked out between wheezes (his chest burned! God!), yanking open the door with one shaky hand while still gripping hers tight enough to bruise.