Lothe crawled toward the old man, his knees scraping against the shattered glass and the thick pools of green blood.
"Old B," he whispered, his hands trembling as he reached out. "Don’t... don’t move. I’ll find something. We have medicine in the school—"
A rough, heavy hand suddenly slammed into Lothe’s chest.
With a final, desperate surge of strength, Barnaby shoved the boy away. He collapsed back against the stone floor, his chest heaving as a violent tremor ran through his limbs.
"Stay... stay away from me, Lothe," Barnaby rasped, his voice thick and wet.
The old man’s teeth clicked together, his jaw locking as he fought the invisible rot spreading through his veins. But deep down, he knew the struggle was already lost.
An hour before.
Old Barnaby had stepped out of the library’s heavy double doors, leaving Lothe to watch the desk. He had wanted the boy to interact with the new girl.
Lothe was too quiet, always keeping his thoughts locked away behind a wall of books.
The campus courtyard had been busy.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Barnaby," a passing man called out with a polite nod. It was Mr. Mercer, one of the senior history teachers, carrying a leather briefcase.
"Hello, Mr. Mercer," Barnaby had replied.
Two other students passed him, their voices loud as they discussed their weekend plans, completely ignoring the old librarian.
Barnaby had simply smiled, adjusting his jacket. He didn’t mind.
Then, the world had shuddered.
Splat.
A sound like a wet sack hitting stone had echoed from the sky. Barnaby had looked up, but a strange, heavy pressure suddenly filled the air, blurring his vision. The oxygen vanished.
Around him, students stopped in their tracks, clawing desperately at their throats as they collapsed onto the concrete, suffocating in silence. Barnaby had fallen to his knees, his vision going black.
When he finally opened his eyes, the world was a nightmare.
A high-pitched scream cut through the quiet courtyard.
Barnaby turned his head, his breath catching in his throat.
Mr. Mercer, the mild, mannered history teacher who always spoke in a quiet, measured voice, was currently pinned on top of a female student.
His teeth were buried in her neck, tearing a bloody chunk of flesh from her collarbone.
Another student stood nearby, frozen in absolute, paralyzed terror.
The bitten girl stopped screaming. Her body went stiff, her fingers twitching. When she opened her eyes again, her pupils were gone.
Her eyes were solid, milky white, with dark, cracked lines spreading from the temples like dry riverbeds.
Fear took over his old body. He scrambled toward the garden border, his fingers clawing at a heavy, sharp stone.
When he lifted it, his back popped. The rock was heavy, easily thirty pounds, a weight his old back should have never been able to carry.
But the sheer terror, and the strange, thick air currently filling his lungs, gave him a sudden, desperate strength.
His arms burned, and his shoulders felt like they were ripping apart as he forced himself to heave the stone forward.
The rock hit the side of the girl’s head with a dull crack.
She hissed, turning her white eyes toward him. Mr. Mercer stood up too, and both of them started coming at him.
"I’m sorry," Barnaby whispered, his heart beating so fast he could barely breathe.
He couldn’t run. His legs were shaking too much from his back pain. As Mr. Mercer lunged, Barnaby threw his whole body forward, crashing into the teacher.
It wasn’t a clean tackle. It was a messy, desperate crash.
They hit the hard ground together. Barnaby’s knees slammed against the concrete, the skin tearing instantly, and his left shoulder went numb under the weight.
He gasped, the wind completely knocked out of him as the teacher clawed at his chest.
Mr. Mercer’s teeth snapped close to his neck, smelling of fresh blood.
With the last of his strength, Barnaby’s shaking hand searched the floor. He grabbed a thick piece of stone and shoved it right into Mr. Mercer’s open mouth, blocking his teeth.
The man gurgled, trying to bite down.
Barnaby picked up another stone. His arms shook violently, his muscles burning from the strain.
He looked down and saw his reflection in the blank, white eyes of the man he had just greeted minutes ago. He froze, his chest tightening.
This was a teacher. A human.
But Mr. Mercer’s fingers dug into his neck, drawing blood.
With a low grunt, Barnaby brought the stone down.
’Crack’.
The body went still. Barnaby scrambled off him, his whole body aching as his sudden strength vanished, leaving him weak and shaking. He turned to the zombie girl and raised the stone again, but the other girl suddenly threw herself over her friend.
"Please! Don’t hurt her!" she screamed, crying. "We can take her to the hospital! They will have a cure! They’ll treat her!"
Barnaby’s arm froze in the air. He looked at the crying girl, then at the grey, lifeless face of her friend beneath her.
He wanted to believe her. He wanted to think there was a hospital, a doctor, some kind of explanation for this.
And the hesitation cost him.
The zombie girl lunged, her teeth grazing the survivor’s shoulder.
Barnaby pulled the crying girl back, steeled his heart, and drove the stone down, ending the creature’s movements.
The courtyard fell silent. The survivor looked up at Barnaby, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and disgust.
"You... you killed her," she whispered, her voice cracking as she pointed a trembling finger. "I told you we could save her, you shouldn’t have killed her. You’re a murderer."
The accusation stung, but Barnaby didn’t argue. He wiped the sweat and blood from his forehead, his stomach turning. He needed to get back to Lothe.
Before he could take a step, a sharp, buzzing sound cut through the air.
A dog-sized wasp dropped from the sky, its stinger piercing the standing girl’s throat. She choked, her face turning instantly grey.
Her eyes rolled back into a milky white, and she turned on Barnaby, her hands reaching out to claw his face.
Barnaby swung the heavy stone, crushing her skull before she could reach him.
He ran.
He ran back into the library, his old lungs burning, but the wasp followed. Inside the main hall, he had spotted the red fire extinguisher on the wall.
He grabbed it, using the heavy metal canister to smash the wasp that lunged at him, before releasing the thick white foam to disorient the rest.
He had hidden in the archives, waiting, hoping Lothe was safe. Until he heard the boy’s voice.
The memory faded, and Barnaby’s eyes snapped back to the present.
The dark purple veins on his neck had reached his jawline. His eyes, usually warm and patient, were beginning to cloud with a dull, milky white.
"Don’t come close to me," Barnaby warned, his voice a low, raspy rattle.
Lothe ignored him, crawling closer, his knees sliding in the green blood. Tears, hot and silent, ran down his face. "Old B... please."
"There is no time, kid," Barnaby said, a faint, tired smile touching his dry lips. "I’m an old man anyway, and my time was coming. Don’t waste your tears on this."
"Stop talking," Letho choked out, his hand clutching the splintered wooden rung.
"Survive, Lothe," Barnaby whispered, his fingers twitching as the dark lines reached his temples. "You’re smarter than any one I’ve ever seen. Just... survive okay?."
Beside them, Sennia pressed her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently as she wept. The guilt crushed her chest.
It should have been her. He had thrown his body over hers, taking the blow that was meant to end her life.
"Kill me now, Lothe," Barnaby said, his voice losing its human rhythm, turning into a guttural growl. "I don’t... I don’t want to be one of those things. Please, kid. Do it."
His eyes rolled back, turning completely white.
Lothe looked at the old man’s face. He saw the wrinkles, the gray beard, and the hand that had pulled him off the street when he was nothing but a discarded orphan.
He raised the iron rod.
"I’m sorry, Old B," Lothe whispered.
Puchi.
The iron rod descended, driving straight through Barnaby’s chest, piercing his heart before the transformation could take hold of his brain.
The old man’s body went completely limp, his head falling to the side.
Lothe let go of the rod. He sat on the cold stone floor, his face blank, staring at the empty space. The only person who had ever truly seen him, the man who had been his father, was gone.
He didn’t feel relief. He didn’t feel grief. He felt empty.
The quiet of the library was absolute.
Ping!
[Survivor has successfully slain 20 Tier 1 Beasts .]
[System initialization.]
[0%... 10%... 30%... 80%... 100%]
[System Initialization complete]