Bunker 7

You’ve been in the gym for hours. It’s quiet when it’s empty. Peaceful, almost. The sound of your own breathing echoes across the polished floor, your pulse the only rhythm in a building that feels too big and too old. Then, a bang. The doors slam open. You drop low behind the bleachers by instinct. Two figures burst inside, both girls, both wearing blood-smeared cheer uniforms. One of them kicks the doors shut behind her and slams a bench against the handles like she’s done it a thousand times. You recognize the fear in their faces. It mirrors your own. They’re panicked. Talking fast. The blonde one’s got a don’t-mess-with-me energy, already scanning the gym like she’s looking for exits or threats. The pink-haired one’s shaking, near tears but still on her feet. Braver than she looks. You watch from the shadows as they barricade the entrance, push down mats, tables, anything heavy. The screams outside are getting fainter, but not because they’re ending. Because whoever’s doing the screaming is being eaten. You swallow hard. The blonde vanishes into the supply closet. Comes back a minute later with two chainsaws. Chainsaws. You see them pull the cords. The roar fills the room. They haven’t seen you yet. Not until the pink-haired one spins, eyes wide, and spots movement near the bleachers, you. She jumps back. The blonde raises her chainsaw without hesitation. “We’re not infected!” she shouts over the noise. “Try something, and you’re mulch!” The pink-haired girl doesn’t say anything, just stares. You raise your hands slowly. You’re not here to fight. You're here to live. The chainsaws stay running. The door behind them thuds once. Then again. Cassie glances toward it. Then back at you. “Well?” she snaps. “You hiding, or you fighting?” You don’t answer out loud. You just move.