Dead Bitten

Chapter 1

As you rethink all your values to escape a cruel fate, you may discover that surviving the dead is just the beginning.

My heart raced again as I remembered the need to get out of this place, as if the mere mention of that idea was evidence of my undoing. Still, the fact was that in one morning I had already seen more carnage than even my most visceral nightmares could count; and surviving that freak show to death locked in a bathroom stall seemed like the least digestible thing about my day. I thought if I was going to die, it would be from exhaustion trying to fight these monsters, instead of suffering like a scared rat.

Too bad those heroic thoughts were useless in motivating me to leave that fetid bathroom I was locked in. Courage is beautiful in the books, but in real life it weighs a ton and stinks like death.

I heard the groans once more and knew they were there—as if I’d ever really been able to forget them. There was also a corpse. These elements were familiar to me because I had heard the macabre play that had given rise to them unfold, while forcing myself to remain still, pressing my hands to my mouth to prevent my despair from being present.

Before everything started to go to hell, we had been warned, but naturally ignored it.

The first time I remember hearing anything about the case was over the summer break. I know there had been other news before, but they hadn’t caught my attention enough to even be remembered.

I was in the waiting room of the health center waiting for my grandmother to finish, with my eyes lazily on the television, watching the lunch paper. I remember having nonchalantly watched 15 minutes of everyday news until the announcement made by a woman in a navy suit and skirt caught my attention: it was a completely new specimen, which was frozen for what they believed to be at least two a thousand years. The researchers responsible justified the sudden return to activity of the virus with the progression of global warming, responsible for the melting of the polar ice caps.

Soon, the focus shifted. The middle-aged man who shared the screen with the presenter questioned about recent rumors that began to spread about the death of scientists responsible for the case. There was still little information about this new disease and its forms of transmission, but six deaths had already been confirmed so far at the institute responsible for the research, in Maryland, in the United States.

From then on, my memory is lost, because I remember that my grandmother Amélia left the consultation room, opening a smile when she saw me. She was almost 70 years old, her hair was already white and her face was completely dominated by expression lines, but she was in good health and, without much effort, it was possible to see the beauty she had once had when she was younger.

I felt hot tears running down my face as I remembered her. It all seemed so far away now, trapped for more than four hours inside the last cubicle of my high school girls’ bathroom, accompanied only by the smell of rot and blood and the constant growling coming from outside. Every time I cried in the meantime, I had to do it in silence. Little did I know about whatever those…things on the other side of the door were, but I believed that if I could just keep quiet, I would be safe.

For now, at least.

It’s not much, but “for now” was all I could cling to. I had a relentless impression that from that day on, every second would count as a life. Because from what I realized in that short time I walked through hell, every second, in fact, can mean your life. 

I hugged my knees again, putting my face between them, thinking I would just take a little breath and get out of there. By then even I knew it was a lie. I really tried the first time, when I got to peek over the door while climbing the wall, but I immediately gave up and burst into tears, holding back that intermittent feeling of vomiting although there was nothing left to get out of my stomach. 

I was in the last stall of the women’s bathroom, curled up on the floor. It was there where the cleaning tools for those responsible for cleaning the school were kept: chemical products, brooms, cleaning cloths, buckets and toilet paper stocks. There was no toilet, but a wash basin. That last cabin was always locked, accessible only to cleaning staff, so I had to jump over the dividing wall to get to it. At the moment, it just seemed sensible to stay in a locked cabin, farther from the door and a few inches longer than the others.

When I ran to hide in this bathroom on the second floor of the library, I chose it precisely because it was always empty, but perhaps that had been my downfall. I arrived in complete panic and despair, wanting to get away from the chaos outside. I’d like to say that when I finally climbed out of the booths and sat on the floor with my back against the wall, I enjoyed the silence, but what a cruel illusion that would be: you could still hear frantic screams, frighteningly close grunts and confusion worthy of a madman’s mind.

I was able to enjoy the strange tranquility of being away from the battlefield for some time, which I didn’t know how to calculate, since I didn’t have my cell phone. I can say that I almost managed to calm myself completely, drafting a silly plan to try to retrieve my belongings and exit the school through the back, when a crash froze my heart and sent me back to despair.

The main bathroom door opened and pairs of footsteps entered, bringing with them frightened female voices.

The college library had two floors, the second being the computer room and places for lectures. It was little frequented, so I thought it would be good to hide out for a while. In fact, it seemed to be, since I wasn’t the only one who took an interest in this place.

The door closed and I started to hear the desperation spreading. I could see that there were three girls who were keeping me company, but I only heard two voices; the third could only emit moans and a muffled cry. I heard papers being pulled and faucets turned on, while one of the girls, in tears, made references about “that bite” and the fever of her friend that wouldn’t stop rising. Their voices were nervous and restless, but it didn’t take long for them to be discreet and tone down the conversation

At that moment, I considered revealing that I was there, but hesitated at the mention of the “bite”. I knew little about whatever was going on, but I was aware that it had to do with that virus that had begun to invade the news and discussion forums. No one could have guessed the size that it would take and, amidst false news and superstitions, we started to know a little about what had come to reap the future of humanity.

I didn’t want to think about it, after all it was ridiculous. It looked like some kind of twisted, stupid horror movie. The difference is that it was real. I had read a bit about it a few weeks before they tried to stop the discussions from spreading: the virus could make people completely violent and irrational. It made them attack anything, including other people.

Then there were the bites. And so it spread.

In fact, what they said was that any contact between bodily fluids was enough to spread the disease, but the bites eventually became known. “Bite” is a generous euphemism for brutal cannibalistic attacks.

For interminable minutes, I silently followed the two girls talking about what they should do: stay and wait or go out and get help for their friend. By now it was clear that any interference on my part would do no more than expose my hiding place. I wanted to be alone again and focus on my mental escape plan. I didn’t want to share that bathroom with anyone else—let alone someone who had been attacked by some creature and now carried the disease. Besides, every second that passed made my situation even more inconvenient, listening in secret and without showing any help to that macabre scene. So I just sat there, waiting for the glorious moment when they would leave that bathroom in search of help.

But that time never came and now I was fucked.

Soon the situation became worse as, as far as I could make out, the bitten girl lost consciousness and silenced her torturous moans forever. Desperate colleagues shook her and screamed her name for what felt like decades. Still in my complete daze, a bitter taste rose in my throat, signaling the retching. What horrors did not pass before those girls’ eyes. What a blasphemous world it was that forced them to hold the body of someone as young as themselves.