Dead Bitten

Chapter 8

“Melissa, what happened to your leg?” I asked, finally realizing that Professor Rogerio was tying a blood-stained gauze around his thigh.

Melissa looked at me, intrigued by the sudden approach.

“She wasn’t attacked.” Carlos who answered, behind me. “She cut her leg on a wire as we tried to get out of the yard. It was bleeding a lot, but it’s nothing serious. “

“Sorry to be so rude, it’s just…” I began, looking into the girl’s moist honey-colored eyes.

“It’s alright. She looked at her leg, shrugging. “I think it’s a valid concern.” Talking seemed to calm her down a bit.

“So, did you make it?” asked Ana, looking in Guilherme’s direction and putting an end to our business.

William, again, just shook the keys in his hand, the jingle reaching everyone’s ears.

“Sorry, that room is only the keys to the third year rooms. I couldn’t look any further because things were going up.” He apologized, looking at no one in particular.

Someone muttered “no problem”, Ana huffed, but there was no complaint. Guilherme kept one key and handed the other one to Carlos, who opened the locks on the doors.

I realized, at that moment, that they all had their cell phones, while only I was without, because I left it in the living room when I went to the bathroom. I figured there were missed calls from my grandmother, even though she rarely used her cell phone.

As soon as the boys opened the doors, the third years present headed to the appropriate rooms, looking for their belongings. I hurried to my purple backpack, reaching for my cell phone in my outer pocket.

The digital clock numbers flashed “15:58” in my face. For the first time, I had some sense of time. Countless notifications littered my home screen, from W******p messages to, impressively, SMS from acquaintances. 27 missed calls were being notified and I went straight to them as soon as I unlocked the phone. 6 of them were my grandmother’s number, 13 my father’s and the other 8 were divided between the numbers of my colleagues and distant relatives. Unsurprisingly, there was no call from my brother. I started to feel my heart racing as a nagging anxiety spread through me, not knowing exactly what I was supposed to do.

I figured trying to get in touch with Grandma was the most important thing right now. I only lived with her and my brother, although I saw him a few times a week. My mother passed away when I was four years old, her appearance being only recognizable to me through old portraits and a few scant memories.

Me and my older brother, Vinícius, were raised by my grandmother and my father, a kind and present man. Fate led him to take a better job in a neighboring state two years ago, to more easily support the house with my grandmother and brother. He sent money for us to maintain the house and our education, which was added to my grandmother’s pension, and he visited us on practically every holiday.

I had a great relationship with my father, but since Vinicius had entered college and started dating, his contact – which was already scarce – with his family had slowly diminished. We’d never gotten along particularly well, but practically abandoning me and my grandmother, only returning home when I needed something or to leave my clothes dirty, was something that had disgusted me deeply. That year, I don’t think I exchanged more than ten words with him.

After not making contact for more than 7 hours, I quickly clicked on my grandmother’s name and put the phone to my ear, little concerned with what the rest of my colleagues were doing. I heard that continuous “you” 6 times and, almost giving up, after the 7th, I heard my grandmother’s voice.

“Becca?” she was loud, always finding it necessary to shout when on the phone. That nickname I didn’t like seemed very cozy now. His voice was filled with a desperation that broke my heart. “Beca, are you okay?”

“YOU, VO!” I yelled, oblivious to the faces that turned towards me. My colleagues frantically packed their stuff into their bags in a hurry, but I didn’t care. “I got stuck in the high school bathroom without a cell phone, are you okay?” I didn’t care how bizarre that phrase sounded.

“Grandma is fine, Beca” I could hear her heavy breathing and a thousand situations invaded my mind: was my grandmother running in the streets, running away from those things? Had any of them entered our house and attacked her?

Was she panting, because she felt pain from a possible bite?

I shook my head slightly, trying to push those thoughts away.

“We’re going to Marta’s house,” my grandmother continued. I knew that with “we” she meant her neighborhood friends. We lived in a quiet neighborhood away from the center, so quite a few elderly people had homes there. “Tile stopped by my house to pick me up, we think it’s safer to stay there because it’s farther away. I’m taking Mei, she’s fine too!” she said, bringing me a nice wave of relief. “Beca, are you still in high school?”

“Yes, grandma! I just got my stuff and I’m going home now!” I said, as I got up and started putting the material inside my backpack anyway.

“No, Rebecca!” she screamed and I froze instantly, making sure everyone in the room could hear it too. “I saw on TV that downtown is crazy! All the streets are full of traffic and I think the buses have stopped working!” my grandmother was screaming like a curse. “The streets are full of things…” she added, a little lower. “Find a safe place, call the police and wait for help!”

I thought for a few seconds, zipping my backpack and putting it on my back. Was that Carlos going through other people’s backpacks?

“Alright then, Grandma. You’ll be at Marta’s house, right?” I heard her confirmation. “So I’ll stay here and wait for help, don’t worry. I’ll keep in touch, keep my cell phone, okay? Take care of Mei!” I asked and we said goodbye with love and despair.

When I put my cell phone in my backpack, I looked around and saw that Carlos was looking at me curiously.

“Are you going to stay here at the school?” he asked.

“No, I’m going home.” With the backpack on my back, I headed for the door.