Hatchetfield.

invoke the names

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

She scrabbled up the ledge, trying to get away from the grasping, clawing hands, seemingly soaked in blue. She could swear their eyes were glowing that very same blue, nothing left in them, and Wilde wanted to sob.

"Come doooown, Wilde," one of them called, a kid in her History class that she vaguely recognized - he had lent her his notes, once, right? She hated that she couldn't remember his name.

She screamed, horribly on-pitch, and yanked her leg out of the tight grasp of Avery—and bolted off the ledge and straight for the music room. She just heard humming coming after her, terrifyingly upbeat. She could bolt for the doors, and maybe even if she stayed quiet enough, they'd forget about her. They already had once, right?

...She wasn't stupid. Wilde knew that wouldn't work. But what else could she do? She'd seen the exits. They were already blocked by people doing a perfect chorus step. God, she should have listened to Hannah when she stood up and yelled for everyone to get out of the school. Wilde had never been close to Hannah, she was a little too young for that, but they were class friends. She should have known to listen to her. Hannah was a good kid, she probably would have had a reason.

Shop class had already been boring enough before Hannah had yelled, Dancing death! Bright blue, starlight theatre, listen, listen ! When Hannah had seen no one was listening, she'd bolted. Wilde wasn't going to lie, she'd felt scared, too. Something had whispered to her, this isn't right .

But she hadn't left. She'd ignored that chance, and instead got to see Grace Chasity of all people, along with Steph Lauter, smile and rip out Miss Mulberry's throat with nothing but her pastel-pink nails in AP Psychology. Thank god Wilde was forgettable, that she didn't talk to others much, because she was sure if she was popular, that they would go for her first. She'd managed to flee in the confusion - but she still hadn't made it out of that school.

Her legs started to burn in agony - she had never been a runner, and this was not helping. Also, she had a pretty hefty set of scratches from Avery's grasp - she hissed, as the air started to burn at the open wounds. But, as she saw the music room's doors, she threw herself into them with that final stretch of energy, feeling her lungs want to kill her, and slammed the door behind her.

Okay, okay, she was safe for now. She took a moment to breathe, trying to choke down that needed air, fighting down the rising panic, loud and unstoppable. She ran her hands through her hair back and forth, but the motion did nothing to calm her. Of course she couldn't stop it, couldn't save herself, who did she think she was?

It wasn't working. Of fucking course it wasn't working, she was in the apocalypse and she was going to die! And then she was gonna be brought back as one of those things! Wilde was a theatre kid, but she wasn't that much of a theatre kid!

Then she heard the humming getting closer, becoming unmistakably menacing, and Wilde's head whipped around instantly. A choking sense of dread seemed to fill every inch of her, paralyzing and inescapable. Inevitable. She wanted to yell at the infected, to claw and tear and bite her way out of her, but all she could do was stay silent. Frozen stiff.

...no. No, Wilde was terrified out of her mind right now, but she wasn't gonna give up until she couldn't breathe anymore. She grabbed her backpack, frantically rooting through it — a pen, a book she kept on meaning to read, some old notebooks with studying tips, a charger—why the hell had she stopped carrying a knife? She could have at least stabbed some of them before she died! All while the steady song of the infected got closer. Calling to her. Crooning, low and melodious and deadly.

"Come on, come on," Wilde said, feeling her voice cracking and breaking, desperation rising. "Please, please!"

"Join us—and die!" Called one infected, hitting a frankly, impressive, high note. She would have been jealous, if not for all the murder. "All ya gotta do is—"