The cafeteria doors slammed shut, my heart pounding in time with the frantic breaths of my friends. Shadows stretched across the tiled floor, and the muted sound of an impending chaos loomed outside.
“Scott, wait—not here— not here,” I managed to say as I caught sight of the big windows lining one side of the room. I knew all too well how exposed we were. The last thing we needed was to become targets in this twisted game of survival.
But Scott was already spinning on his heels, determined to barricade our fragile sanctuary. “The vending machine! Help me push it in front of the doors,” he shouted, his voice layered with a desperate urgency that infected us all.
“What was that? Scott, what was that?” Allison’s voice trembled, confusion creasing her brow.
“What happened to the ceiling?” Lydia echoed, her eyes wide, darting around as if expecting the answers to materialize from thin air.
But Scott didn’t respond, focusing all his energy on the heavy steel structure. I jumped into action, joining Jackson and Allison at the rear of the vending machine, shoving with all our might. The clattering noise reverberated as we managed to slide it snug against the solid doors.
“Chairs. Stack the chairs—” Scott continued barking orders.
“Guys, hold on. Hello,” Stiles interjected, standing beside me, his face a mixture of concern and disbelief.
As frantic as I was, I turned to Stiles, feeling the heat of anxiety grip my chest. “They aren’t going to stop, Stiles. They’ll keep pushing until someone gets hurt.”
“We’re the only ones who actually think here,” he responded, glancing back at the others, who were now hauling chairs across the room in a feverish race against time.
Even Lydia, usually reserved, was pushing forward, her hands gripping the bottoms of chairs as she stacked them precariously.
“Guys, wait a second!” Stiles’s voice grew louder as we watched the chaotic arrangement taking shape. “Okay, nice work. Beautiful job, everyone. Now what do you think we should do about the twenty-foot wall of windows?” He gestured dramatically to the expansive glass paneling.
A hush descended upon the group as he made a valid point. The windows, transparent and beckoning, now seemed like the biggest danger of all.
“Can someone please explain what’s going on? I’m freaking out here, and I’d at least like to know why,” Allison pressed, her gaze darting between Scott and Stiles.
Scott shook his head, not meeting her eyes. He seemed lost in thought, trapped in a void of dread.
“Someone killed the janitor,” I blurted out.
“What?” Lydia’s head snapped toward me, uncertainty etched across her face.
“The janitor’s dead,” Stiles confirmed again, his voice strangely hollow amid the rising panic.
“Who killed him?” Jackson’s question came like an arrow.
“No, no, no. This was supposed to be over. The mountain lion—” Lydia complained, her breath coming fast, words spilling over in disbelief.
“Don’t you get it? That wasn’t a mountain lion—” Jackson exploded at her, frustration boiling over.
“Hey, be quiet!” I snapped, placing a hand on Lydia’s back to steady her. But she seemed drawn back to Jackson like iron to magnet.
“Who is it? What does he want?” Allison’s voice trembled, panic rising in octaves.
I glanced at Scott desperately, hoping he could conjure up a solution. But my brother appeared to retreat further into himself, shaking his head like a leaf in a storm.
