Lucy felt a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t look to see who had approached her. She stayed staring straight ahead, her eyes on Salem and the others, her stomach twisting.

“Lucy—” she heard Grant say in a voice hovering above a whisper.

“I know,” she replied without looking at him. But her heart ached for everyone who left the pandemonium of the outside world and turned to the high school for shelter and help. The people arrived there hopeful and scared, seeking solace and aid. Some of the people outside, relegated to the perimeter of the crowd, sat huddled with suitcases and other mementos. What had they expected to find? No place was protected from death.

But this was her friend. Her best friend. This was the girl who convinced her to sit on the uppermost part of the jungle gym in the third grade, a book of mythology in their hands, and pretend it was a book of witch’s curses. They sat for an entire recess casting down spells on unsuspecting second-graders. This was the girl who first introduced her to nail polish and told her, in a whisper-voice one night during a slumber party, to be proud of her laugh. Salem was in every major memory from her childhood and into those petrifying and awkward junior high years and into their high school. College was next—shared dorm rooms, double dates: These were the things they dreamed about. And as she watched Salem’s body ebb and flow outside like a wave, Lucy just assumed that it would be her and Salem forever.

She rushed forward to the doors, not even sure of what she would do once she got there. But she stumbled when she felt a rough hand latching on to her upper arm, forcing her backward. Lucy tripped and ended up on the cold tile of the cafeteria—the floor was littered with dried ranch dressing, crushed corn chips, and strings of wilted lettuce.

Before Lucy could get up, she felt Grant kneeling down next to her. “I’m on your side, Lucy,” he said into her ear. “But this is not the way.”

She paused. Lucy hadn’t even known Grant knew her name. She looked up at him, pleading. “What if there is no other way?” she asked.

“This can’t be the way,” he repeated and he gestured toward the mob.

Lucy crawled back to the window. She was still clutching her phone in her hand and she sent Salem a text.

“Pool door?”

But her phone kicked back an error message.

“Send. Send.” She willed it to go through, but it was no use. The phone gave her error message after error message every single time.

Lucy decided to press her phone against the glass, only for a second, while Salem, and others scrambled to read the message.

Then Salem froze. Her face fell, her shoulders slumped, and she allowed those around her to toss her around.

Blocked. She mouthed. Or locked. Then distinctly—No.

Salem stared directly at Lucy. She motioned around the chaos and someone bumped her. An arm hit the glass, then Salem’s head, and she rocked backward, reeling away. Salem’s body was pitched downward and someone pulled her arm behind her back and flung her to the ground.

Salem cried out. Then she shut her eyes tight; she tried to wiggle upward, and when she opened her eyes, she stared right at Lucy.

She shook her head. Just once. Fear flooding her face, defeat and worry settling around the dark pockets of skin under her eyes.

It was just a small look, but Lucy’s insides twisted with guilt.

“I will get you inside,” she called, squatting to put herself close to Salem’s face. She pointed at her friend and then put a hand on her heart. “I will.” Lucy tried to communicate dedication and strength with her body and facial expressions alone; she tried to send Salem comfort instead of fear. She could not open the door, but she would not leave her friend outside to die. “I will!” Lucy screamed and she pounded the glass.

And that was when Lucy felt heavy hands upon her, closing in around her collarbone and dragging her away from the window. Not the gentle redirection of Grant, but strong adult hands that dug into the flesh on her shoulders. The security guards poured around the windows, armed with duct tape and the discarded black paper. Working swiftly—place, tape, repeat, place, tape, repeat—the men covered the windows again and the cafeteria succumbed back into the shadows, the muffled shouts from the people outside emanating from beyond the blackness.

Salem was lost behind the partition.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy sobbed into her hands, even though Salem couldn’t hear her. She kicked her legs and tried to pull away from the hands that held her. “Sal…I’m so sorry.” Fingers dug deeply into her bone and the pain radiated down her chest.

The mother and her son. The faces of that mother and her son burned into Lucy’s brain. Salem. Everyone. It was unfair.

“Those people…all those people…” Lucy mumbled. She turned to see that it was Friendly Kent who held her back. He loosened his grip, but kept his hands on her, wary and watchful. Seeing the anger flash across Friendly Kent’s face, Lucy felt doubly betrayed.

Grant watched Lucy from a few steps behind. And it was only now that Mrs. Johnston made an appearance, the staccato clip-clap-clip-clap of her heels full of reprimand.

A larger security guard, who had helped place the paper over the windows, pivoted and turned toward Lucy. He raised an angry finger, poised to launch. But Grant raised his voice instead, preventing the verbal onslaught. “That’s a Pacific Lake student out there. And I bet she’s not the only one,” he took a step forward. “Principal Spencer said his main concern was keeping students safe. So, then why aren’t we keeping all students safe?”

“Enough,” Friendly Kent said. “Back to your rooms.”

“Those people didn’t look infected,” Lucy added. “They’re just scared.”

“They’re armed. Are you out of your minds?” Friendly Kent replied. Then he settled back and crossed his arms across his chest. “I’ve waited my entire career to say this. You teenagers are idiots. Complete and total scum of the earth. Everything we’re doing is to protect you, but you think you’ve got a better plan? Of course you do. Look, I’d be happy to unload the lot of you right back out into the fray.”

“We aren’t protected in here either,” Grant responded. “Look! Look around.” Two more students emerged from their original group of ten, but no one else. Four had succumbed to the virus in the last ten minutes.

“We’re not keeping anything out! The sickness is already here. Don’t you see that?” Grant continued.

Friendly Kent raised his eyes to Mrs. Johnston and pursed his lips. “Get them back. Now.” His command was swift. He yanked Lucy to her feet and shoved her forward, Grant followed behind.

Even their teacher bristled from his tone, but she nodded and obeyed. Mrs. Johnston grabbed Lucy by the arm and turned her toward the group, then she motioned for Grant, Clayton, Purse Girl, and the others to line up, follow along. They exited the cafeteria, back to following the letter of the law without question, and everything about the situation made Lucy sick.

“Don’t you see?” Mrs. Johnston asked when they were out of earshot. “Isn’t it clear by now?” She waited, for an answer, but no one answered. “There is no great master plan. It’s chaos. Inside and outside.”

Slower this time, they walked the long corridor. Purse Girl’s eyes were wide open as she shuffled along, but Clayton still kept a firm hand on her elbow, propelling her forward.

“Those people will find a way inside,” Grant muttered. “Two administrators and a small team of failed mall cops?”

Mrs. Johnston nodded. She took several steps forward and stopped, her voice shaking, “Everyone’s lied to you. Your whole lives. See what happens when the world falls apart…see what happens when everything you know crumbles?” Her eyes were wild. “You realize. You will see. It’s the assholes who inherit the earth.”