Jon stood frozen.
The screams that had erupted only moments ago no longer sounded human.
They rose and fell like waves crashing against the walls of the stadium, blending with the cries of children, the desperate shouts of parents, and the guttural growls of the infected. Every direction carried another plea for help, another terrified voice swallowed by the chaos.
It was happening too quickly.
Only minutes ago, this place had been celebrating victory.
Now...
People were killing one another.
No. That was not entirely true.
Jon's eyes locked onto another scene unfolding near the eastern stands.
A middle-aged man stumbled backward, clutching at his bleeding shoulder. The wound was shallow, barely more than four claw marks across his shirt.
"I am fine..."
He laughed nervously as though trying to convince himself.
"It is only a scratch."
His wife rushed to support him.
"But you are bleeding!"
"I said I am fi—" His voice stopped.
His entire body stiffened, and his eyes widened.
Then, without warning, he collapsed onto the concrete.
"No!"
His wife immediately knelt beside him.
"Honey!"
"Someone help!"
A pair of university volunteers rushed over.
One checked the man's pulse.
"He is alive."
"I think he just fainted."
Another reached for his shoulder.
"Help me turn him ov—"
The man's body convulsed violently.
His back arched until it looked as though his spine would snap.
His fingers curled into claws as dark veins spread beneath his skin.
"No..."
One volunteer immediately released him.
"No... no... get back!"
The wife refused. She held her husband's hand tighter.
"Please! Wake up!"
Responding to her plea, his eyes opened. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he bit into her neck.
Blood erupted across the concrete.
The volunteers screamed and stumbled backward.
The woman collapsed beside him, desperately trying to stop the blood pouring through her fingers.
The man did not attack again. Instead, he slowly rose to his feet.
His movements were stiff and unnatural.
His head turned almost mechanically, searching. Looking for the next living person.
Jon felt his stomach twist.
"What..."
His voice barely escaped his lips.
"What are they?"
He had watched the transformation happen with his own eyes.
They were not simply mad. They were becoming...
Something else. Something no longer human.
Another scream erupted from behind.
Jon instinctively turned.
Three security officers had cornered one of the infected near the athletes' tunnel.
"Hold him!"
"Keep him down!"
One officer swung his baton.
Crack!
The infected staggered sideways.
Another officer tackled him around the waist.
For a brief second, it looked like they had succeeded. The infected thrashed violently, but three grown men kept him pinned.
One officer quickly reached for the radio clipped to his shoulder.
"Control! We need medical assistance immediately!"
"No..."
He paused, and his expression changed.
"...Send everyone."
He ended the call after exchanging a glance with the other officers. He didn't realize that the other side hadn't responded, let alone connected with him.
The infected suddenly twisted with impossible force, and its arm shot upward.
Its unreasonably sharp fingernails tore across the officer's forearm.
He cried out, "It scratched me!"
The other officers hesitated, their eyes darting between the pinned creature and the scratched officer, thinking of their next action.
It was only for a heartbeat. Yet, that heartbeat cost them everything.
The infected threw one officer off completely and lunged forward instantly until its jaws clamped around another's shoulder.
The third officer tried to pull his colleague free. However, yanking it left a chunk of flesh on his colleague's shoulder.
Another scream.
Within seconds...
The three officers who had nearly subdued a single infected person were all lying on the ground.
The surrounding crowd fled in every direction.
Jon watched in horror as one of the officers slowly sat upright. His baton slipped from numb fingers. His cloudy eyes stared into nothing.
Then...
He stood. Now there were four.
Coach Harris grabbed Jon's shoulder so suddenly that he flinched.
"Jon!"
His voice was louder than Jon had ever heard it.
"We have to move!"
Jon finally looked away from the unfolding nightmare.
Coach Harris's face had gone pale. Around them, the stadium had completely lost order.
Parents screamed for children who had vanished into the crowd. Athletes shoved past one another without apology. People climbed over seats instead of using the stairs.
Several fell.
Others never got back up.
The exits had become bottlenecks of terrified bodies; every person believed escape lay just beyond the gates.
Every person pushed harder, and the crowd no longer moved.
It surged like floodwater.
"Stay behind me."
Coach Harris pushed forward.
Jon followed immediately.
The two forced themselves into the moving sea of people. Every step became a struggle. Someone slammed into Jon's shoulder, and another crashed into his back.
A frightened child cried somewhere beneath the crowd.
Jon looked down.
A little girl, no older than six, had fallen between the rows of seats.
She reached desperately toward a man fighting through the crowd.
"Daddy!"
The man turned.
"I'm here!"
He shoved two people aside and lunged toward her.
Before he could reach her...
Someone crashed into him from behind.
He fell forward.
The crowd swallowed both father and daughter.
"No!" The man's scream echoed beneath dozens of feet.
Jon instinctively moved.
"We have to help them!"
Coach Harris immediately caught his arm, refusing vehemently, "No."
"But—"
"No!"
Coach Harris's voice cracked.
"You go in there..." Then pointed into the crowd, "You do not come back out."
Jon looked toward the crowd. The little girl's voice had disappeared, the father's hand, once reaching upward, slowly vanished beneath the stampede.
Seconds later...
The crowd rolled onward.
Jon stood rooted to the spot.
Coach Harris pulled him again.
"Move!"
This time, they abandoned the main staircase.
Coach Harris pointed toward one of the maintenance corridors beneath the stands.
"This way!"
The narrow tunnel was less crowded.
The fluorescent lights overhead flickered as hundreds poured out through it.
Their footsteps echoed against the concrete walls as people continued shouting contradictory warnings.
"They are biting people!"
"No, they are insane!"
"It is some kind of disease!"
"Shut up! Just keep running!"
Nobody knew the truth.
Jon looked back one last time.
The tunnel entrance framed the stadium behind them.
He caught a glimpse of the running track. The same track where he had stood on the podium less than an hour ago.
Now...
Blood streaked across the lanes. Silver books lay scattered among abandoned medals.
Only screams remained.
The image burned itself into his memory.
He would never forget it.
The tunnel emptied onto the eastern campus road.
Fresh air hit Jon's face.
For the first time since the silver light descended...
He could breathe. However, the relief lasted less than three seconds. Students outside the stadium had no idea what had happened.
They stared as hundreds burst from the exits.
"What happened?"
"Why are you running?"
"Did something explode?"
No one answered. There was no time.
The fleeing crowd slammed into them, and confusion instantly became panic.
Jon found himself carried sideways.
Coach Harris reached for him.
"Jon!"
"I am here!"
Jon grabbed the older man's wrist.
For one brief moment...
They held on.
Then another terrified wave crashed into them.
Someone fell between them.
Coach Harris stumbled.
Jon tightened his grip.
"Coach!"
"Do not let go!"
Another surge passed through, and their hands slipped.
Jon caught only two fingers.
Then one.
Then...nothing.
Coach Harris disappeared into the moving mass of bodies.
"Coach!" Jon shouted amid the several voices as he pushed forward.
A shoulder struck his chest, someone elbowed him across the jaw, and another body slammed into his side.
He fought against the current; however, it was impossible. The crowd carried him sideways instead of forward.
"Coach!"
His voice vanished beneath hundreds of others.
By the time he finally broke free of the moving crowd, the road before him had emptied.
Coach Harris was gone.
Jon bent forward, hands resting on his knees as he struggled to steady his breathing.
The screams from the stadium continued in the distance. He ended up farther than he should have been.
Now he was alone.