Everyone heard Anael's words. He was trying to sound motivating, but his body betrayed him—sweat trickled down his forehead, and his hands trembled slightly. The fear was there, pulsing through every cell of his body, yet he remained steadfast.
— He's right. Let's continue where we left off… What you're seeing up there from the top of the wall doesn't change anything about what we came here to do. — Samira's voice cut through the silence like a cold blade, carrying the same icy, relentless tone her brother often used.
Without hesitation, she picked up several Molotov cocktails, arranging them carefully inside a grocery bag. She slipped her arm through the bag's handle and began climbing the wall. Her movements were calculated, each pull and push deliberate, unhurried, yet driven by a grim determination.
When she reached the top, her eyes widened. From up there, she could see up close just how demonic and horrifying the infected's transformation inside the school truly was. Those creatures didn't even remotely resemble the infected they were used to seeing. They were… something new. Something far worse.
But Samira refused to give in to fear. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, took a deep breath, and, as if activating some internal mechanism, completely shut off every remaining trace of terror or hesitation. Her heart slowed, her muscles relaxed. An invisible shield separated her from the fear.
She then began moving calmly along the wall, balancing herself as she carried the bottles to the rooftop as planned. Every step was firm, without hesitation, as though this were not a suicidal act, but simply another ordinary day.
The others were stunned. She was still just a child, and yet she was acting with meticulous precision and ruthless resolve in such a terrifying situation.
Reidner, feeling like a coward in the face of her coldness, turned his gaze toward Arthur and asked in a low voice, almost as if he were trying to understand what he had just witnessed:
— Hey, Arthur… is this a family thing, or are she and Bruno just really different from everyone else? Because, honestly, watching her act like that, it's like I'm looking at Bruno on his bravest day.
Arthur, still watching Samira move without fear, replied with a heavy sigh:
— No… She's been different ever since Bruno did that to us.
There was a weight behind his words. Something had changed inside her that day, and now it was manifesting in a frightening way.
Arthur held out his hand, asking for some Molotov cocktails. Camille handed him the bottles without saying a word, and the others began doing the same. Little by little, they gathered the courage to follow through with the plan. One by one, they began carrying the bottles to the rooftop. And as they advanced, the infected inside the school followed them from below, agitated, tracking their every movement with hungry eyes and twisted bodies.
Reidner felt that he needed to record this. He pulled out his phone and started filming. The screen shook slightly from the adrenaline coursing through his body, but he kept the infected in focus. Some were gigantic, with grotesquely disproportionate muscles. Others looked like hybrid abominations, with extra arms or exposed bones. Each one more horrifying than the last.
He filmed Samira picking up one of the bottles and lighting the fuse with steady hands, without hesitation. On the other side, Camille, Pedro, and Guilherme began shouting, drawing the creatures' attention to a specific point in the courtyard.
The monsters grew agitated, charging forward like hungry beasts.
Then the first bottles were thrown.
The glass shattered, spreading fire and destruction. Flames danced across the infected bodies, devouring rotting flesh and tearing out bestial screams that echoed like an infernal choir. The smell of burning flesh and gasoline mingled in the air, forming a suffocating haze.
One by one, the others began throwing their Molotov cocktails. Each explosion set more creatures ablaze, spreading chaos among the infected. They tried to escape, thrashing about, some still attempting to advance, but soon they collapsed amid the flames.
Time passed in a blur of screams, smoke, and the crackling sound of burning flesh. Until, at last, everything fell silent.
Not a single creature remained standing.
Reidner stopped recording and, with fingers stained by soot and sweat, uploaded the video to the internet. Someone needed to see this. Someone needed to know that the threat wasn't merely growing, but evolving.
Now more confident, the group went down to inspect the burned bodies. The sky was already beginning to darken, and night would soon fall upon them.
They needed to get organized. If they wanted to survive there, they would have to make that hell their own territory.
***
At Amaro Ribeiro, the group began calling themselves Fortaleza Antero.
The place was no longer just an improvised shelter; it was the only thing separating those young people from the chaos outside. But even the school's tall walls couldn't prevent a new problem from emerging: the putrid smell of the bodies scattered throughout the courtyard and hallways. The stench was unbearable, filling the air with a foul heaviness that made even the most resilient among them feel nauseous.
Letícia, her face tense and her expression hardened by their new reality, gathered everyone in the center of the courtyard. Her tone left no room for protest:
— Get the wheelbarrows from the garden. We need to get these bodies out of here now.
Some swallowed hard, while others looked away to avoid facing the piles of corpses belonging to infected and former survivors who hadn't been as lucky as they were. But there was no choice. Either they got rid of them, or they would be suffocated by the very hell they were trying to escape.
Little by little, the group began to move. The strongest and most resilient among them picked up the bodies, dragging them with effort toward the wheelbarrows. The rotting flesh gave way under their touch, bones cracked, and the smell clung to their clothes, hands, and nostrils. Some vomited in a corner before returning to continue. No one had time to falter.
While most of them were occupied with the gruesome cleanup, Letícia was responsible for Amanda.
The girl was sitting in a corner of the room where she slept, her back against the peeling wall. Her knees were drawn against her chest, her thin arms wrapped around her legs as though they were her only protection from the world outside. Her eyes, fixed on some random spot on the floor, were empty, lifeless, as if her soul had been ripped away, leaving nothing but a fragile shell behind.
Since that day… Amanda hadn't spoken a single word.
Letícia knelt beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
— Amanda… — she called, her voice gentler than anyone there had ever heard her use.
No response. Not even a glance or a tremor.
Letícia sighed, pulling out a piece of dry bread she had kept in her pocket. Patiently, she broke off a piece and brought it to the girl's lips. Nothing. She tried gently touching the bread to her mouth. Amanda turned her face away, but still showed no reaction beyond the instinctive refusal.
It was like caring for a helpless baby. She didn't eat, cry, or react. The trauma had destroyed something inside her, and now Letícia needed to pick up the pieces—if there was anything left to save.
Meanwhile, not far from there, another group was struggling to survive.
At the Central Club, a place that had once been meant for leisure, a group of survivors now sought shelter. The pool was empty and filled with trash, the bar had been looted, and the former party halls had been turned into makeshift dormitories, with dirty mattresses scattered across the floor.
Marlon, one of the newcomers, had been saved by one of the group's members: Isaac, the leader of the place.
Isaac wasn't like Letícia or Geovane. He didn't inspire any sense of security, nor did he seem to have a plan for the future. His eyes were always alert, suspicious, and his hands never strayed too far from the knife strapped to his belt.
Marlon, still catching his breath, sat down on a step while Isaac watched him.
— So you came from the school, huh? — Isaac asked, narrowing his eyes.
Marlon nodded, running a hand through his hair, dirty with dust and sweat.
— Yeah… — he said, testing the weight of the words. He liked the sound of it. — It's safe there. The walls are high, and we've already managed to get the situation under control inside.
Isaac laughed, a short, dry laugh.
— "Get the situation under control"? — he repeated, as though he found the idea amusing. — Kid, there is no such thing as "control" in this world anymore.
Marlon didn't argue. He knew Isaac was right, but he also knew that staying at the club wasn't a viable option in the long run.
He needed to convince Isaac that the school was the best place to be right now.
And if he couldn't…
Maybe he'd have to go back alone.
Marlon stared at Isaac impatiently, trying to contain his frustration. The heavy atmosphere at the Central Club only made the feeling of imminent danger worse. The graffiti-covered walls and the smell of mildew mixed with sweat and desperation were nothing compared to the real problem: if a horde of infected showed up, they would have nowhere to run.
He ran a hand over his dirty face, taking a deep breath before speaking.
— Dude, if we stay here… man, we're screwed if a horde shows up! — His voice came out firm, filled with urgency. He gestured around, as if the place's very decay proved his point. — We ain't got nowhere to run, man.
Isaac crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. He didn't like the idea of leaving, but he couldn't ignore the fear in Marlon's eyes either.
— And what if we leave and run straight into a horde, huh? — he shot back, raising an eyebrow. — What do we do then?
Marlon didn't hesitate. If they wanted to survive, they had to act now.
— We have a better chance of making it there than staying here!
Isaac still looked reluctant, his fingers tapping against the knife on his belt.
— Man… if there are infected on the way, the girls ain't gonna be able to keep up, bro. — His voice was quieter now, filled with genuine concern. He knew some of the girls in the group were more fragile, and a hasty escape could cost lives.
Marlon clenched his jaw, looking around for a solution. His eyes settled on the cars abandoned on the grass, beyond the small bridge beside one of the courts.
— If you know how to drive, we can take two cars and get out of here! — he suggested, pointing at the vehicles covered in dust.
Isaac took a deep breath, his thin shoulders slowly rising and falling.
— The worst part is… I don't know how to drive.
Before Marlon could respond, a female voice interrupted the conversation.
— Katriel knows how to drive.
The two turned around at the same time, finding Manu leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She looked somewhat bored, as if she didn't think the discussion was a big deal.
Isaac narrowed his eyes at her.
— You were listening to the conversation?
Manu gave a sarcastic half-smile and shrugged.
— With you guys shouting like that, there's no way I couldn't hear.
Marlon didn't waste any more time. If they had a way out, they needed to act fast.
He spun on his heels and walked away with long strides, already shouting to the others:
— Come on, get ready! We're leaving this place now!
The group made their way through the ruined streets toward Fortaleza Antero. The journey was grim—a landscape of desolation and death stretched out in every direction. Rotten corpses lay scattered across the asphalt, mixed with dark pools of dried blood. The infected were scattered throughout the streets, some standing still as if they had been switched off, others wandering aimlessly, their shadows stretching beneath the flickering light of dusk.
At Fortaleza Antero
Geovane tossed the last body out of the school, feeling the putrid smell clinging to his clothes and skin. When he looked up to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his forearm, his eyes caught movement at the top of the hill. Two cars were making their way down the uneven road, bouncing over the potholes.
His instincts screamed danger.
With a quick motion, he drew the knife from his waist and called out to the others.
Vinícius and Lucas ran over to him, their eyes alert, already prepared for whatever might be necessary.
— Close this damn thing now! — Geovane said, pushing the heavy iron gate shut.
The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed through the courtyard. Outside, Marlon spotted Geovane running and, without thinking, started honking the horn.
Isaac, sitting in the passenger seat, widened his eyes and, without hesitation, slapped Marlon hard across his shiny bald head.
— Stop that shit, for fuck's sake! You fucking monkey! You wanna attract the infected, you fucking faggot?!
Marlon huffed but took his hand off the horn.
The cars stopped in front of the school gate, and Marlon got out, pounding hard on the metal structure.
— Hey, Geovane! It's me, for fuck's sake! Open this damn thing!
On the other side, Geovane recognized the voice and finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Even so, he remained on guard as he unlocked the gate. When Marlon and the others entered, everyone welcomed them with relieved hugs, as if they had just returned from a war.
Marlon, Isaac, and Geovane hurried toward one of the rooms where Letícia was taking care of Amanda.
As they stepped through the doorway, the three froze.
Amanda was curled up in a corner, her eyes wide and empty. Her body trembled as though she were trapped in a nightmare she couldn't wake from. When she saw the boys, panic exploded inside her.
A piercing scream tore through the air.
Amanda threw herself backward, her back slamming against the wall. Her breathing turned into uncontrolled gasps, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed desperately. She tried to push them away as if they were monsters, her weak arms flailing helplessly through the air.
Letícia jumped in front of them, furious.
— Get out of here, now!
She practically shoved them outside, slamming the door shut.
The three stood in silence in the hallway, still trying to process what they had just witnessed. Marlon's heart was still pounding in his chest, and Isaac swallowed hard before turning to Geovane.
— What the fuck was that? What happened to her?
Geovane stared at the floor for a moment, as though carefully choosing his words. But there was no easy way to say it.
— When everything started… — He took a deep breath, his jaw clenched. — She was attacked by an infected. But… the bastard didn't just beat her up. He raped her, too.
Silence fell heavily over them like lead.
Geovane continued, his voice quieter, as though the words were burning his throat.
— She passed out in the middle of it all… and ever since she woke up, she's been like this. She doesn't talk, barely eats. And whenever she sees a man… — He gestured toward the door. — She completely freaks out, screams her fucking head off.
The three remained there, motionless, feeling the cruel reality crush them a little more.