Black blood drips off the sharp end of the broom handle and streams snake toward my fingers as I stab over and over. There are more bodies lying on the ground now than there are standing, but it isn’t over. I look at Hank and he seems to be fine. He shouts for some of the others to get to the unlocked door and secure it. Then I hear Ethan yell for help. When I look to my right, there are at least five greyskins almost on top of him and he is pushed into a corner. I look back at Hank and see that there is nothing around him, so I run to help Ethan.

I stab two of them through the back of the head before the others turn on me. Ethan wrestles with one, but is able to shake it off and stab it through the skull. All five are dead in just a few seconds.

“Thanks,” Ethan says breathless. “You just saved my life.”

I can’t help but blush, but I don’t think he notices. But the blood leaves my face when I hear a scream behind me. I turn sharply and see a greyskin on top of Hank, teeth sunken into his wrist. Ethan and I run toward him, but it is too late. Others have already taken out the greyskin by the time I reach Hank. He sits up, blood flowing from his mangled wrist, dripping off the tips of his fingers. His eyes search through the group, seeking me out.

He has only one question: “How did you know?”

There isn’t much time before the virus sets in and it’s too late. All of us decide to keep Hank in the gymnasium since his screams would likely carry through to the halls when they cut off his arm. One of the men returns with a clean hatchet and Hank’s eyes go wide. Others come in at the top of the gym, no doubt hearing about Hank’s injury. Gilbert is one of the spectators.

A shirt is tied securely around Hank’s arm at his elbow. The man with the hatchet apologizes to his friend, but Hank just shakes his head. “It’s the only way to save my life.”

“It might not work,” the man says.

“Well, try it!” Hank says, lying flat on his back and extending his bitten arm.

The man swallows hard and kneels next to Hank. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Would you rather I die then?” Hank says. His face goes from a grimace to a smile as he looks at his friend. “You’re doing me a favor. It’s my left hand anyway. I don’t need it.”

The man attempts to laugh at Hank’s joke, but his face turns very serious as he looks away from Hank’s face and at his arm.