You reach into your mail slot to see if there’s any word. A hand grabs yours, sinking its nails into your flesh. “Hi, Daniel,” you say. He lets go.
Sitting in the library, an announcement comes over the speakers. “Do not leave anything or anyone unattended in the library.” You realize no one is there with you. How long have you been there?
Your alarm goes off for your first class. Getting ready to climb down from your lofted bed, you see the creature on your floor again. You decide to skip class.
You have to cross a bridge over the river to get to a class. The bridge collapsed years ago, and there’s no word when it will be fixed. You hear the screams of students as they fail to jump across.
There are only three classes offered at your university: defense, prevention, and vaccination. You’re failing all three.
In your last class of the day, the lecture hall is full. Not of people, though. No, they’re waiting in the hallway as terrified as you are of what’s sitting inside.
There have been no professors in several years. Somehow, everyone is able to learn. Somehow everyone’s minds are connected. You don’t question it. Neither do they.
Some people run on campus at night. They run during the day, too. They never stop running. Are they being chased? They look so tired.