Jon remained where he was.
His chest rose and fell heavily as he struggled to steady his breathing. Every breath carried the metallic scent of blood drifting from the stadium behind him. At the same time, he could taste the metallic scent in his mouth.
Even from this distance, the screams continued to rise above the university buildings before fading into the afternoon sky.
He did not look back again.
Not because he did not want to.
Because he was afraid of what he would see if he did.
His fingers unconsciously tightened around the silver Record tucked beneath his arm. The cover felt strangely warm against his skin, almost as if it were responding to his racing heartbeat.
"...Coach."
The word escaped as little more than a whisper.
Coach Harris had disappeared.
Whether he had escaped...
Whether he was still fighting...
Whether he had become one of those things...
Jon did not know. He closed his eyes.
His mind threatened to follow the same panic consuming everyone else.
Run.
Find the gate.
Find the police.
Just find somewhere safe.
The thoughts crashed into one another until none of them made sense.
"No..."
Jon took a slow breath. Then another.
He remembered something Coach Harris often said before every race.
"When everything around you speeds up..."
"Slow yourself down." Another breath.
The pounding in his chest gradually eased, and his thoughts, once scattered, slowly began to settle in place.
Running without direction would only exhaust him. If those creatures truly spread by scratching or biting, then joining the crowd was the worst decision he could make.
He lifted his head and surveyed the campus area he found himself in.
Students were still pouring away from the stadium in every direction.
Scattered and confused, nobody knew the truth of what was happening.
Fear had become more contagious than information.
However, Jon forced himself to think.
'The main gate...Impossible.' He dashed the thought as soon as it came. Thousands of people would already be heading there.
If the creatures reached that crowd...
No, he was certain that the creatures would appear there too. He did not want to imagine the result.
'The dormitories will have far too many students. It is too dangerous to go to crowded areas. Then, the hospital...' He shook his head once more, dismissing the thought.
Every injured person would instinctively go there, and if even one infected person reached it...
His gaze wandered across the quiet western side of campus.
Beyond rows of flowering trees stood a cluster of modest houses reserved for university lecturers and visiting professors.
The staff quarters.
Compared to the rest of the university...
It was isolated.
Most lecturers attended today's games, and many visiting professors had spent the afternoon at the stadium.
If anywhere on campus remained quiet...
'If there is anywhere on campus where I would be thinking clearly about this situation, it would be there.' At least, that was what he wanted to believe.
Jon nodded.
"Staff quarters."
With the decision made, he moved.
Running made it harder to hear and think, so he jogged. The further he moved from the stadium, the quieter the world became.
His footsteps echoed softly along the empty pavement. The screams slowly faded behind layers of concrete buildings until only distant echoes remained.
Soon...
Even those disappeared.
Natural silence settled over the western campus.
Wind rustled through rows of jacaranda trees. Leaves drifted lazily across the walkway.
Somewhere nearby, sprinklers continued watering a perfectly trimmed lawn as though nothing had happened.
Jon found the normality unsettling.
A bicycle lay on its side beside the path. Its front wheel still spun slowly.
Whoever had been riding it had left in a hurry.
Several meters farther, an overturned backpack rested beneath a bench.
Textbooks had spilled across the pavement.
One page fluttered gently in the breeze.
Jon slowed his approach. A mobile phone rang from inside the bag.
The screen lit up.
Mum Calling.
The ringtone echoed through the empty path.
Once. Twice.
Three times.
Eventually, the call ended.
A moment later, the phone rang again.
Jon stared at it.
His hand twitched.
For a brief second, he considered answering. Instead...
He kept walking. He had no idea what he could possibly say.
Whatever had happened inside the stadium...
It had happened everywhere. He wasn't ready to pick up the call and find out.
The staff residences stood in neat rows beneath flowering trees.
White walls, small gardens, front porches decorated with potted plants, and laundry that swayed gently on clotheslines.
A child's brightly colored tricycle rested upside down on one lawn.
Nothing appeared damaged.
Nothing suggested panic.
Yet there was no one.
No voices drifted from open windows.
No children played outside.
No lecturers sat reading beneath the trees.
The neighborhood felt frozen in time.
Jon stepped onto the quiet street.
His own footsteps sounded unnaturally loud. House after house greeted him with the same eerie stillness.
One front door remained wide open. Another had groceries scattered across the front steps.
A garden hose continued pouring water into a flower bed that had already become muddy.
Someone had been interrupted.
Interrupted so suddenly, they had never returned.
Jon finally stopped before a modest brick house near the end of the street.
The curtains remained open, and a television flickered faintly inside.
He climbed the three wooden steps leading to the porch.
The front door was not fully closed.
It rested slightly ajar.
Jon swallowed.
"Hello?"
Only silence answered. He knocked gently.
"Is anyone home?"
Still nothing.
He waited several seconds.
Still nothing.
His heartbeat quickened as he slowly pushed the door open.
The living room came into view.
Everything inside looked... ordinary.
A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead.
The afternoon news continued playing on the television, though the presenter had frozen mid-sentence beneath a screen filled with static.
A pair of reading glasses rested beside an open newspaper.
Half a cup of tea still sat on the coffee table. Steam no longer rose from it, but it had not yet gone cold.
A family photograph stood beside the television.
An elderly man smiled warmly at the camera. Beside him stood a woman of similar age, and between them, a little girl no older than eight grinned while holding a birthday cake.
Jon found himself staring at the photograph longer than he intended.
His eyes drifted across the room as he moved in.
One slipper lay beside the sofa, and the other rested near the hallway.
As though someone had stood up in a hurry. Another step carried him deeper into the house, until he was inside one of the rooms.
Then, a faint sound interrupted his thoughts.
Scrrr...
Jon froze.
It was subtle, almost too quiet to hear; however, it was unmistakable. He could never forget that sound. The cause of the current chaos that is ravaging the stadium.
He held his breath, and the sound around him disappeared.
The slow, wet growl echoed again, louder this time.
Jon's blood ran cold.