Apocalypse Rising: Brains After Brains

It started with Mr. De Los Santos wobbling like he'd forgotten how knees worked.

He was supposed to be seated beside the other professors on stage, clapping politely through Xenia's speech. But instead, he was bent over, hunched like he'd dropped something. Dean Marisse, in her signature pearl earrings and terrifying judgmental aura, frowned and stepped over.

"Mr. De Los Santos, are you alr—?"

He lunged.

Teeth first.

Into her neck.

There was a gasp so loud it could've knocked over the front row. Xenia blinked, stunned. Blood sprayed across the polished wood stage like paint from a busted pen.

Dean Marisse stumbled backward. Her pearls snapped, bouncing everywhere. Her hands clawed at her wound—but even as blood pulsed down her robe, she didn't fall. She straightened.

And when her face turned to the crowd, Xenia saw it.

Already pale. Already sunken. Already hungry.

"Oh my god," she breathed.

Dean Marisse—dignified, mean, impossible-to-please Dean Marisse—shrieked and launched off the stage into a section of parents.

A full-on dive.

That's when screaming truly erupted.

"Is this real?" Xenia whispered.

Then someone shouted "RUN!" and the auditorium imploded.

Graduates flipped chairs trying to get out. Parents shoved. A man knocked over the decorative podium trying to carry both his children. The faculty scattered.

Next to Xenia, Zoe was frozen—still holding her cap like it mattered.

"Wait. What... what's happening?" she said.

Xenia pointed, trembling. "That guy bit the Dean. And now she's—Zoe, I think she just tackled a dentist."

From deeper in the crowd, a panicked voice rose.

"Zoe?! Where are you?!"

Zoe's face twisted. "My mom—" She bolted.

"Zoe, wait—!" Xenia called, but she was already darting into the human stampede, Crocs squeaking like cartoon sound effects.

Xenia tried to follow but was instantly slammed sideways by a wave of panicking graduates.

Zoe, meanwhile, dodged elbows, diplomas, and one falling banner. "MOM!" she screamed. "WAVE IF YOU'RE NOT DEAD!"

Miraculously, Mrs. Navarro popped up on a bench like a panicked meerkat, waving both hands. "ZOE?!"

"Don't move!" Zoe hurdled a folding chair, grabbed her mom by the wrist, and started dragging her toward the side door. "Come on! Graduation's over! We're dropping out!"

At the far side of the stage, Professor Rafe Lysandros was trying to take control.

Tall, tanned, with that tragic Greek-hero face and the kind of arms that made water bottles nervous, Rafe looked more like someone who should be on the cover of PE Weekly than standing center stage at a mass hysteria.

"Everyone, please remain calm!" he shouted, voice steady, commanding. "Do not trample each other—stay low, move to the exits in an orderly—"

Mr. De Los Santos hissed and charged him.

He barely dodged his claws. "Stop!"

But he was on him.

They tumbled off the edge of the stage, crashing into a tower of sound equipment with a metallic clang that echoed louder than the screams. Microphones fell like dominos, cords tangled around them as they hit the floor in a messy heap of limbs, growls, and sheer disbelief.

Xenia winced. "Oh god."

"Rafe!" someone screamed—probably Jecipher.

Sure enough, Jecipher the Drama Queen sprinted up the aisle, long black hair flying, eyeliner still flawless. In one hand, he held his program. In the other—a folding chair.

He jumped onstage just in time to crack it across Mr. De Los Santos' back.

"Back off, budget De Los Fangs!" Jecipher screeched, swinging his chair like it owed him tuition money.

Mr. De Los Santos stumbled, growling, then turned on Jecipher.

"Oh, hell no," he muttered.

Professor Rafe shoved her back with a stand mic. "Move!"

They both leapt off stage as the Professor slammed into the curtain behind them, snarling like a possessed opera singer.

Xenia pushed through the chaos, trying to get back to them. "Jecipher!" she shouted.

"I'm fine!" he yelled, hair now half in his face. "But if I die in place, I'm haunting every school board member alive!"

The fire alarm blared overhead, lights flashing. Sirens screamed in the distance, but no one knew if they were coming to help—or already fleeing too.

Xenia stumbled over a fallen tassel and a crushed diploma case. Her chest hurt. Her shoes were gone—how had she lost both shoes?

She made it to the foot of the stage just as Professor Rafe grabbed Jecipher's arm and pulled him toward a side exit.

"Wait!" she shouted.

Rafe's eyes met hers. Disoriented. Bloody suit sleeve. Face pale but not zombie pale.

"Xenia?!"

"Are we dead yet?!" she said, voice cracking.

"No," he breathed. "But it's getting there."

Her vision swam. The screams blurred. The place that had felt like the peak of her academic life now looked like a crime scene set in a school musical.

Her speech—half-crumpled—was still in her hand.

Why?

Why did this happen?

She wasn't religious, but she found herself thinking it anyway.

Please let this be a dream. Please.

Then something shifted behind her.

She turned.

And five pale-faced infected turned with her.

Bloodied robes. Empty eyes. Snapping jaws.

Xenia opened her mouth.

Didn't scream.

Because suddenly—

Strong arms wrapped around her.

Lifted her like she weighed nothing.

She yelped as she was flung into the air—bridal-style.

"WHAT THE—"

Rafe Lysandros didn't speak right away—just tightened his hold like she was something fragile but worth saving. His jaw clenched, his stride unshaken even as chaos erupted around them.

"Hold on," he said, voice low and calm. "You're not going down tonight. Not on my watch."

Behind them, Jecipher sprinted ahead. "Exit left, Hercules! GO!"

"I see it!"

"You better! I didn't swing a folding chair just for us to die stylishly!"

They crashed through the emergency exit door in a blur of noise and heat. Metal banged against metal as it swung wide, slamming the wall behind it. Xenia gasped, half from the jolt, half from the fact that she was still being carried like some rom-com lead who had just fainted at the altar.

Rafe didn't flinch. His arms were solid, steady, as if bridal-carrying a fully grown adult was just part of his daily gym warm-up.

Cool air hit them like a slap, cutting through the leftover smoke and screams from inside. Xenia blinked fast. Her lashes, still perfectly curled from Zoe's two-hour glam marathon, fluttered against the chaos. Her lipstick was smudged just enough to look cinematic, not tragic.

She shifted. "I can walk."

"You were tripping over your own valedictorian speech," Rafe muttered, not unkindly. His voice rumbled close to her ear. "Humor me a little longer."

Xenia stilled, caught off guard by the calm in his voice—and the heat in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire alarms or adrenaline.

He didn't look at her, but his grip tightened slightly. Like he wasn't ready to let go yet. Like maybe, after all this, neither was she.

She looked up at him, dazed. "Am I... am I dreaming?"

"No," he said, breathless. "But I think we just missed yearbook photos."

Then the door slammed behind them... and graduation was officially over.