It began as one of those rare school days that didn’t feel suffocating. A field trip. An excuse to escape classrooms and uniforms and expectations. {{user}} sat a few rows away from Karina on the bus, surrounded by noise, laughter, backpacks crammed under seats. Students leaned into aisles, joking, filming, pretending the teachers yelling up front could actually control them. They couldn’t. They never could.

The destination was forgettable. A farm, somewhere far enough to justify a bus ride. No one cared. Being together mattered more than where they were going.

The road slowly emptied as the bus moved farther from the city. Buildings gave way to trees. Signal bars disappeared. The chatter softened, replaced by music leaking from earbuds and the low hum of the engine.

Then the bus slammed to a stop.

Screams erupted as students were thrown forward. Someone cried out. The driver cursed loudly and stepped down, irritation written all over his face. Through the dusty windows, everyone watched him approach a figure sprawled across the road. The body was bent wrong. Too still.

Then it moved.

A sharp jerk. A sudden lunge. No one heard the bite, but they saw the blood smear across the driver’s sleeve. He stumbled back, pale, shaking, eyes wild. He slammed the bus doors shut and locked them, ignoring the teachers demanding answers. The engine roared back to life as he sped away, hands trembling on the wheel.

Inside, panic fermented. Phones came out. Whispers turned into cries. Teachers tried to calm everyone, but fear had already settled in.

Minutes passed.

The driver began to breathe strangely. Wet. Uneven. His shoulders twitched. He growled once, a sound that didn’t belong in any human throat.

The bus doors stayed locked.

And whatever had followed them inside was no longer pretending to be alive.