The X Gene Chapter 2

The shrill bell split the air, followed by a thunder of footsteps as students poured into the halls. Shawn lingered, trying to memorize the route to his next class. Freshman year was already hard enough without constantly asking for directions.

“Cafeteria should be this way,” he muttered, pushing through the crowd. Except… it wasn’t. Every hallway twisted into another, the linoleum blurring into a maze of identical walls and locked doors. He sighed and ran a hand over his head.

“Great. Just great.”

He considered asking a teacher but shook the thought away. Asking a student was worse. He’d figure it out himself.

Pop. Pop-pop.

Sharp cracks echoed faintly from somewhere deeper in the building. At first, Shawn thought it was balloons or a prank—until the screaming started.

His stomach dropped.

“W-what is going on?” he whispered, frozen in place, staring down the stairwell where the sound came from.

Then instinct took over. He spun on his heel and bolted the opposite way.

“Yeah, no way. Not me,” he muttered through shaky laughter. “I’m not about to be the first Black kid to die in some horror scene.”

The alarms blared, a shrieking wail that made his bones vibrate. Red lights pulsed overhead. The cracks grew louder—no mistaking it now. Gunshots.

Screams tore through the halls.

Shawn’s chest tightened. He darted to the nearest classroom, yanking on the handle. Locked. Another—locked. Behind each door came muffled sobs, desks scraping across tile as kids barricaded themselves inside.

“W-what do I do? What do I do?!” His voice cracked as panic clawed its way up his throat.

Then he saw the stairs. Without thinking, he ran, taking them two at a time. His sneakers squealed against the tiles as he reached the first floor—

—and froze.

Bodies.

Students. Teachers. Scattered across the hallway, eyes glassy and still. Blood slicked the floor, pooling in dark rivers that lapped against his shoes. The metallic tang hit him hard. His stomach lurched and he doubled over, retching violently.

His hands shook. His chest heaved. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Then—movement.

At the far end of the hallway, a tall figure dressed in black dragged a woman by the arm. A teacher. Her shoes screeched against the tile as she kicked and clawed, voice breaking as she screamed,

“No! Please, no!!”

The man wrenched open a janitor’s closet and shoved her inside. The door slammed.

Shawn’s whole body trembled. His mind screamed: Run. Get to the exit. Forget what you saw. Survive.

His eyes flicked to the glowing red EXIT sign across the hall—so close. Just a sprint away.

But his legs didn’t move that way.

Something else took hold—something deep and heavy, thrumming beneath his skin. His heartbeat roared in his ears, and for a split second, the air around him seemed to bend.

His body moved on its own. Step after step, he stumbled forward—toward the closet. Toward the screams.

He didn’t know why. Only that he had to.