Help her out

The ropes are a little tricky to untie, but in no time at all she's on her feet, straightening her clothes out. She's a little flustered as well, clearly embarrassed you saw her in such a way. But she quickly changes her expression to worry and fear.

"Thanks for untying me, but we got to get out of here right now! They'll be back any minute now-" she pauses suddenly and sniffs the air around you. She notices some crumbs on your chin. "Oh my god..." she recoils, covering her mouth in revulsion, "You didn't eat that sandwich did you?!"

You look at her in confusion and shrug.

"That was Mr. Cole! They butchered him! They butchered him and ate him!"

Oh. Oh dear. That explains the shaking in your arms, and why the sandwich was so fresh. Your stomach turns upsidedown and you suddenly don't feel very well. You run over to a trash can and try to throw up, but all you manage to do is gag.

"Look you can vomit later but you should be getting out of here if you don't want to end up like him!" She hurries out the room, leaving you in the teachers lounge. Stumbling to your feet you follow her example, staggering out of the room, your head dizzy from what you have done. Eugh, the taste is still in your mouth, and while before it was sweet and delicious, it now tastes sinister and wrong. You're not sure why you're running. Maybe you just want to get out of here. But the winding and laberythian halls twist and turn, and you inexplicably get lost in school that was once familliar to you. It's as if the school changed, twisted, in the years you were away. You no longer hear the echoing pitter patter of Miss Kay's footsteps, and now you truly hear the unnatural silence of this place. Not even the groaning and moaning of the infected, which can be usually heard wherever you go. Nothing.

But then there was something. Heavy footsteps. A group of people. They must be the ones Miss Kay was talking about. Panic. You run, but all the doors are barred; all the windows boarded up. At each turn you hear them get closer. You can't even feel your legs anymore, but still they relent. You run into a wall; a dead end. You should've been looking where you were going, but now you see them. Hooded figures, clad in purple cloaks, in their hands mockeries of sports equipment; reinforced with nails and chains.

They draw nearer to you.