Chapter #3: More To Fear

Of course… because we weren't already fucked enough… We were lucky enough to survive, but in reality it's as if our inevitable deaths are slowly drawing near. And everything I try to do to evade it just pulls it closer. I can taste it, her breath, cold and intimidating, dancing on the back of my neck, icing my veins and cooling my life source. Death… she always comes back to tease me. Bitch. I pray it's long before she consumes me with her new beasts.

I keep scanning for a way around the crowds; anything closely deserted could work, but still no luck, leaving me so frustrated I'm almost in tears. At best, there are random gaps between the infected, but nothing that all of us could slip through at one time. It would turn into a full out sprint, and that would easily be the death of us with the density of this rain and the dead. Even if we had some way out of the school, we'd still be dead in seconds. I've regained my senses now, my mind has settled back to normal. I'm left questioning my earlier claim. Even if we use the plan I've thought up, will it be enough? It's not like that matters much now. We can't make a move quite yet. We'll still be stuck in this predicament for at least a day, likely longer.

I let out a defeated grunt and walk over to the other side of the roof, tired of staring at what's left of Jamal's body, moving to stare at Milvia St. below me. Grey puddles. Always grey puddles. That never changes with the rain, no matter how hard you try to change the outcome.

I hear a scream and look up. A man and woman are running together, dodging as many infected as possible, passing the bail bonds building across the street and still running toward Bancroft. Silently I'm praying, hoping that they'll make it somewhere and find some sort of shelter before the dead overcome. The woman spots me and stops, yelling something indistinct to the man. They have a very quick argument, lasting only about two seconds. It seems as if she wanted to get in the school, but the man noticed all the dead keeping us locked inside. We were as helpless as them, and he knew it with just a glance in my direction. They keep running, passing the side of Washington Elementary, when the man tries to avoid a body and trips, taking the woman with him. The dead close in so fast it's despicable.

I turn my head and look over the entirety of the school ground, the collected infected jerking about in what seems like panicked motions. Writhing would suit the description best. With every exhale I blow off the reforming raindrop dangling on my upper lip. My body feels damp. I think it's from sweat, but a quick glance at my hands makes me unsure, still dripping fresh blood from those men. There's a large puddle by my feet that I use to wipe away the worst of the blood, drying my hands as best I can on my wet pants. I hear footsteps behind me and glance back. Brian slowly opens the door to the roof, coming up behind me, staring at the sight with disbelief, me and the world.

"…how're we supposeda survive this?" he ponders out loud and I just shake my head. I'm beginning to wonder the same goddamn thing, and I can't afford to do that while there's still a sliver of hope left for us to survive past this week. I need there to be something for me at the end of this week.

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!?!?!?!! Everything went to shit in like 30 minutes," I demand, angry and unable to control my approach.

"Uh… well, once you guys left they started actin' fuckin' weird. I saw Jamal take some red pills, but I just figured they were pain pills, y'know? But then they got all crazy, like, they kept talkin' about this bein' the end of days or some dumb shit. Then they got all quiet, whisperin' and snickerin', but we didn't think much of it-"

"You should've…"

"-and just waited for you guys to come back. One of 'em walked outside, said he had to pee, then came right back-"

"He was prolly checkin' to make sure we were gone."

"Yeah… then he signaled those dudes and they all rushed us. Spencer and I tried to fight 'em off, we actually did hold them off for about three minutes, but there were just so many that we couldn't do much without some typa weapons… That dude Jamal started ranting about this being their last day alive, how they might as well enjoy themselves while they could… They said you guys would be dead, that that dude, Jimmy or someth-"

"Jerry."

"Right… him. They said he was gonna kill you guys, and then he would get first pick… Sick fucker… at least you showed up before they could do any major damage," Brian reports, averting his eyes from my entire being.

"There shouldn't've been any damage in the first place!! That's why I told you and Spencer both to keep an eye out… I guess that didn't work out too fuckin' well…" I say disrespectfully, glancing back at him, disappointment engrossing my engaging eyes. He casts his gaze downward; obviously ashamed he couldn't do more to help, adding no input on the comment. I let out a small, uncomfortable sigh.

"…Some people… they just can't handle the truth, can't deal with reality 'cause it's not the way they want it to be or think it should be. That's when their sanity snaps and they become no better than those infected stalking the courtyard. If anything… they're worse because they ARE still in control of their minds, yet choose to let their minds run free, rampage; just 'cause they don't wanna deal with the world they now live in. Let that be some motivation to not lose your faith," I tell him as I lead him back downstairs.

"We moved up to the 2nd floor to get away from the bodies in the other room, and the zombies banging against the walls… Tryin' to help the girls not think about what happened and such… It's easier than moving all of those bodies out. We're in 216," Brian tells me, pointing at the windowless door near one of the stairwells. Whilst stepping into the room, all eyes stick to me, examining me like a wild animal, afraid I'll lash out at them.

"WHAT?" I question, irritation settling into my voice from their accusing stares.

I know that they're scared of me now, what sane person wouldn't be? But it betrays that feeling of trust, you know? Now I know they'll always look at me as a murderer. It's as if they completely just ignored the fact that the men I killed were rapist, about to harm our women in one of the most defiling and dehumanizing ways imaginable. They need to fucking understand that the world we knew, the world that was thriving all of but seven hours ago, is extinguished. The morals and civilization we could once expect from people has now burned away to nonexistence. This new world is unrealistically dangerous. At this point, we're forced to shoot first and find out what they wanted afterward.  

Georgia creeps over to me, and as she gets closer the lights illuminate her body in yellow florescence, allowing me to witness how hurt she really is. Her right cheek is swollen, she has bruises already forming, covering her arms in the shapes of fingers. Her neck is littered with bite marks, scratches, and forced hickies. The scratches collage her body, even her hands and feet. She's got a busted lip, slightly swollen and smudged with blood, and a knot forming on her forehead when she was slammed into the desk. Guilt spreads in my heart as I look her over, my body becoming five tons heavier, almost shattering my kneecaps. My lead heart and corroded mind carry the majority of the weight along with my aching shoulders, which slouch in a more devastated manner than before. If I'd been there, none of this would've happened… I could've prevented all of this…

Georgia and I have known each other for a long time. We'd grown up together, went to all the same schools and even lived in the same neighborhood for a while until my grandpa died, very rare since we both went to schools outside of our home cities. The funny thing is that we'd never really talked or hung out outside of school, except for when we'd randomly walked home together from BART and talked about homework or classes. I'd always had a crush on her. And when it came to Georgia, she was always in another league than the other girls. I knew she never thought of me that way. She never really liked me much until this last year when I came back… which doesn't make any sense in itself since I have absolutely no interest in her now.

But back then, we just kinda knew each other, had mutual friends. But I was just the crazy kid with the miserable past. Damaged goods, at best… something nobody ever wants to deal with, so what would make her the exception?

Even though I knew she didn't like me, I still looked after her. Always felt protective of her. One time during the beginning of sophomore year, I was waiting for the B.A.R.T. train and saw her standing on the edge of the yellow line. It seemed like she wasn't paying attention since her headphones were on at the time, and had almost stepped out into the rails. Luckily I'd grabbed her arm and pulled her back next to me as the train blared past. She just looked up and smiled sadly, thanking me and playing the whole thing off like it was part of a daydream, zoned out on her music. What I didn't notice until later, whilst laying in bed, that I remembered her head wasn't down, she WAS paying attention… and I'd ruined her plans of suicide.

I never brought it back up, or even mentioned it to anyone else. To this day I'm left wondering why she'd almost killed herself. And right now, I'm starting to wonder if I made the right choice by saving her back them, or if I'd just condemned her to live in this fucking hell with the rest of us…

"So… are you ok?" Georgia asks me curiously. We'd walked into another class on the 2nd floor to talk privately, away from interrogating eyes and prying ears.

"Ain't that my line?" I reply in a concerned manner.

"I'm fine, just a little roughed up, nothing I can't get over. But are YOU ok? Should I be worried about you?" she asks suspiciously, her hand outstretching and holding my chin gently. I can tell she's concerned, but also a bit nervous, which is really disheartening. I mean… I get why she is, we've gone over this… But still, I was protecting them, saving the girls, putting an end to what was wrong... I don't think I deserve this much fear from them still… It leaves me morally betrayed…

"I'm fine, just lost control when I saw what they were tryna do t'you… snapped. But I'm… back to normal," I answer her, peering into her eyes with kindness so she understands I'm being honest.

"I… I'm not mad at you for what you did Shaun… Henry told me about you, so I know how you feel about those things… and I'm grateful that you saved us, believe me. I just wanna make sure you're still here, that you're still… you. I don't wanna see you lose yourself like you did when your mom and sister died…" she explains in a pained voice, letting go of my chin and grabbing my hand.

Died… that's a nice way of putting it. My mother and older sister, Iona… I'm glad they don't have to see the world like this and live in it. The world they knew was already fucked up enough… they didn't need to live in one that was even more demented.

When I was eight, my family was living in poverty, damn near on the brink of becoming homeless, again… soon to wander the streets and beg for help… again… See, my father's side of the family had disowned us; me, my sister, and my father, because we were "a disgrace to their 'outstanding family'." More like a disgrace to their name and status. From what I'd heard they were just as bad as us, the lying, the addictions, the abuse, the adultery. The only difference is that they had the money to cover their ugliness from the rest of society. And money equals power in a world where hope strays far from those of lower stature.

We were never so lucky… We couldn't hide our darkness from the peering eyes of our communities. And that's sad, because it's not like we lived in a small town where everyone's always in everyone else's business. We lived in the Bay Area, Richmond for Christ's sake. Every kid gets their ass whooped by their parents in Richmond, even in the middle of the street. But we used to get the police called on us constantly. And that was just too ghetto for the prissy white bastards to even try to do something to help.

My father was primarily disowned because he got a 15 year old girl pregnant at the age of 21, was a drunken nobody who couldn't stay sober for more than a few hours without becoming a barbarian; was a compulsive liar, and loved causing pain unto those closest to him. Iona and I were disowned because we were children of wedlock and never got baptized because my father was too fucked up to care if our souls were saved. That's what they said at least. All we were was doomed children to them, disregarded and forgotten. It was just easier to cut all ties for them I guess. I would hate them, but I'm sure they're all dead now, infected preying on the living, just like they were when they were alive. Cunts, all of them.

My mother's side was distant because of how they viewed my father and mother. They knew what he did to us; they just didn't care enough to do anything about it. Well no, that's not entirely true. I shouldn't be so bitter towards them. They'd called the police on him multiple times and tried to help us out, but my mother wouldn't testify against him, or let us interact with the cops whenever they came to the door, so no consequences were ever met, not for him at least. All three of us would get the shit kicked out of us because he believed we were the ones who called the police.

And when Child Protective Services had tried to interview us to take us into custody, our father had said that we'd never see our mother or each other again, and that she'd go to jail for the rest of her life if we said anything bad about either of them. What were we supposed to do? We were children… we didn't know how to fight back. Whenever we fought back, we'd get hurt, or our mother would. And even if he was gone, what about all of the debts he owed, the low down exchanges gone wrong, the huge bills up on tab at bars, forgetting to pay rent and have our landlord send repo men to take away anything of value? We knew a lot obviously, we were very smart, but we also knew that even if he was gone, his problems wouldn't be, and we'd all be alone, in as much danger as if he'd never gone.

I repeat, what were we supposed to do? Send our mother away for being too weak against my father's actions? I was only like seven at that time, there was no way I'd let that happen. So we never got help, because our minds were fucked up by dear old dad, and mommy dearest wouldn't do what was needed to escape. So it's not that her family didn't care, it's that our mother was brainwashed in ways I never thought possible. And after a while, they stopped caring, stopped acknowledging us, because they couldn't stand my mother or father. She wasn't the person they knew and loved anymore, just his little puppet; and we were seen as lost once more by most everyone. So they cut off contact after many failed attempts of help, leaving us to our drugged up abusive father and obedient submissive mother.

The bastard named Seamus O'Shea, or father if you insist, was a fucking drug addict… not just the "I'll go rob a house for some crack" guy but also the "I'll suck your dick to get high" type of addiction. It went beyond the spirits, though he consumed those on a regular basis as well. Heroin had always been his main drug of choice if he had the cash for it; otherwise it was Jack and a 40 oz. of Mickey's. That's where everything went wrong…

Since money was becoming so rare for us, seeing as how Seamus didn't work toward the end of his miserable life and spent most of my mother's paycheck on more shit to get him lifted. And within a few days of the check running dry one morning towards the end of May, he was finally starting to come down off of his two month constant high. That's when the detox had set in. He started beating all of us for anything that irritated him or that he didn't like at that point, making Iona's and my life morosely miserable, to a point I never thought was imaginable. It was to where I was contemplating suicide at the age of 8 years old.

After just four days of being a sober asshole, on May 29th to be precise, Seamus called up his long-time dealer, Lucian Winchester, whom he still owed an immensely large sum of money to. Lucian first threatened to kill him for how much he owed, but my father struck a deal with him, thinking of the best way to save his skin and fix up a score, one that rung happily in Lucian's perverted sociopathic ears. He told Lucian that in exchange for some dope and a clean record with him, Lucian and his men could have both his wife and daughter, and use them as sex slaves any time they liked…  Iona was only ten years old…

I walked home from school that day, dreadfully tired from the beaming sun. I think I knew that day would be the worst day in my history because my head was hurting worse than usual, something more than hunger pains and dehydration. I remember because I had the pen in my hand still, gripping it tightly to relieve the stress in my small head as I approached our black wooden door. I remembered hearing the screams of my mother to be quickly muffled out as I walked up to the porch. Thinking that my father was on another rampage, I hastily opened the door to my house to see four men in the living room.

 Thomas Archer was holding my mother while Jonathan Rose held my sister down. Lucian Winchester was raping my mother while Michael Winchester was forcing his way inside Iona; both gagged as not to make much noise. I rushed over to Lucian, a look of surprise stuck dumbly across his hideous face when I ran across the short hallway and rammed that pen deep inside his fucking eye. He screamed and withdrew the pen, covering his right eye hatefully, cursing malevolently. He ordered the other three men to beat me while he held my mother and sister there at gunpoint, both crying for me and themselves. When I could no longer fight back from the pain of the beatings, breath ragged and wheezy as my chest caved in from the broken ribs, they held me down and forced me to watch them violate my mother and sister…

I don't remember much from that. I never looked up from the stained, crusty brown carpet. There was such horrible yelling, though I'm unsure it if was from myself or the women I loved most in the world…

At one point Lucian had Michael force my head up.

"I wasn't going to kill them, but I will, just for you, as payback for my eye," Lucian laughed as Michael held my head still so I could watch as Lucian slit their throats and continued to ravish their bodies while their blood spilled onto the floor, creating a puddle that reached me within seconds… I blacked out after that, with one final image on my mind.

My father, who was watching from the loveseat in the back corner of the room, had a smile on his face and a needle still in his arm, dangling like a ripe fig from a tree. He was so high that he was laughing at the scene before him, like it was the best comedy routine he'd ever laid eyes upon…

Laughing…

When I awoke, those men had gone, but had left the bodies and the memories… The scars, both emotional and physical would never mend in the way that would let me find peace on this earth. They didn't bother tying me or my father up, just left us to be like it was a regular day of beatings. My father still remained in his seat, staring at the blood on the floor while drool seeped from the corner of his mouth. I cried, for at least two hours, just holding my mother and sisters bodies, wishing I could bring them back, somehow, anyhow, praying to God that this was just a dream, or that he would revive them for me like he had for his own son, hoping that he would see pity on me and spare me the torment of their deaths, hoping that all I'd gone through was enough suffrage to be acknowledged as a servant of God… But no help came… just endless tears of bitter hate, and the maroon that would stain my hands forever.

And it was my fault.

If I had just came home late that day, or gone to hang out at a friend's house, they might still be alive. Damaged and hurt, yes, but still alive… and I did nothing to save them… All I did was condemn them. It was me. I had killed the only two people I'd loved on earth…

 After that realization I remember walking into the garage, grabbing my father's handgun, and heading back into the living room. I remember walking in front of him, staring at his hideous face, lined with years of substance abuse and a lifetime of worthlessness. I waited until he finally noticed something was blocking his view of the blood, until he stared up at his only child; the child that hated Seamus just as much as he hated Lucian, if not more. Seamus' eyes were dead, nothing but an empty soul, a lifeless being, a zombie.

The only thing he'd ever loved in this world was gone, and he'd finally realized it. And I relished in the thought of how he must've felt, because try as he might, no tears escaped his pitiful excuse for a being. He truly was in the abyss then, so far in that there was no hope he'd ever come out.

He was no longer living…

He smiled at me, a small twinkle in his eyes as he saw my face, which resembled my mother's completely. If it were possible, you might've thought she had me on her own since I have none of my father's traits, just the fucker's height. When I saw that glint in his gaze, I knew he was looking at me, was consciously aware at that moment. So I raised the gun to his face, and the smile disappeared, leaving his face blank, almost scared if it was possible.

And I squeezed the trigger…

I shot him in the face 12 times, emptying the clip. I waited in that same room for another hour until the police finally came to see me cradling my sister and mothers corpses, Seamus dead with a bloody mess of a shredded face behind me, gun laid upon his potbelly.

They put me into W.C.D.F. after that, the West County Detention Center, sticking me in the Special Care department because I was considered criminally insane. I spent a year of my life wasting away in that hell, only leaving to go to the courthouse and have the judge add more time onto my sentence. It turned out that Lucian Winchester had very high connections with not only the police force, but with the local politicians, pharmacists, lawyers and Judges. Someone had planted my DNA inside of my mother and sister and turned it into the evidence locker, while a psychiatrist had written a form saying that I'd been his patient for the past year with a forged signature from both of my parents. Nobody cared to check my school records, my medical records, do a proper autopsy on my dead family to bring them justice, nothing. So I waited and pleaded and waited, hoping someone would believe me before I finally gave up hope. It was my grandfather Benjamin that had came and saved me from that hell. But the fact remains that it took the court a whole year to find out the clear truth they'd so obviously denied…

I remember hearing about the men they put on trial. Thomas Archer, John Rose, and Michael and Lucian Winchester, the four horsemen of my apocalypse. The brothers only spent a few nights in San Quinton Prison before they got bailed out. Archer and Rose were both killed in prison, the details of their killers were never found out. The two men had been ass raped in the showers by 19 individuals, and had their wrists sliced vertically once the men had finished dishing out their justified punishment, the ultimate karma intervention. The only way that happened would've happened would've been if the guards had assisted in the assault. It was the only time in history I was happy that someone was raped. They even shoved a broom handle up each of their asses like they did to Dahmer, the Milwaukee Cannibal.

But I really did lose myself and never recovered that bit of my soul, that sense of hopefulness and faith… maybe that's why I can accept this world as it is and move on… I wonder if that does make me crazy… I guess it's just too bad that I don't give a fuck about too much anymore. Least of all about being crazy, it's a title I've had my entire life…

It seems you do need to be crazy in order to survive…

Or perhaps, it's that you have to be crazy to have hope after all you know about the world…

"Don't worry, I'm still me. I just got mad, but I don't get mad at the wrong people. I guess it was just a way for me to free my emotions, help me cope with this apocalypse shit. I know that's a bad excuse, but believe me, I'm still here, no crazier than usual," I reassure her, giving her hand a quick squeeze. That was a mistake because pain shoots up from my palm and I shake her hand away. She looks down at my hand questioningly, as if wondering why it was wet, now noticing it's still bleeding.

"Oh shit. Lemme cover that up," she says nervously. She finds a jazz band shirt and tears a piece off, tying it around my left hand securely. The pain comes back once she covers it up with the pressure applied, making me wince severely. I try not to mind it, but it's not a good wound to have in this situation. If I get into a conflict concerning the infected again I'll have to be completely mindful of the wound. It hurts when I move, but not too bad unless I clench something hard or make a tight fist, and even then the pain is manageable, just disturbing.

"Thanks," I say with a pained smile. I feel her shiver and she leans close to me. I try to shy away from her, but she stays at my side. "How're you cold? I already gave you my jacket," I ask her and she looks up at me with puppy dog eyes. I sigh, putting my arm around her and embrace her to my side, warming her as much as possible, being as gentle as possible. I don't want to trigger some type of PTSD.

"How're we gonna get outta here? We can't just wait here and hope that help will come," she says sadly, closing her eyes.

"Actually, I think I have a plan. Let's go meet back up with the others so I don't gotta explain it twice," I tell her encouragingly, leading us back out into the empty hallway. We take maybe two steps before I hear it, like something pounding against a door or wall, howling with delight, crazed and sputtering gibberish. "It must just be the infected outside," I think, straining to hear all that's going on, piecing together what's happening in my head. They must be banging against the doors outside, I can make that out perfectly, but it seems like there's an echo to the screeches and bangs, more audible than the metal doors clanging, yet always occurring after…

"What the fuck is- crash!" I begin to mutter as the collapsing of a door echoes through the building, freezing the both us, Georgia moving closer to the door we'd just exited.

"Whazat?!" Georgia asks, panicked, eyes wide, arm hairs standing on end.

"I don't know…" I whisper, clenching my right hand to keep it from shaking too profoundly, though it barely helps hide my fear.

"SccCCCRRRRRRrraaaaaaaaahhhhHWW!!!" we hear the scream of the infected let out, followed by multiple moans of misery mixed with delight as infected fill the building, sending shivers down both our spines as we tense to granite, petrified beyond words. Reflexes take over and before I know it I'm pulling Georgia toward 216.

"We have to get back to the room with everyone else!" I tell her, tugging her behind me as we rush without running, afraid the loud footsteps will attract the dead faster. My mind's racing with the possibilities of what's awaiting us downstairs. Did they break through the fucking door? If that's the case then we need to get out of here NOW. It would've taken at least two dozen bodies to break in here past that stocked blockade and locked metal doors. If that's what we're dealing with, I don't know how we're gonna survive this shit… The noise will just attract more from outside even if we deal with the ones now inside the building… Great…

We're fucked…

The hallway somehow stretches further than ever before, 216 looking 50 feet away and continuing to crawl from us. The fear of what might have happened is always horrible, especially the fear of anticipation. But the worst is when those fears are reality. And right now fear is pushing hope to the furthest point of my conscious.

While in the midst of having a mental breakdown and aneurism at the same fucking time, I hear a sound that throws me back to reality. Brian has emerged from 216 when we're only 15 feet away and shuts the door behind him, a puzzled yet frightened look on his face when he notices our panic.

"Wassup? The hell's goin' on?" he shouts as if we're deaf, worry glazed over his pasty face while he takes a step for us. The sound of bare feet pattering up the stairs becomes abundant, making the three of us stop from fear and stare in a petrified state. 

"Oh my GOD, are the- ch-BOOM!" Brian says as the infected burst through the stairwell, but not as many as I imagined, and what's weirder, it's the rapists I'd killed only about an hour ago… and not all of them, just seven; all without head wounds.

Brian whips around to see them and shrieks at the sight, so loud and high pitched it hurt my ears and made me think Georgia was the one who'd screamed until I see his open mouth. He starts to run, but they all turn on him once he screams, snatching him before he can even take a single step.

"NO!!" Georgia cries at the top of her lungs and two of them snap their heads toward us, blood draining from their ajar mouths.

FUCK.

Literally, fuck everything…

And to make it worse, they snap to full height and slowly lumber after us. I put my right hand over her mouth, which makes her freak out and elbow me in the abdomen while also biting my uninjured hand, now slightly injured. Flashbacks from Jamal I'm sure. I let out a very shallow grunt, but just tighten my grip on her as she continues to assault me, lifting her up, leaning her against my body, and dragging her back quietly until she relaxes enough for me to speedily lead her away from the scene.

I don't see Brian's actual death, but I can hear it, and I saw them tearing him apart during the beginning. He tried to reach out for me to help him, to grab his hand and pull him to safety. He had trusted me, and no matter how much I hate myself for it, I could never be there for him. I was just that selfish. "Is that wrong?" I wonder that while the blood halting cries of my friend being torn apart roar in my heart, his voice dying out as they rip his throat out or jaw off, of which I'm unsure, but the echo still ringing in my conscious…

So I was forced to ask myself again…

Is it wrong to abandon our friends even if they're unsalvageable?

Yes, of course it is. But if I was to choose between possibly saving Brian, or saving Georgia and the rest, I'd choose the same again. My group means more than just one friend.

But what bothers me most is that there's no explanation for how this is happening. How did they become infected?? They weren't bitten… No bad blood was mixed with theirs in any way… So… does that mean the infection is airborne or something…

…are we already infected?

We run into the closest classroom and I shut the door directly before they start beating against the glass like savage gorillas. Unfortunately the metal pole I was using as a weapon is in the class with the others, at least 30 feet away, exactly where I don't need it to be… I slam a desk in front of the doorway and rush Georgia to the back of the class, behind the teacher's desk. I glance around the room, searching for another weapon, yet all they have are desks in this goddamn room. I hear the glass shatter and the wood start splintering when they break through the door like its nothing but screen mesh…

"Shut up… don't speak. We needa stay here and hide. I think they track us by sound since they haven't chased us even though we're right in front of them. They didn't go after Brian until he screamed. If we shut up we should be safe," I whisper so low that I have to lean in for her to hear, my lips brushing the peach fuzz on her ear. I finally let go of her mouth, the faint outline of a bite mark on my palm from her large canines, and indicate for her to hide underneath the teacher's desk, safe from danger. That's what I'm hoping at least.

I clench my teeth and pray I'm right, because it's the only thing I have going for me. I see a pile of metal rulers and carefully pick one up, making sure they don't clink together while I grab one, and fling it out into the hallway.

Clang!

It echoes through my ears, my heart pounding so fast I can feel it in my eyeballs, thumping even faster when they follow the sound. I get so happy a smile breaks across my face. Maybe we can survive this! Maybe we have a chance!

…don't you hate those false feelings of hope? I know I do…

One stumbles out into the hallway after the ruler, following like a puppy chasing a stick, even letting a strangled bark loose as he rushes to the sound. It kicks the ruler and follows after it almost happily, eagerness stretching across the corpses lifeless face before it ventures out of sight. The other starts to follow, but stops and raises his head to the sky before he's out of the classroom. I stare at it nervously, wondering what the fuck it could be doing. It can't see, so why would it stare at the ceiling? Abruptly its head snaps toward me, enlarged nose flared out as it starts sniffing the stale air.

No, there's no way it can smell me… oh, wait…

I glance down at my hand, blood still pushing up through the cloth. Don't tell me…

It snarls a grin and dashes for me. I can't ever catch a break…

I snatch the knife from my pocket, flick the safety off, tug on the spring activated trigger, and relock the safety so that the blade can't close. The infected has shoved past the desk moves toward me. I wait until the thing gets closer, heart stopping as it approaches. I brush its outstretched arms out of my way so I can quickly pierce its skull, shoving the blade fully inside its cranium and quickly withdrawing it so that it doesn't get stuck or jammed in the bone, using its own blood as lubricant.

As the body falls to the ground I catch it to avoid anymore unnecessary noise, and quietly lay him on the ground like I actually cared about whose body it once was. I wait to see if the others had heard the death of their brother, an uncomfortable silence hanging in the room as the sounds of animals feeding outside bubbles my stomach acid, giving me a putrid feeling of dread, the "what ifs" running through my head. After about a minute I know my luck is finally coming around and slide underneath the desk with Georgia, whose knees are quaking.

"Is it dead?" she whispers hesitantly, eyes wavering and widened.

"Yeah, you'll be fine if you stay here… But I need you to stay here. Look. Look here, in my eyes. If you hear anyone else come through here that isn't talking, stab them in the head with this," I tell her sternly and hand her my knife, blood still dripping off the tip of the blade.

"Where're y'going?!" she questions me, worry contorting her face.

"I gotta get 'em away from you, all of you. When the coast is clear, go to 216 with the others and wait for me," I order her, sadness shadowing my face. I then get up to leave before she could distract me in any way from what I need to do. I can't have any distractions on my mind for the retardation I have planned.

Wait… why the fuck am I trying to save these people anyway? Henry has been the closest thing to a best friend I've ever had, and I fucked Angela for a while, but other than that, what the fucking hell do I owe any of them? My time? My devotion? Risking my life? Is it worth saving them again? Won't they just give me the same stare they did when I killed Jamal's people? In reality, I could lead the infected into 216 somehow, draw them to the others so that at least Georgia and I could escape.

But how far would we get? Two people with a single knife and no idea what they'd be running into once they're outside. I automatically dismiss the idea of abandoning my friends. If I did something like that we'd be the same as Jamal or Mitchell or Brian, or even that couple I saw die 30 minutes ago; dead, soon to be infected or digested.

No, I can't leave my friends. I can't lose whatever dysfunctional family I have now, no matter how little they may care for me or what I've been through. I can't end up being alone again. I won't be able to make it. Not this time. I may have complained about not having people there for me before, but I have them there now. Sure, fear drives the love I feel for these people, but it's a love I haven't experienced before. I actually care for these people. I won't abandon my family. Never again. I will make these people see what I am capable of. I will show them that there is hope as long as we are together. With hope, we will live.

Then that sensation spreads, deflating the spontaneous burst of courage faster than an elephant stepping on a whoopee cushion. Dread begins infesting my mind like when you know something bad is probably gonna happen along the way? It isn't exactly the most encouraging feeling to have at this point in time… and just like always, I'm stuck in another situation where I'm bound to die.

Yippee for me…

~*~