Twenty-Three

          We storm out of the church at the first sign of morning light. The fresh air is cool and welcoming on my skin, though gooseflesh rises on my arms. We stay in a small group, all moving cautiously as we head in the direction Cole directs us to.

            Everyone seems like they’re more on edge this morning. I don’t know whether it’s because we’re sore from walking, what happened to Emily or even what happened with Jack. But the moment we open those big wooden doors and walk through, everything seems different. Everything seems worse.

            Nobody speaks as we hurry silently through the streets. We hear no signs of movement from the dead but the stillness is eerie. A few times something will creak in the wind like a sign or a piece of a newspaper will flutter in the breeze.

            When it floats through the air and comes towards us, I reach out and grab it between my fingertips. Everyone slows as I look it over, trying to put the words together through the dirt and tears.

            A Virus Outbreak Is Infecting Humanity

            I try to read past the headline but the ink is illegible. The only words I can make out are near the end, saying something along the lines of, ‘this may be the last post I write.’

            I let the paper slide through my fingers and it swings and sways until it lands on the ground. It blows over a few times, letting some pages that remain attached create a smacking sound. We all stare at it for a few moments before continuing on without giving it a backward glance.

            “This way,” Cole says quietly, switching direction towards a house rather than the open street we’ve been continuing on. We stay cautious as we walk between the fence and the house. Claustrophobia washes over me when I realized we’re walled in. If zombies were to come from both exits, we would all be dead.

            When we reach the back yard I flinch at a sound across the dying grass. My heart races and I raise my gun upon instinct. When Jagger grabs my shoulder and nods his head, I follow his eyes. A children’s swing set sits at the far corner of the backward. One of its legs isn’t properly fastened in the ground so when the breeze catches one of the metal swings, the whole thing rocks, creating the creepy sound.

            Cole leads the way again until we reach the back of the fence. After a few moments he spots a rotting board and grabs it with his free hand. It takes a couple of tries to make it snap quietly and then we’re clear, all ducking through it. I have to cover the toddler’s head in front of me, who again sits in the backpack.

            “I’m getting hungry,” Jagger announces after another few hours of walking through the city. Without a car to take us directly there and the fact that getting one would alert every zombie to us, it’s taking considerably longer to get there. If the Hummer had been full of gas we would have been there yesterday. Now it’s going to take days.

            “Does anyone have food?”

            Everyone checks their bags momentarily in the back of another house’s yard but everyone comes up empty handed. I’m the only one unable to check so when everyone realizes they’re out, they turn to me.

            “I have baby,” I say, gesturing to the child.

            “I’m not a cannibal,” Cole mutters with a hint of amusement. “And even though I’m next to starving, I don’t think I want food that’s squished underneath that kid. How long has it been since it’s had a diaper change?”

            With very little room for something that takes up a lot of space, we haven’t been able to vouch for many diapers. Last night was the last change we had, and even though the child probably smells like exactly the kind of things it’s emitting, none of us have taken a shower. Maybe we had all taken turns cleaning up at the one sink in the church before bed, but without soap or shampoo, water doesn’t do much.

            “How long has it been since you’ve had a diaper change,” Jack snaps out of nowhere. Cole looks towards him, dumbfounded. When I first met him, he would have freaked out at Jack for a comment like that. But with everything we’ve been through, he just stares, unable to comprehend that not only did Jack speak for the first time since the church incident, he also was rude.

            What is going on?

            “Houses are off limits still,” Jagger notes. In the afternoon sun he has to cover his forehead to see out into the distance. “Do you know what’s up ahead that we can raid? A store, gas station, anything?”

            Cole shakes his head. “There’s nothing like that this far away from downtown. But I think there’s a school on the way.”

            “How long will it take?”

            “A couple hours.”

            Again we set out, this time in search for food. My stomach growls and every little while one of the guy’s will. At first Cole and Jagger will laugh it off, joking about who’s hungrier or louder. But eventually when the lack of food turns into hunger pains, we are all quiet, dreading every time we hear that sound. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that we haven’t eaten since early this morning, and that was only a small amount. But as soon as someone’s stomach gurgles, it reminds us we’re starving.

            By the late afternoon the school looms into view. It’s small, only one red-brick floor that couldn’t hold more than five-hundred kids. When we near it I see a sign and cringe. We’re not going to a high school, it’s an elementary school.

            What if there are dead or zombie children still in there?

            Jagger senses my hesitation and slows down to match my step. Though we’re not touching he moves closer to me and somehow it gives me the same comfort.

            “It’s fine,” Cole says reassuringly. “Just be quiet. I think I saw something move up ahead.”

            He crouches slightly behind a row of rotting hedges that separate the front of the school’s dying grass from the asphalt. The rest of us follow in suit, Bullet to much extent that he’s lying on his stomach. By now I’m somewhat used to the way he acts as if he knows we’re in danger, but this gesture still surprises me.

            Surely enough up ahead, at the right side of the school there’s a fence. For a moment I wonder if I’m just trying to see things and my imagination is misleading me, but then the man stumbles on the other side of the fence. He comes from the back of the school, dragging one leg behind him. His ankle is twisted at an angle that even makes my own stomach churn and his jaw is clearly broken from the way it hangs limply. Every few moments he groans.

            Once he disappears behind the school again I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

            I guess not seeing a zombie in a while had me pretending that they didn’t exist.

            “Why are we assuming there’s food in there?” I ask out of nowhere. Cole who is leaning against the school sign a few feet ahead turns around to look at me. “It’s an elementary school. Don’t their parents pack perishable lunches?”

            Cole just stares at me, his expression blank.

            After a few moments of being a statue he blinks. “It has a cafeteria, Sloane.”

            I don’t know how to respond to him. He tells me in a way that makes it seem like I’m stupid, but I honestly have no idea how I, or he would know this. He knows I can’t remember anything. I’m going based on my zombie-apocalypse judgement.

            “How do you know this?” I question after a few moments of listening to the man groan somewhere out of sight.

            Cole quickly turns around to observe the way we’re going to head into the building. “Because this was my elementary school.”

             It turns out that the front doors of the place are locked so to not attract any unwanted attention, Jagger has to jimmy a window. It’s a struggle to get Bullet through but once we develop a dog-carrying system, we have a good idea of how to maneuver him around when needed.

            Somehow passing the toddler to Jack ended up with him carrying the child. At first I was wary, but when he didn’t protest, I felt relieved to have the extra weight. The boy keeps Jack busy, and keeping him busy means he can’t think.

            When my feet hit the flooring of a classroom, I scan my eyes around the rows of desks and wait for them to adjust to the dark. Even though we started off in a school, somehow that was different. This is a place where children went. Kindergarteners, even. I’m scared of what I might find here.

            “Let’s make this quick,” Jagger whispers in case we’re not the only ones inside here. Judging by the locked doors we just might be, but with the way things have been going, we could be in store for some surprises. “Get food. In and out. I don’t want to spend a night here.”

            “You scared?” Jack sneers.

            We act as if he never said anything at all.

            Cole and Jagger have to break the door open for us to get through.

            Dust floats through the very stuffy halls of the elementary school. Somehow even though I feel like I can’t breathe the school found a way to make it cold. My arms hug my sides with every pause we make as Cole tries to remember the directions around the school.

            As we tiptoe down a particularly chilly hallway, I hug my shotgun to my chest – which by the way, doesn’t help warm me since the metal is cold – and stare up at the wall. So many faded white papers cover the once-blank space. Each one of them has a drawing on them and in the dark I can only make out what a few are supposed to be.

            A blue spot with five lines and a small circle on top of it with ears resembles a dog. Another green and brown mess is supposed to be a tree. Others are the finger-painting portraits of the one living children’s families. Eventually I can’t look at them anymore, not because most of them are indecipherable, but because these little kids had lives.

            And now even though they’re gone, their pictures still hang on the walls.

            “This way,” Cole murmurs as he leads us down a hallway to the left. Through the grime-covered windows I can see that we’re going towards the back of the school. Cole pauses in front of a set of double doors and rests his hand on the handle. “Through here is the cafeteria. Everyone ready?”

            Even though we haven’t seen another monster since the one outside, we’re all still on edge. There’s something eerie about this place and it makes me hold my shotgun with shaky palms.

            Cole pushes open the door and we all pause in the doorway, holding out guns pointed in the space of empty tables and chairs. Nothing happens.

            Jagger sighs and they step into the room. I’m about to follow after them when something moves out of the corner of my eye. Without meaning to, I whip my head towards a window at the end of the wall. It’s foggy from not being cleaned in a while and dust clings to it so well that I can’t see through it.

            I don’t blink.

            I feel like I’m caught in a staring contest with something that’s obviously going to beat me, but I don’t stop looking. I refuse to blink, knowing that if I do, I’ll miss whatever brought me to staring here a moment ago. By now the others are gone, in the cafeteria, having no idea that I’m still standing here. I hear them complaining about something but I’m too distracted in my staring contest to pay attention to what.

            Something smells and my eyes sting, both from the stench and not blinking but I still don’t close my eyes.

            In the bottom right corner of the window there’s tiny droplets of blood splattered on it, ones I wouldn’t have seen without looking for this long. Only a few holes let me see outside into the back field, but they’re still blurry and so small that I can’t tell what’s on the other side.

            I press my hand to a window.

            I clench my jaw together, trying to suppress the memory. I can’t blink; can’t falter. If the others saw what I’m doing they would think I’m crazy. But deep down I know, there’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me I saw something out there.

            “It’s probably just that man,” I whisper to myself. I regret opening my mouth as the smell touches my tongue. I try not to gag.

            I brush my palm across the glass, trying to remove the must from the rain.

            I gnash my teeth together for the second time so I can stay in the present, but too many images flash across my mind at once.

            I’m here, staring at the dirty window.

            Raindrops hit the place where I put my hand.

            My eyes are burning, begging me to blink. My vision is becoming blurry and not from the memory. I need to blink or I’m going to cry from dryness.

            I don’t see his blue pickup truck parked in the driveway.

            My breaths start coming out in rasps and the stench fills my lungs again. I cringe at the smell and continue staring, trying not to blink. Eventually I come to the conclusion that I’m crazy. I’m absolutely insane. I didn’t see anything at all and even if I did it was just a zombie, locked outside.

            It’s still not here.

            As if I’m playing a game, I avert my eyes away. I stare at the wall underneath the windowpane for only a second before I quickly look back at the window.

            Nothing.

            He’s still not coming back.

            I can’t do it anymore. I blink.

            My air catches in my throat as my entire body seizes.

            The smack of the hand hitting the window makes it impossible for me to breathe. Even though we’re separated by the hallway, glass and bricks, it feels as if the hand is grabbing my neck, choking me.

            It streaks blood down the window as it lowers its hand.

            “Sloane?”

            I don’t mean to gasp as I jerk towards Jagger’s voice. He’s standing a few feet inside the cafeteria, meeting my eyes with that brooding look he always has. His body is leaning against the doorframe and even though it’s a usual gesture for him, now it looks different. He looks defeated. Shoulders slumped, legs weak, he looks exhausted.

            I didn’t know Jagger could look exhausted.

            “Everything okay?”

            I hold my breath as I turn back to the window. The hand is gone, but the red, streaked handprint remains. Somehow less of the filth is gone and the blood is crystal clear.

            Turning my gaze back to Jagger, I nod, unable to find the words.

            “Coming in?” I nod again as he extracts himself from the wall.  He grimaces as he straightens up and closes the space between us. When he’s barely in front of me he does something strange. He lowers himself onto the ground and I scrunch my face, confused. When he stands, he holds something metal out to me.

            “Oh,” I whisper as I take the shotgun from his outstretched hands. I hadn’t realized I dropped it.