Last Dawn of a Horde - Chapter Two: The Plan

LAST DAWN OF A HORDE

Chapter Two: The Plan

~John~

            "What the heck are you playing at, John?" Andrea lets go of her wrist, and looks sternly at me.

            "I'll tell you later, we need to hide!" I tell them.

            Another round of running past dead bodies, some are about to rise again, and do whatever their killer did to them. So on. After passing one rabid first year, we learned we need to somehow defend ourselves. James had the metal mop swung against the rabid first year we encountered, and its head crashed on the bushes nearby.

            Lucky we didn't run into the mob of dead teachers. How was it even possible? That the teachers—with no alive at all in the moment—were attacked? It raised the suspicion maybe (a very little chance) that woman wasn't really alone. Before sinking down on the silent Offices, we stopped for a while, and tried to see abhorrent things for ourselves.

            The teachers, with different sites of injuries in their bodies, started to chase screaming students who looked like they didn't know what will happen if one of those undead people reach and bite and kill them. As instantly, many students were taken down, with just a number of school staff.

            It was sick.

            James urged us to go, and the last thing I saw from the school grounds was a number of man-eating students as well. They seem infected, turning into like them. The panic-struck girls with us are so speechless James and I looked like we're carrying rag dolls, things that depended on our hold.

            Once on the hallway of Offices, we desperately tried opening about five doors on the halls, which is only permitted of use to the teachers. Unfortunately they were all locked, and that the door knobs, doors, and even the hall we were standing on is full of thick blood. There were even pink sediments that I tried to touch, which is just a piece of someone's flesh. Although I know myself they are fresh, those rotting pieces that will smell in a few days.

            A few days. I'm not even planning to stay here, nor even planning of going home, even if this phenomena brings chill to my spine. My family—my mother, tending my two little sisters... No, I try to erase the thought. They are safe, probably, and I need to stay alive.

            "It's all locked!" Den trills at us, trying to budge on knob.

            James turned to me. "What should we do?"

            I can only think of one thing. These Offices, from my past years, had a few stocks of food—we might stay out alive, even. Another interesting fact is that I even knew Principal Guns had a few guns in his Office. Real ones.

            I try to make out this plan of simple survival, as we were so afraid that one moment this hall will be flooded by the undead. And we will be like them. And one day we'll do the things, acrid things they do. And then some hero gets to kill us, and our dear life is gone.

            Of course, no one liked my plan—because it means one of us needs to trek his or her way back up to the guard house. One silver box beside the guard's counter holds all of the keys of all the buildings and locks of the school, bundled into one chain. That will surely get one of us killed.

            "No, we don't want to get any one more killed," says Rose, biting her nails.

            "Those keys must be an essential part of our lives," I tell them. Still, no one's convinced. So I run it on my fingers—and try to think of another plan. Maybe the key idea was so dangerous and unsure. What if some other students got the keys already? Probably those undead must be brainless for sure, as a flashback of them looking like stupid drunk people when they walk on the grounds was telling me so.

            "Other plans?" I ask them.

            For every minute wasted, there's a chance that somebody can find us. The dead is scary enough, but what if the alive and those who are thinking well? In their deranged minds, they'll kill everything on their way. Yes, that was one cycle of horror movies that looked like this.

            "What about," Andrea begins, "we go to the cafeteria? There's a lot of food in there, we can take stocks."

            "Don't you think it's closed, John?" James asks me.

            "I don't know," I say. I really don't. And just seeing these people depending on me pressures me more. "Who's up for the keys?"

            No one raised their hand.

            That means were on the cafeteria idea. Since it's not one of my plans, I can't weigh things about it. I just thought that, if we die, then we die. Who knows? If all of the human beings in the planet turn into a monster, and they'll eat nothing, they'll die. That seems to be a pretty optimistic thought. Can't wait for that to happen.

            "Do you think that the world is like this, too?" Sophie frantically asks me. "What if we're the only living things left?"

            "No, it can't be," I tell her flatly. I don't want to break in tears by seeing my family being one of them, and I have to kill them personally. So we continue to walk past corridors—the ones where we hear peculiar noises, and then we instantly knew that corridors filled with eerie, scratching sounds are unsafe with a chance that the undead lies there, waiting for someone stupid to pass them.

            Walk through noisy halls filled with cries of agony in pain from the living, and run past quiet, empty and deserted rooms is our plan. Unbelievably, two hours had passed since everyone turned to panic. In about fifteen minutes of stealth trek, we reached the cafeteria.

            If only things were normal, we should have reached the cafeteria in three minutes. The difference today was there's a plague—an infection that tries to chase us. Before going inside the two-floored cafeteria, we poked our noses on the glass windows, and saw no sign of movement. But it's not empty, either. I wonder what it looks like on the second floor...

            I signaled a go, and James opened the main door. For years of our school days here, the cafeteria can hold at least one thousand people. Seated ones. A lot of tables and chairs neatly arranged and friendly canteen staff are around.

            The place looked like a horror land: The parks where we often come to, with a lot of scary figures made of Styrofoam; a lot of machines that scare anyone who enters. There's not much difference, though. The cafeteria turned into a complete horror land—the carefully lined chairs and tables were scrambled everywhere; lights are flickering; blood was splattered everywhere; and we kept on stepping on a lot of bodies unintentionally.

            Are they dead? They got bite wounds, most got their necks and legs; some got their ears or eyes pulled off. I realized it's so unnecessary to release restrained vomit here, because it will only add a lurching stench in here, leaving all of us vomiting before we even got food.

            We're hungry. We reached the cabinets where staffs usually take packs of chips and crackers; now only a dozen of flavored potato chips remain on the stalls, clearly meaning some groups were here. After looting from the snack stall, we got fourteen bottles of water, and four cans of soda that we aren't so fond of buying because of high prices. After going through again to some food containers, we got a pack of beef and bacon and one container of rice. All of it uncooked, but not hard-frozen anymore.

            "Is this enough? For all of us?" I show them the goodies, all of which is in my bag. You won't believe me, but all of my books and things were at the classroom buildings. I absentmindedly left them there. And I don't plan of getting them anyway.

            Everyone nodded, so it's a go. James was about to swing the exit door open, when Den accidentally knocks a chair over, making a loud, thudding sound. Frozen, we look at each other's scared, sweating faces, until someone from the stairs yell.

            "Help! The dead's going alive!"

            I recognize the voice.

            Tumbling down the stairs carrying a large, stuffed backpack, was my fat, obese classmate Rich. We call out for his name, and he tries his best to sprint quickly. He's not alone, though—he was with our classmate, Jimmy, who was carrying a heavy backpack too. Behind them was about half a dozen of marching undead. They were hungry for them.

            Seeing them walk like that irritates me. So leaving the seven girls next to the door, James and I came to our classmates' aid. A little coincidental, though, about us only finding our classmates along the way. I mean, what if we're the only class who's been entirely alive? Well, maybe not. Maybe these two are the last.

            James skewered two zombie head with a nearby broomstick, and he left me with four dead students for me to crush their heads on the stairs.

            Done.

            I tried to fish the backpack on Jimmy's back. I was right, the backpacks were heavy, but he shrugged my hand off. Okay, I can at least accept "Thank you".

            "I'm sorry, but there's a lot of food there," says Rich, whose neck wasn't still visible.

            We made it to the door, and before somebody closed the door, I catch a glimpse of the lying dead bodies about to stand up and join the march. No one there was our classmate, who will probably a person who we will care about.

            I made up the realization if we didn't help these two, those undead will stand up and live again and unleash terror to the living. Particularly, to them first.

            "Which way?" James asks, his face utters a grimace. I pointed to back to the Offices, until Rich withdraws something from his pockets. A huge chain of different silver keys bundled over a shining silver loop.

            "The keys!" I exclaimed.

            "We got it from the guard house just before we left them and went here for food," says Jimmy, who's been Rich's friend since. He was thin, so obviously he was having a little difficulty in carrying things himself.

            "Who's them?" I ask him, as I turn my head around to see if someone was pursuing us.

            "President," Jimmy addresses me, "do you think you're the last ones alive?"

            First thought I knew he was sarcastically speaking. Then something warm swells inside me. My fellow classmates—they are still alive. Rich and Jimmy tell us about their short trek too, after we got separated as one class. And then we knew now why those Offices are locked.

            The Principal's Office had about more than fifteen of our classmates, and Rich and Jimmy were the ones who volunteered on foraging for food. Maybe, they thought we are zombies too, so they didn't at least open the withdrawed windows. Summarizing it, there are still some people alive. I'm glad.

            We were near the Offices, carrying all these food until we crossed on one undead. It was on the ground, munching on a poor student's fingers. James says we can make it out alive if we take another route to the Offices, and that it didn't even noticed us. Then one moment, one crazy third year went off screaming.

            "No! Jennifer! NO!"

            Jennifer was one another student, and she was probably the one being munched by this smelly, rotting undead. Of course, it turns its head and sees us. Not long, the third year quickly went to our direction, and hid himself behind us.

            What a coward, using us as his protection, or expecting us to be puny little heroes when none of us don't really know who he is. We didn't shake him off, yet the undead was on its feet, and was about to make his way to us. Great.

            About to turn our heels around to run, the sight of incoming mob of undead from our backs made the reroute impossible. It's like we have a choice of getting one against twenties or thirties. We take the one.

            So my previous presumptions were wrong—there were pursuers. And probably, these loathing undead behind us were the ones we have seen as dead before. Now they are on their feet. About to kill us. Before I can even wonder if they can even smell us, adrenaline pumps on my blood again, and I start to run with my allies. We're eleven now—James and I, seven girls, and Rich and Jimmy. No, twelve if we take this junior. Surely no one was selfish and rude enough to leave and let him die here, right?

            Taking the way where the single undead was, all of us prepared for a good, quick run past it. If one of us did get caught, I'm afraid that one needs to be left, unless it can be rescued. And I don't want to be that one, either.

            An act of heroism and bravery suddenly came out of my best friend. James, even though carrying something that heavy, was able to swing the backpack on his back. In a quick, fluid motion, he swung the backpack once again when he was near enough the undead. Once it hits, the undead was thrown off from the ground, and landed off somewhere with a loud crash. If it landed on the thorned bushes nearby, better.

            James caught up to me. I tap his back as we run, and say, "That's one good shot."

            "It's fun to kill them since you're eager to stay alive," says James as we are sloping down and eventually, reached the Offices. Panting, we were to collapse on our knees. Sweat was forming rapidly on my face.

            But upon seeing a group of three dead people marching slowly on their way to us, Rich tapped on the Principal's Office door and plugged one key in. It shouldn't be hard, figuring what key to use since each key have a name inscribed onto them. In panic that the undead will reach us, I almost kicked the door, but it bolted open, and revealed the once clean and neat Office now looking like an evacuation center. Yes, Rich was right—we are many in here. More than fifteen students of mixed years—no, more than thirty—were here because there's still a space near Principal Guns' desk, which was out of sight from the doorstep.

            We crashed onto the dirty tiled floor, and the students here with us looked delighted when Rich said they got a lot of food, although all Offices have a small fridge of small stocks which will not be enough.

            Lunch time and we still haven't eaten something. From outside, as we take the food we got, groans and moans and different sounds were circulating around. It's only bothering to seen that some students here looked so terribly scared their hands were glued on their ears. Some even muttered words no one can understand.

            Luckily, I have my lunch, egg and a piece of ham made by mother before I went to school. Er—my mother... and my family...

            I shut myself off. Of course, in this time of distress, we learn to share food. Now I won't take back the thought that this food is already enough—which really is. It's as if that dangerous trip was necessarily safe and exciting every day. My lunch is gone after a while, and so do half of what we got at the cafeteria. I admit I'm still hungry and so do my other classmates. Rich, who always takes lunch made at home, gave up his lunch so that five students can eat it, where it reality that amount wasn't enough for himself.

            After we've done filling the fridge of everything that's left, I noticed everyone was still still and quiet. Who wouldn't be? Everything that happened is traumatic. When we saw the TV, we turned it on, and waited for the news, but all of the channels look like they were to broadcast later—we all hear that annoying static sound telling you to turn the TV off and turn it on later.

            I curl into one corner, stomach rumbling, and try to think of things to at least, calm me…

~James~

            "I d-don't know," says John after some comments and questions about today fill the room. It's all about complaints and anxieties of dying.

            I just let my best friend sit in one corner and think of something we can do. Even I who looked that brave were afraid to die too. I don't want to die. If at least I need to, not like this.

            I opened the TV once again, and gladly no one disapproves—I bet no one even noticed the TV was on.

            It's the reporter last time again. The last part of his report was cut off when I turned the TV off. Not only I was the one nearest, but I bet no one can even bear looking at the stressed reporter's face. In my horror, I watch him read reports while sitting in a helicopter.

            Why being in a helicopter? I want to see—well also the kids who want to see a glimpse of the road outside—what the hell is really happening on our world. I listen all ears, if ever this update would be the most important one I need to listen at. Or the last.

            "We are here up-air to give an update about the recent pandemic accident, in concentration at the Burgundy Avenue. We are sad to say this, but the famous Joseph's University was one of the areas infected with the unknown virus spreading like wildfire. Recent reports say it started when the school's connection was cut off, signaling something happened. A team of masked virus investigators were on their way to the school to see what happened. We tried to contact the school, but since their line was disconnected, we have no current news about the students inside." The reporter was gone, and on the screen, it shows now what Burgundy Ave. looks like.

            It wasn't nice. The street was full of the identically marching dead people, and just on the screen, the camera gets footage of one old lady being surrounded by the undead. Looking back inside the Office, John was watching, but says nothing. Now he must be worrying about his family.

            I know he had a mother and two sisters, who were in the danger of dying today. But me, since I was an orphan, I can only pray for the safety of my friends, the priests and sisters that raised me, and everyone still alive.

            The report ends in saying the country's president Richard Robinson had the country in quarantine—and a degree of proclaiming the country in a state of calamity.

            I turn the TV off, thinking about things. John and I and some students used to watch movies with a man-eating flock of creatures, and liked the violence. Never thinking what will happen if it happens on real life. Going back to President Robinson, I know he's hiding something. And in time, if that rescue team doesn't come to our aid, I'm afraid we are to die.

            Standing up, I slide the window curtains a bit, and tried to see the outside environment. Not like a while ago, now it's the undead's moan and groans, as they were probably finding someone to eat up and turn it into like them. Some were just outside our door, and John told me he had the theory these freaks can smell us. Yeah, who wouldn't be so desperate when hungry?

            When a lot of students were running on the grounds a while ago, now the grounds weren't for the living. Oh, I doubt if we're the last ones alive. But the thought of some epidemic spreading throughout the country, and eventually, the whole planet, seems unbearable. I wait for fresh reports, but they aren't giving anything recent on the TV. They just showed a few men wearing white suits and tasers taking out a few undead. But in the increasing number of the undead...well, I don't want to say it.

            What if this pandemic disease is to spread? No matter how I want to dismiss the topic, I can't. I see images inside my head—children, old people and everyone being like those creepy creatures. Even us, who tries to resist their number. For a while, the Office looked peaceful as some of our schoolmates have drifted off to sleep. Good thing, at least it's only us awake who hear the bothersome scratching sounds that came from the door.

            Besides me and John, the bravest here, there are four more students awake, unable to drift to sleep because they were bothered by the sounds as well. Maybe the undead is smart enough to figure out we're here, leaving us hoping they weren't wolves—who call their mates if they found their victim. And their lunch.

            I met Joanna, a senior as well, but I don't know her. Joining our conversation was Joseph, Lance, and Craft. They think the four of them are the only ones alive from their class, and asks help for them to survive as well.

            Well, for the record, they are the only ones I know from the lower sections. I wasn't friendly at all, and I was contented with my best friend and my classmates, which I consider my friends as well. But now I know I need to help of others to stay alive.

            They had told me what happened to them. After getting away from their classmates, who locked themselves on their room, so scared to go out, not knowing staying there can kill them. So there are only four of them who are left from their class.

            Sad story but true—they thought they will die once the mob of teachers grabbed anyone who gets near, or the ones who can't run fast and think of a way to hide and escape, yet they haven't weighed the chances of dying. Doesn't matter anymore—at least they're alive, and we were somehow away from conscientious thoughts that we only wanted our class to survive.

            "Do you think we'll be alive until tomorrow?" Joanna asks, blowing her nose on her scarf.

            "Of course," I tell her positively, although I really knew the answer. Almost zero chance.

            She must've known it too, so she smiles and buries her face on Joseph's arm. Then Lance and Craft told me Joanna was Joseph's girlfriend, and that although he was quiet, Joseph was afraid for her as well. Now, aside from their story of survivals, they had told me all about their lives, beliefs and virtues, believing at least one of the star class should know what lower sections are made of. Only that John, almost curled to sleep, was listening as well.

           

            Night came.

            Terror rose from the walls of the restricted Office. John was up, and that's when we surrender to the fact it's already dark, but the school's lights are all dead. Does the undead need to be so conservative? Of course, they can sense us even in the dark—the time when we are blinded. So the plan of staying here in the Office wasn't imperative anymore—as the food we have had had already been consumed. Of course, even though we had the rule of sharing, some still ask for extras, something we couldn't reject.

            Being the star class, the remaining people in our class try to administer the refugees (we almost debated for the term to use,) while John and I and about five of my classmates talked about another plan.

            The plan seems crazy, but it means another strip of life. Because surely, foods in the cafeteria were stored near the cooking area, somewhere we never reached before. And that's on the second floor.

            A vote cast was required, and I'm for the mission. So is John. The voting for if to GO or NO was 5-2. We're going.

            We told the other survivors about our transfer to the cafeteria, and some disapproved. In normalcy, who wants to go out when there are contagious people outside wanting to eat you? But unfortunately, we are all hungry.

            Rich hands the keys to John, and tells us the details.

            Since we're forty-six, we planned to have a lookout first, meaning John and I will look outside first for the freaking undead. After doing so, my best friend and I were just disappointed to see nothing but the walking dead and hear their growls. Still, the damn gates were closed, and even the dead claws on the gate hoping to go out. The halls of Offices were clear, and Rich tells us the next thing.

            We divide the whole troop into four groups, with two groups having twelve. It's mixed, so we are sure to guide everybody without any bias. John and I accompany ten girls, and our classmates were equally divided. The star section will be the guides. Awesome.

            Our group is the first to trek, while the remaining groups prepare things to bring with them. John brings the Principal's authentic guns; some bring weapons they think that can make a line between their life and death. When ready, John takes one final scan of the area around us, and we got to go.

            Initially, my heart pounds so hard I can barely hear John's whispers of commands. I kept on looking around and only the faint glow of the moon lights our way. In this situation you'll expect a couple of undead smacking around, but it seems they're gone off to their sleeps. As the night goes on, the fainter of the growls we hear, which although calms everyone, gives me and John a terrible chill on our spines. It surely means something...

            We pass through every hall quietly, and stop periodically to check things around. Good, we are near the cafeteria in about five minutes. Before entering, still, we check. And check. And check. No one was home.

            Even the second floor was empty, we had quite time to convince the girls with us that's no one's here. Afterwards, we settle on the wide floor. There's a steel door that can help, and we closed it so that unnecessary guests will come not.

            I've never been on this place before. John had an experience of weekend cooking classes here, though. So he knows where to get certain things, and surprisingly, nothing was not in order. Except for a couple of tables splashed with blood, maybe.

            John told us this place was usually used for cooking classes just for selected students. That explains why there are cooking panels and eating tables and chairs here. A couple of shelves and locked drawers surround us, and John breaks a few locks to find stocks of uncooked food, which he brings to the panels to cook. He's a cooking boy too, since his mother usually leaves him the house to keep while she's gone. He cooks for himself, and taught himself some things he can use on their house.

            The girls were asleep again, and I decided to help John for dinner. As one pan sizzled, he tells me to call the others.

            It means on whistling the signal. We all agreed to have a whistle call, and when one of the first group whistles, it means we reached the cafeteria, and that we're safe. Or maybe some of us are. For as the death call—we agreed to scream our necks off when we're about to die, to warn the remaining groups to stay.

            It's good I uttered the whistle call, and then John smiles at me.

            "I think I'll die in these bothersome thoughts in my head," says John, tossing some sliced vegetables on the pan.

            "Me too," I tell him. "Are the gates still closed?"

            He nods. "See for yourself. But I'm fearing something."

            I look on the window, and it seems the whole school can be seen from here. Not just that the grounds are sloping down and the cafeteria's located high, the cafeteria's second floor itself is so high. I gaze upon the grounds and small beams of light from the lampposts outside the school luminates the very few marching dead down the grounds. I'm afraid I can only see about twenty of them marching endlessly to nowhere when a while ago, the ground was almost full of dead, cannibalistic people. Still, gates are closed.

            I return to John. "Still closed," I tell him.

            He nods curtly.

            "Why? Do you think some...got out?" I ask him frantically.

            John tossed the smoking vegetables to the big serving plate. "Wake them up, tell them to eat, I'll make soup for the others," John replies, never answering me.

            Because from all the years I have known him, if he answers in that manner, it means there's something he know that he doesn't want anyone of us to hear. And that scares me. Because John, although he didn't seem to look like it, he was a genius. He figures out something not all of us can. Yet he didn't want to recognize himself being one.

            I turn away and turned my tension into shaking all of the girls to wake up, and after the last one of them wakes up, we hear a violent banging sound, coming from the closed steel door. Frantically, I stood up, but didn't open the door. We agreed to have a password when we will enter the door, since John believes the dead can walk and kill, but can't talk.

            "P-Password?" I ask the door.

            "You can talk all you want!" said a voice quickly.

            I pull the heavy bar, and in an instant, people rushed inside. Upon replacing the bar, twelve people, five which are my classmates, were panting, and some sigh in relief upon seeing the smoking soup John was making.

            Rich was the one who called for the password, and in an instant, he went to the window and made the whistle call. All of us here before the second group were having the same thing in our mind—why are they so drenched in sweat?

            "W-Where are the other man-eaters? T-T-They were so few back t-t-there!" Rich mumbles.

            "What happened?" John asks, turning away from the saucepan.

            "Those dead people—they chased us, and they reached the cafeteria," says Rich, clutching his fat chest, breathing heavily.

            A blaze of fury was seen in John's eyes. "YOU LURED THEM HERE?! And yet called the others?" John suddenly yells.

            Rich answers, "No, we killed them before we knocked."

            John and I looked through those who belonged to the second group, and then we knew they handled a couple of undead. Fear and anxiety were in their eyes—yet something was far behind their blood-drenched uniforms.

            John calms down and turned to the panel, sprinkled salt on the soup as Rich approached him and taps his back.

            "Are you sure the ones that followed you are all dead?" Asks John, worried.

            Rich gives an unsure nod, and then one student from his group blurts out, "One of those zombies is my brother!"

            John or Rich didn't answer, and the girl started to cry. Three of my surviving girl classmates, Den, Andrea, and Suzanne comfort her, as they can understand a girl like them more than we boys can do. Images of killing my own friends and family were an abhorrent thought, and I would rather die than do it.

            John serves the soup afterwards, and the newcomers started to gulp and slurp hot soup. He sits with me by the window, watching every sign of movements outside. The world inherited by the dead—and no longer by the living.

            The third group comes, and utters the password so quick I just convinced myself only the living can speak. For now. The third group contained only five members, and some of them were grimier than the second group. I'm afraid that some of them...are already—

            "Six of us died!" Matthew, my classmate cries out, and the four with him fell on their knees and started to cry just after the girl who cried a while ago stopped.

            John's eyes fell.

~John~

            "How many of our classmates died?" I asked so calmly, as if I didn't hear anything bad.

            "Two," answers Jasmine. "Ellie and Rose."

            I nod and said no more. I heave a sigh, and looked at the window again.

            James was the next to ask. "Then how many of our classmates are left?"

            "Only two," Matthew says. "Me and Jasmine."

            Sophie's on the last batch. It was so good I didn't watch my classmates die. So far. It would be so painful, the people who were with you since kindergarten and yet, died in front of you. So ridiculous and painstakingly painful.

            I returned to the panel as if I'm about to cook again, but no. Several things run in my mind. And I can't tell anyone. Why? If my prediction was wrong, about the sudden disappearance of a great number of the undead, then I'll be giving a wrong track and a false alarm. Those things would be the last things that we'll need for now.

            But if I'm right—it'll just scare the hell out of anyone. And that's the reason I haven't told my only best friend yet. My best friend.

            Unbelievably, the whole stock left here at the cafeteria's second floor was able to fill all our tummies tonight. Well, for security reasons, we waited at least thirty minutes or so before James utters the last whistle call for the last batch. I take their share of the food with me, so no one will get it except them. No worries if they stop and went back to the Office: we have left them food—at the least to help them survive for a day.

            As I look around I asked myself, Why on earth that it was only us who got this place? Thinking about it makes me sick because it only shows how people react to panic, which is not subjected to blame. But they must have used their common sense. And because they haven't thought of barricading themselves here, it's us who'll survive. For now.

            The others lack things to do, so some of them got all of the knives and every kitchen tool with blunt edges or the ones that can cause injuries when not handled properly. Gladly, the students who were crying a while ago out of fear were no more. I see now a group of teens holding and preparing things. To kill. Not to cry and utter names anymore. One even shouted, "I'm ready for the apocalypse!" That's it. Apocalypse.

            Since the school wasn't on order right now, the regulations were no longer noticed. We are told not to harm and kill; steal things from others; open closed facilities and Offices not for students; and any else, bringing any electronic device except our handy and valuable cell phones.

            No, not handy anymore—it even increased our fear. There's no network service, and probably, signal posts around the city were turned down. No more possible means of communication. If this is an event caused by the annoying dead zombies, I may say it's all right. But if this is the movement of the president for country calamities...

            It seems were not the only ones alive here in the planet. So far. Because one student from the third group took out his cell phone with a radio. And unfortunately, he's the only one who was lucky to bring it with him. Some lost it while running, and some left it and never found it again. The battery pack is about to die, but at least we hear a strip of news from the still alive ones.

            "Our country fell into a chaos. Defense Secretary Press Parker announced that the country was under a red-level calamity, caused by an unknown disease spreading throughout the country, and even in some parts of the world. It was a major catastrophe, and Secretary Parker continues the rescue team plans to rescue and help the healthy and alive citizens. Recently, the rescue team got one feebly struggling 'zombie' and confirms the foreign epidemic.

            "News on the Faber City. The famous Burgundy Street in Faber City was identified as the main center of the spreading disease. Earlier morning, there were attempts to help the remaining students who must have been trapped inside the schools, particularly the Joseph's University, but a great number of marching horde on the streets disabled the rescue mission. Later on, Secretary Press Parker will have his..."

            The Scottish-accented woman talking on the news radio was cut off, and that's when we see the sophomore's cell phone dying out. Too bad, I didn't hear what Parker may have said or do. Maybe I'll just swipe the phone away and threw it outside. From all of the country's leaders, it was him who was so worthless. And a total moron. I may not look like it, but I know about this country's politics. And it's dirty like in the other countries.

            "Sorry, guys," says the sophomore with dreadlocks. He turns his phone away, and curled against the wall like what the others do.

            So my suspicions raised after hearing the news. Not all reacted; some just heaved a sigh upon hearing repetitive news, and some completely ignored it. So James and I sat beside the window again, and allowed cold, nostalgic night air to blow on our faces. Don't tell me the dead can already fly and grab us from here.

            I was never in this part of the campus before at night. I may have been in here, but those were cooking classes. Not do we camp in here. No one cares now anyway—there's no rule but to stay alive.

            James was just finished taking his soup. He takes the bowl down, and looks at the outside world beneath the windows. After about ten minutes, the fourth group hadn't returned yet. Normally, we expected the trek to consume less than quarter of an hour, but because the zombies are suddenly disappearing, it may not be the norm. So James was the one to talk.

            "Anything good you heard in the news?" James asks.

            "Nothing good," I say.

            "Ten minutes. Now eleven—the fourth isn't here yet. Do you think they can...utter the death call?"

            I swallow. We are waiting here for a dead group already if ever they are all killed and none of them screamed audibly for the death call.

            I figured out there's no more way I can hide one matter to myself anymore. If I'm killed, then it will be my fault for not informing at least one person about one crazy conjecture. Now I should trust him.

            "Do you remember Mr. Riggins?" I ask him.

            He shrugs. "He's dead now, perhaps."

            "No," I say, frowning. "What he said a while ago. When he was calling us to go out from the room."

            James stares blankly to nowhere, and shakes his head.

            I sigh. "Okay. What I think, Riggins told us something...informative. Something essential in staying alive," I say.

            "Which is?"

            "He told me, 'Eddington, don't let them reach the hole' before he disappeared a while after we turned away," I quoted.

            I waited about five seconds until James' face started to turn blue.

            "The h-h-hole? Y-Y-You mean t-t-the...?" James starts to shake and mumble as I finish his sentence.

            "The school's plumbing holes. The zombies must've used it to get out the school," I finish with a terrible, scaring manner.

            As soon as James tries to figure it out, we heard a terrible chorused screams that pierces the night sky.

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Greetings!
     As the story goes into second week...well, I admit it, readers are rarity now. But then, I'm happy this story still garners 'reads' from Wattpad.
     Now, it would be  a good thing if you see this boring blog and you've got something in mind--like a movie coming now, or a new song that I can review or what. Just comment or message me.
     Anyways, The Walking Dead allegedly will return for its fourth season on October 14. That's still a pending matter, but it's a common thing to notice that the first three seasons had their pilot episodes on the Halloween month. Eh? :)
     Speaking of The Walking Dead, here are goodies I found on the net. This one talks about the possible premiere of TWD Season 4. Aye, I couldn't wait to write an amateur review! :D
     - www.wetpaint.com/network/articles/when-will-the-walking-dead-season-4-premiere
     'Til next Saturday, for Last Dawn of a Horde Chapter Three: The Hope Hole!