THE END
SCHOOL’S OUT
By
Derek Gunn
Richard Doyle leaned out his car window and looked along the line of traffic in front of him. He sighed as he saw an endless line disappear round a corner at least half a mile away. Bloody traffic, he thought, it was getting worse instead of better. He jabbed at the off button on the radio, cutting short some politician’s boring tirade about the wonders of the new traffic and road signs that had been unveiled that week in preparation for the tourist season.
“You should come out here and see the chaos your bloody signs have caused and you wouldn’t be so smug,” he snapped at the now silent radio and then shrugged and looked around sheepishly at the other cars in case they had heard his outburst. No one had. He spent a few minutes looking around at the people in the lane next to him. He shrugged, smiled weakly and raised his eyebrows as he caught a woman’s eye in a car stuck in an equally long line going in the opposite direction. She smiled back with a bored expression and Doyle continued to look around. The early morning sun was already high in the sky and the heat through the windshield made him squirm uncomfortably in his seat. He loosened his tie and rolled down the window.
It wasn’t much better with the window open; the air was heavy with exhaust fumes and the stench set off a dull throbbing in his head. But the faint cool breeze was welcome regardless. He certainly hadn’t expected such good weather after yesterday. The news had been full of stories of the damage from the storm; trees uprooted, house roofs stripped bare and downed electricity lines all across the country. The warnings of the still dangerous cables pumping their power into the ground had filled the airways before that idiot with his road signs had come on.
Doyle only lived three miles from the school but it could still take nearly an hour to get to there. Of course, it didn’t help that he had left late either. He had stayed in the pub for a couple of extra pints last night, the unseasonable electric storm had made walking home something to avoid until the very last minute. Unfortunately, his late night had ensured that he just couldn’t get out of the bed without setting off explosions of pain in his head. He had been able to feel the heat from the early morning sun through his bedroom window. He had forgotten to close the curtains last night and he had lain in his bed, eyes tightly closed in fear of the searing light that he knew lay in wait, ready to pierce his eyeballs and send daggers of pain through him as soon as he opened his eyes.
It wasn’t until Jill had kicked him out on to the ground, where his bladder had decided that it deserved more attention than he was paying it, that he finally stumbled blindly to the bathroom. Once he was up it had been easier to dive under the shower and let the water kick his senses into gear than risk Jill’s wrath for disturbing her.
The cars moved another ten feet before stopping and Doyle moved forwards dutifully and pulled at the handbrake with a little more strength than was needed, leaving him struggling with the release when the car in front moved on again. The car behind announced its displeasure by honking loudly, its occupant gesticulating wildly.
“At least it’s the last day,” he sighed. Although, even one more day teaching those brats about their heritage just didn’t have the same appeal as it had a few years ago. He passed the gates of the cemetery on his left and his spirits rose; it was only another hundred yards to the school.
He’d always considered the placement of a school right opposite a cemetery a rather strange decision, but no more strange than putting unintelligible signs up all over the city and unveiling them for the first time on a Bank Holiday weekend. “People are dying to get in there,” he quipped as he finally moved past the cemetery and pulled into the car park, locked his battered Volvo and entered the building.
“All right settle down,” he said as loud as his throbbing head would allow. He had just managed to grab a strong cup of coffee before collecting his books and rushing to class, making it just in time before the bell rang. The Principal was just looking for an excuse to haul him over hot coals, pompous git that he was.
“Henshaw, sit down,” he snapped without even having to look up to see if the boy was indeed out of his seat. Henshaw was always out of his seat and, sure enough, this morning was no exception. Some things in life were gratifyingly constant.
The morning dragged and Doyle found his attention drifting as the boys wrote furiously. He had been delighted when he remembered that he had scheduled an exam for this morning, an extra hour to let his head settle was just what he needed. He glanced out at the sky and frowned. The sky had been blue when he had come in but now a large black mass was spreading over the sky like a cancer, corrupting the pure blue on contact and bringing with it a strong wind that whipped at the tops of the trees around the school.
He heard a noise in the class and snapped his head towards it, grimacing as his head reminded him to be gentle.
“Henshaw, not again. Would you please …”
Henshaw was looking out the window and his sniggers had already distracted those around him.
“Henshaw, you have …”
“But, sir,” he pleaded, “there’s a woman out there with no clothes on.” The following rush of thirty five boys in the prime of their adolescence to the windows was unstoppable and Doyle resigned himself to letting them look before he even attempted to regain order. He gave into his own curiosity as he peered over the boys, ignoring their crude guttural grunts and comments as to the size of certain parts of the female anatomy.
Doyle’s classroom was on the first floor and at first he couldn’t see what the boys were ogling at. He was about to look away when he noticed two figures at the far end of the yard. They were just far enough away to make him squint but close enough to see that one of the figures was indeed female and totally naked.
What the hell? He thought. The woman was too far away to see in detail but he could see that her hair was plastered to her head in a wild tangle that covered most of her face and her breasts drooped badly as if the muscles had been unsupported for years. She stood perfectly still and didn’t acknowledge the man standing beside her.
The man, even more surprisingly, didn’t cast so much as a glance in her direction. He wore a suit; however, even at this distance Doyle could see that it was dirty and dishevelled. He was about to call the boys back to their seats when he saw John Gatley exit from the side door and approach the two figures, his coat outstretched, ready to wrap around the woman.
It would be Gatley, he thought as he watched the portly Maths teacher approach the woman. Gatley was a nut; frowning on drinking, smoking and any talk of a sexual nature. He condemned these vices and many others, damning any who might partake in any one of them. Doyle was hard pressed to find one of them he didn’t regularly partake in so he pretty much stayed away from Gatley. He had gotten used to the severe looks he received when he arrived into school somewhat the worse for wear.
Gatley reached the woman and Doyle could see his lips moving constantly, he was either praying really hard or giving the poor woman a hell of a lecture. The woman and man simply stared at Gatley for a second longer and then lurched towards him.
Doyle felt his heart pound in his chest as he watched the two figures approach the teacher. They moved awkwardly, almost drunkenly, and Doyle realised that they must be either pissed, stoned or both. He exhaled a breath in relief and opened his mouth to call the boys back when he heard the screaming.
The three figures appeared to be dancing in the yard with Gatley in the middle. Doyle squinted his eyes almost closed to try and see more clearly but they were too far away. Gatley screamed again and then fell to the ground where the two figures straddled him and began to tear at him. The woman leaned in close towards his head and seemed to pull hard at something before jerking backwards suddenly with something in her mouth.
“Oh Shit!” he whispered as his brain began to fill in the pieces. “Henshaw, Pierce, you two run down to each of the classrooms on the other side of the corridor and ask the teachers to come in he
re urgently. Don’t panic them but be firm. Higgins, Blatty, you two take this side. Everyone else back to your seats, now”
“But, sir,” a chorus of complaints filled the room.
“Now.” The boys recognised the authority in his tone and reluctantly obeyed. Doyle wasn’t entirely sure what was going on but Gatley had stopped screaming and his body was ominously still. The two figures continued to tear at the Maths teacher’s body. Doyle’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. Wild thoughts threatened to pull him in directions he really didn’t want to go but he forced himself to breath calmly. He would take this one thing at a time. First things first. He needed to secure the school and then he could allow himself to consider his raging imagination. Doyle scanned the yard just as Teresa Stuart, Geography and PE, came through into his classroom with a frown on her face.
In the yard below he could see that three more figures had just appeared.
“What are they?” Guy Fallon asked as he watched another two figures stumble across to what remained of John Gatley. Five minutes had passed and all seven of the upstairs teachers stood huddled close to the window. Doyle’s class shifted uneasily in their seats, their initial high spirits over the interruption of their exam and seeing a naked woman had quickly turned to fear once it became obvious that their Maths teacher was dead. Those sitting by the window could see that all that remained of the man was a bloodied heap and their ashen faces were enough to convince the others that they should sit tight and await instructions.
“I don’t know,” Doyle replied as his mobile phone continued to blare out the same annoying sound. He lowered the phone in frustration. “I don’t know if there’s no signal or if the masts are down from the storm.” He thrust the phone back in his pocket. “I can’t get anybody.”
“They can’t get in can they?” Theresa Stuart asked as she fidgeted with her hands.
“Oh shit, the doors are still open,” Doyle cursed, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t thought of it before. “Guy, take three of the boys and head down to the doors by the pool entrance and close them, pile up anything you can around the doors to make sure they can’t break in. I’ll get the keys from the Principal’s office and send one of the boys after you. I’ll take care of the other end.” The man nodded and went back to his class to pick the boys he could trust.
“Peter,” he gripped Peter Matthews, the Physics teacher, by the arm and pulled him to the side. “I need you and two others to go down to the classrooms downstairs and bring the boys up here. Do it quietly if you can, the classes on the far side won’t have seen what’s happened yet and we can’t afford a panic.” The man nodded, gathered up his team and left the room.
“Theresa.” The woman jumped at the sudden mention of her name and Doyle took her hand gently in his. “I need you and the others to keep the boys calm up here. Keep trying my mobile and see if you can get emergency services.” He fished in his pocket and passed over the phone as the woman nodded. “Try to keep them in the rooms over on the other side of the corridor if you can. The less they see of what’s out there the better. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He left before anyone had time to argue or wonder at the fact that he had just given orders to staff far more senior than himself or even that they had obeyed without argument.
By the time he was half-way down the stairs there were already a number of teachers and students out in the ground floor corridor nervously swapping stories of what they had seen or heard. Nobody was panicking just yet but there was definitely a charge in the air. He could see Peter Matthews and his chosen team struggling through the mass of bodies as they tried to get to each of the teachers and pass on his instructions. They weren’t getting very far. The situation was liable to become uncontrollable soon enough if someone didn’t take charge.
“All right, pay attention now.” His voice boomed out over the crowd and his elevated position on the stairs gave everyone an easy focus. The clamour reduced and then disappeared after a chorus of ‘hush’ rang out from the teachers. “We need you all to make your way quietly up to the classrooms upstairs. Johnson,” he snapped as a boy pushed open the main doors, his cigarettes and lighter in his hand as he tried to sneak in a quick fag in the confusion. “Close that door right now and get upstairs before I suspend you. Move.”
Nobody really knew what was going on yet, thankfully. Some had heard screams but the view of the yard from the ground floor of the school was mostly blocked by hedging so they had been mercifully spared the grisly scenes. Doyle sighed with relief as the students and teachers started to move up the stairs, the teachers looking puzzled and suspicious but were experienced enough to recognise a situation when they saw one and herded their classes up the stairs.
Doyle ran down the length of the corridor. The school housed five hundred pupils and fourteen teaching staff. The building was shaped in an ‘E’ shape but without the central protrusion. There were two doors at either end of the structure on both sides and a main, central door half way up the long corridor. Classrooms were situated on both sides of the corridor and the Principal’s office was at the far end on the main road side. Doyle paused briefly in front of the office to catch his breath. He didn’t like Principal Atkins and was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. He sucked in a breath, turned the handle and proceeded inside.
Atkins bolted upright at the unannounced entry and began to rise. “What the hell …”
“Headmaster, we’ve got to lock the doors to the school,” Doyle interrupted and saw the man go red with anger as he stood up so quickly that a number of reports fell to the floor.
“Doyle, why aren’t you in class?” The headmaster stretched to save another pile of files from falling to the floor and then cursed as they fell anyway. “What the hell do you mean we have to lock the doors?” His deep, gruff voice was in total contrast to his wiry frame. “You …”
“Sir,” Doyle interrupted again and tried really hard to remain calm and respectful. He needed the headmaster’s co-operation so pissing him off wouldn’t help anyone. “There’s been a bit of trouble outside and there’s a crowd gathering in the yard.” Doyle had decided to keep the story simple for now, at least until the doors were safely secured. “I really need the keys.”
“A crowd? What the hell is a crowd doing in my school? Really Doyle, must I do everything myself? I’ll move them on.” Atkins pushed past Doyle who was so startled he merely let the man brush past and head towards the back door.
“Sir,” Doyle hurried to catch up on the headmaster but the man had already opened the door and disappeared out into the yard. “Shit, that didn’t exactly go as planned,” he muttered and hurried through the door after him.
Doyle rounded the corner so quickly that he was unable to avoid the now stationary headmaster and bumped into the man’s back. Atkins would normally have snapped a stream of abuse at anyone for being so clumsy but he seemed not even to notice. He stood still and looked out over the yard as if in a trance, his face pale and gaunt. There was a group of around fifteen figures standing only twenty feet away. There was a stench in the air; at one minute strong and cloying as the wind whipped around them.
The figures themselves were totally silent. Some of them shuffled, stiff-legged and awkward as if they had only just learned to walk. Others just stood there with their heads raised slightly as if they were sniffing the air. Now that he was closer, Doyle could see that these people were far from normal. Their skin was pale, almost translucent, and their eyes were dry and lifeless.
The naked woman stood closest to him and he could see red smears around her mouth and jagged red lines down her skin where blood had splattered her and dripped down. The shapeless husk of what remained of John Gatley lay in a wide pool of blood at her feet. The headmaster dug both hands into his pockets and retrieved a large set of keys with one hand, while bringing a handkerchief to his mouth with the other. He handed them mutely to Doyle.
“Sorry, Doyle,” he whispered at last. “Quite right. We need t
o lock the school and protect the boys.” Just then the naked woman seemed to notice them. She opened her mouth silently and started to shuffle towards them. The figures around her fell into step behind her. The situation was surreal. Doyle’s mind screamed at him to move but he remained rooted to the spot. He could hear the shuffling of feet and the dry rustle of old clothes. His eyes took in the grey, ashen faces before him, the dead eyes. At one level he knew what these people were but his rational mind refused to allow such thoughts and his mind swirled with alternate explanations. It was the smell that finally snapped him out of his stupor. It hit him like a slap as the wind changed direction again. Nausea burned in his stomach and bile rose in his throat. He retched and, suddenly, he could move.
He ran back towards the door, grabbing the headmaster’s jacket and pulling him back inside the school where he slammed the door closed. He fumbled with the keys, there were so many, and tried key after key as he divided his attention between the lock and the approaching crowd. He had seen such scenes in the movies over and over again, where the hero fumbled with keys and the bad guys drew closer and closer. The thrill of seeing it on the screen did not translate well to real life.
He was terrified, the keys slipped in his sweaty hands and the lock seemed to grow smaller with each failed attempt. One of the figures stumbled and fell against the door, catching the lever in its jacket as it slipped down and holding the latch open. The door opened inward slightly. Doyle tried to push against the door but the weight of the other figures proved too much and the gap began to widen. Doyle slammed his foot against the door to stop it opening further but the distraction caused him to drop the keys and they fell on the door jam and slipped onto the ground outside.
“Shit!” he muttered and dropped to his knees, while balancing his foot against the door. The sheer weight of the bodies against the door was forcing his foot inwards and hands began to force their way in and tear at him. He tried a number of times to shoot his hand out through the gap but he kept snatching his hand back as one of the attackers made a swipe at him.
Holiday of the Dead Page 25
