The kid shrugged and removed the shades, though he kept his eyes for the most part down at his desk. Barry watched him and scowled briefly, but went on. Celia watched the kid for slightly longer. On the small tray table he had unfolded before him, he was drawing a picture. There was a person standing upright in the center, though it pretty clearly had a chunk taken out of its neck. It wore a T-shirt that read “Z’s rule.” All around it were smaller bodies, ones that looked clean, untouched.
Celia rolled her eyes. She knew there were some people who had grown to love the idea of zombies, just as there had been Nazi lovers as recently as 2010. But she couldn’t understand why.
“Their arms were out in front of them, because they reached,” the teacher went on. “Always reaching. And they didn’t clean up. If blood dripped or mud splattered, that was where it stayed. And really, from any kind of distance, that was the significant indicator.
“Even subconsciously, you and I, we brush away debris on our bodies. But not them. I remember one—” he went on, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the increased squirming by some of the uncomfortable parents. “I remember one that had this huge clump of dirt or mud or something right on his forehead. Sucker must’ve been a full inch thick. I was on this roof for a while, and all I could focus on was this Z and his face clump. It’s amazing the things you dwell on, but I just could not stand it. First time I got the chance, that’s the first one I took a bullet to.”
Celia glanced around and saw a few parents nod their agreement with Barry’s assessment. “Also,” he said. “They’ll eat anything with flesh. Except each other, for reasons we never could quite work out. It doesn’t matter if you’re alive or dead—so long as you aren’t reanimated, all you are is a tasty snack. But, and this is the big thing, they always prefer live meat. So if you come across a group that is chowing down on a dead boy, don’t think you can sneak by, that they’ll be satisfied with a stationary meal. They’ll come after you. The thrill of the hunt,” he added, with a mirthless chuckle that sounded completely unlike the one he had offered in the dorm.
“If, heaven forbid,” he said, growing more stern, “the Z’s ever do return, you need to know how to face them. But perhaps more importantly, you need to know who to trust. And who not to.
“I hate that I have to stress this, but it’s a simple truth of the human condition that some of us are not altruistic, some of us won’t protect anyone but ourselves. Now, it’s one thing to refuse to let someone into your hideout for fear of running out of food. That’s understandable, if frustrating. But if, God forbid, the Z’s ever do return, that’s not the worst thing you’ll see. There will be people out there who will shoot humans and zombies alike, shoot anything moving, just to keep themselves alive.
“Their thinking,” Lowensen said, shaking his head and offering a frown at the idea, “is that the fewer other humans that are out there, the less the zombies will have to eat, and the sooner they’ll die or starve into immobility, or something. I have to admit that it’s probably a true idea, but that doesn’t make it any less cowardly. If we’re willing to wantonly kill humans, I don’t see how we’re any better than the zombies.”
Lowensen paused, and Celia heard confirming murmurs roll through the parents in the room. The teacher stood in the front of the room, his hands plunged into his pockets, for a full minute. Finally, he raised his eyes again, and his broad, teacherly smile returned just as quickly as it had faded.
“Anyway,” he added. “That’s the big stuff. Just keep an eye out. You never know.” He motioned through the door behind him. “Cafeteria’s that way. With all the parents here, there probably isn’t enough seating for everyone to eat at once. Say we feed some of you now, the rest later on? Head through if you’re hungry. I’ll see the rest of you in a while.
“And remember what we said in our letters to you,” the teacher said, crossing his arms and smiling widely, winding up for a big finish Celia knew he had practiced, “Z’s are Z’s. And ‘A’ stands for Alive. So let’s have a year of all A’s.
“Class starts tomorrow morning, 10 sharp. Thanks, everyone. Should be a good year.” With that, the teacher gave a small wave, turned and trotted out of the auditorium. He passed through a back door, into a corridor Celia thought looked incomplete. From what she could see, it was just a concrete hallway, no decorations at all. It was a stark contrast from the auditorium. Layers of white or nearly white curtains hung from every wall, except for the chalkboard that spanned most of the length of one wall. It stretched from the left-hand corner to the edge of the door in the opposite corner—the door Lowensen had used. The mini-desks were not fastened to the floor, allowing for their removal or repositioning as needed.
As Celia looked around, she noticed a handful of students and parents getting up to follow Mr. Lowensen to the cafeteria area. Something like two-thirds of the attendees were going that direction. Celia wasn’t anywhere near hungry, and a glance at her father indicated he too was happy to wait to eat.
The non-eaters, students and adults alike, exited behind the rows of seats. The sunglasses wearer had slipped the shades back on almost as soon as the teacher had turned his back, and high-tailed it out as quickly as he could. Celia watched a girl in a skin-tight bright pink top, short skirt and heels—the kind of outfit she had asked to wear when she was a few years younger, the kind her father had never allowed—stumble as she missed a step on her way out.
Stacy, Andy, and Celia lingered, letting the herd thin. While they waited, Celia saw a black guy about her age and who she assumed was his father get up from their seats near the front and walk toward them. The father was looking directly at Andy, but the son had his eyes on the two girls. Celia returned his gaze. Most of those there that were her own age—boys or girls—had been shifty and uncomfortable with prolonged eye contact. Truth be told, this boy didn’t exactly look confident. But he didn’t break his gaze, which was unusual. And he was looking, Celia was sure, right at her.
He was several inches taller than her, and obviously in good shape. His black hair was cut only a centimeter or so off his head, and his eyes were just deep enough to invite a return gaze. Celia didn’t know the boy, but she didn’t mind his stare.
“Andy,” the boy’s father said, as Celia, her roommate, and her father approached.
“Roger,” Celia’s father greeted, nodding to the man.
“Amazing he’s so comfortable talking about it.”
The kid rolled his eyes. “It’s just talk, Dad,” he said, then looked quickly back to the girls, as though curious what they thought of his comment.
“I don’t think he was that comfortable,” Celia said. “Upstairs, he was. Down here, he stuttered, he fidgeted, he paced. He was putting confidence out there, but I don’t think he’s as comfortable as he was putting on.”
“Observant girl,” Roger said. Almost immediately, Celia felt her father’s hand on her shoulder, clasping it in approval.
“What’s your name?” Stacy asked the kid.
“Simon.” He looked to his father, then back to Celia and Stacy. He stood up straight and let out an almost-sarcastic laugh. “Dad thinks this is overrated.”
Roger shook his head in embarrassment and looked down at the floor. Andy turned to Simon. “What do you mean, son?”
“Says he thinks they aren’t coming back,” Simon continued, still looking at the girls.
“That’s not what I said,” Roger interjected. “Not at all. What I said was if they were coming back, I’d have thought it would have happened by now. Just that I’m not sitting on the edge of my seat anymore.”
“I know what you mean,” Andy said with a nod. “But you were in a bunker the whole time. You didn’t see when they all stopped the first time. If not for that, I’d agree with you. But I don’t trust anything that can do that to people.”
The crowd finally dissipated, and Celia led the five of them out of the auditorium. They climbed the stairwell that would lead them out. It was the only e
ntrance to the classroom they had seen—that small building centered in the three-building triangle had housed a stairwell to the classroom.
Just before they exited, Celia stopped, looking at a phone at the top of the stairs.
“What’s this?” she asked her father. “Didn’t notice it when we came down.”
Andy surveyed the phone for a moment with an uncertain look. “If I had to guess,” he started, reaching up to pull the phone off the cradle. “It’s—”
“I know what it is,” Stacy said with a hint of nervousness. “It’s the alarm phone.”
“About what I guessed,” Andy said, dropping his hand before removing the handset from its cradle. “There’s no keypad. What does it connect to?”
“I can’t say for sure,” Stacy said. “Stamford, maybe. Or maybe there’s somewhere closer where they’d know what to do.”
Andy looked at the phone with concern. “If I had picked it up, what would have happened?”
“Here? They probably would have just asked you questions, at first,” Stacy said. “At any of the real facilities—Stamford, Raleigh, those places—you don’t pick up that phone unless it’s confirmed. And as soon as it’s confirmed, they shut the phones down.”
“Shut them down?” Celia asked, surprised. “All the phones?”
“All of them,” Stacy said with a nod. “They decided that the worst thing for the spreading of the virus in 2010 was people who called for help. There’s an emergency government communication system, I think. Like CB radio or something. But the phones, for the general public, they won’t do anything. Basically, if they come back, you’re on your own, not infecting others.”
At that, they continued out of the classroom area. Once they were back above ground, Simon, who had positioned himself as close to Celia and Stacy as they would let him, asked, “How’d you know that about the phone?”
“My mom,” Stacy said. “She knows that system inside and out. Think she helped implement it.”
“Wow,” Roger said. “Friends in high places.”
The concrete path they were on hit the fork that meant boys one direction, girls the other. Celia and Stacy took a few steps toward their building, then stopped and looked back. Andy hadn’t followed.
“So, Roger,” he said, turning to the black man. “I’ll probably see you around. How long you staying?”
“Couple days, at least.”
Andy nodded. “Sounds about right. Might even sit in on a class, if Mr. Lowensen will let me.” He stuck out his hand, and Roger took it.
The three kids watched the interaction silently. Once the hands had separated, Andy followed the girls. Celia and Stacy, seeing him on his way, continued on their path.
Andy though, paused again and glanced behind him.
Roger and Simon hadn’t yet headed toward the boys’ dorm. Instead, Roger had his right arm wrapped around his son’s shoulder. He was leaning down to his son’s ear, as though he were telling him a secret, maybe teaching him a lesson. With his left arm, Roger pointed toward some windows a few floors up in the boys’ dorm. Andy watched as Roger’s arm traced a line from window to window, obviously telling Simon something.
Andy nodded at the sight of them. Whatever Roger was teaching his son, it seemed important. And if it was important, Andy felt pretty sure he knew the topic. And he liked that Roger felt it important enough to make sure his son had that knowledge, even if the man didn’t seem as afraid as Andy felt. In fact, Andy acknowledged, Roger was probably educating his son in some ways better than Andy had his own daughter.
Chapter Seven: Smart People Can Do Some Stupid Things
“What is your issue, Madison?” Lambert said at last. He and Madison had been locked in a staring contest since Michelle’s departure, but he broke first. “Why’d you send her away?”
“You didn’t submit to inspection when you got here this morning,” Madison said, her voice icy.
“So?”
“And this ‘flu’ of yours,” she continued, “bears all the evidence of bite symptoms. All of them. Anything you want to tell me, Lambert?”
Her boss stared back at her, mouth open even wider than it had been all morning. After another coughing fit, he spoke. “You’re kidding. You think I’d risk everyone in here just for, what, my goddamn pride?”
“I learned long ago, sir, that some smart people can do some stupid things. All I know is that, 99 days out of 100, I can’t imagine you pitching a fit just because some old man in Maine hasn’t checked in with you. So I wonder what is different about today.”
“And you decided what was different is, what, I suddenly became a moron?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Madison said. “But I do know that I need you to lose your clothes. Now.” She pulled the gun out of her waistband, holding it at her side, deliberately aiming it away from Lambert.
He blinked at her twice, coughed once, but finally shrugged angrily. He pulled his suspenders off his shoulders. “Amazing,” he muttered, his scowl never fading.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Madison said. “But I feel it is necessary.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he snorted, undoing the knot on his tie.
Madison watched as he pulled off his tie, followed by his dress shirt and undershirt. After a long pause for another coughing fit, he sat down in a chair to pull off his shoes and socks. Struggling again to his feet, he undid his belt and let his pants fall.
“There,” he growled. “Are we quite done?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“What now?”
“Underwear.”
“Now, wait just a—”
“Sir,” Madison stopped short, then continued, “my best friend was killed because we let a man join us who had been bitten directly on the ass and he didn’t tell us. How that happened, I’ll never know. But, please, sir,” she said, making a point to display her weapon again, “drop the Hanes.”
Lambert paused, but finally nodded. He let his briefs fall to the floor. He stepped away from the pile of clothing and held his hands straight out, giving a 360-degree spin.
Madison stared. Lambert was clean. Absolutely. There was not a scratch on the man. Lambert met her gaze and stared for a moment. Finally he growled, “Satisfied?”
She nodded, breaking the gaze, and placed the gun on Michelle’s desk. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I apologize.”
“You damn well better,” he said, returning to his pile of clothes. “Forcing me to strip down. Damned embarrassing, Madison.”
“I apologize for not trusting you, sir. Not for making you strip down. That is a well-established protocol that you already violated this morning.”
Lambert nodded, still angry. He struggled back into his underwear and dress pants. When he bent again to retrieve his shirt, though, another coughing fit took hold of the man. He staggered briefly and put his free, un-handkerchiefed hand to his head.
Madison walked over to him. She put one hand on Lambert’s arm and quickly knelt down and scooped up his undershirt with the other. The sick man laboriously pulled the sweat-drenched shirt over his head while Madison picked up the rest of his clothes in a handful. After another short coughing fit, he gathered the small load from Madison.
“I’ll get dressed in my own goddamn office,” he said. He trudged to the door, but turned back before opening it. His glare had faded, but was not gone altogether. “Madison,” he said as though it hurt him to do so. “Good work. Doubt anyone else here would have had the guts.”
From her spot by the wall in the empty part of the room, Madison nodded, but said nothing. She looked down at the floor, hoping doing so would allow him the chance to feel as though he had won something, that he had the power in the end.
Lambert turned again to leave. He pulled the door open a crack, but almost immediately it was thrown into him by an outside force.
“What the—?” Lambert said as he tried to fight the outside pushing.
Madison’s head snapped back up. She saw Lambert pushing furi
ously against the door on one side. On the other side, she saw a handful of vacant stares coming from colorless eyes as the zombies tried to force their way into the office.
Chapter Eight: One Nip And You Are Done
The girls and Andy were still chatting away as they approached the girls’ floor. Andy dominated the conversation, telling them stories of his days at college.
“My apartment was a 20-minute drive from campus,” he said as they rounded past the 13th floor. “Never lived in the dorms, didn’t end up making as many friends in college as I’d have liked. This will be great for you girls. Make friends, meet new people.”
Celia rolled her eyes. “Dad, everyone’s new people. And you don’t have to try to sell me on this; I was the one who had to convince you, remember?”
Andy smiled and nodded. They passed through the stair door onto their floor. He led the way and pulled open the door to the girls’ room, which had been left open a crack.
All three of them stopped in their tracks. There was already a girl in the room, looking like one of Stacy and Celia’s fellow students. She was standing between the two beds, looking down at the chapstick tube Stacy had been playing with before. She was dressed in a simple T-shirt and tight jeans. Celia thought, though, that something looked off about her. Her posture was oddly tilted, and her hair was pushed across her face in a way that made Celia think she couldn’t even see out of her right eye.
When the girl heard the door open, though, her head snapped up. That was when they all saw her eyes. They were white and gray, completely inhuman. Involuntarily, Celia cried out with the realization of what she was seeing.
The creature’s mouth fell open, and it sprang over Stacy’s bed toward the still-open door. Before it got there, though, Andy swung the door closed. They heard a crash as the zombie ran into it, but it held. The door’s opening seemed to have clued the zombie in to how best to exit, and the sound of rabid clawing came after the initial crash.
After Life | Book 1 | After Life Page 5
