[A/N: Hello everyone
In the previous episode, we saw Alex's first encounter with Emily, and now we'll see what Alex will do next.
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In high school, Emily's classroom.
The classroom, illuminated by fluorescent lights.
Emily, standing in front of Alex, with Tim by her side, spoke. Her posture was small, but her presence filled the space.
Her voice, though young and with a slight, barely perceptible tremor at the edges, resonated with a conviction that surprised Alex. It was a maturity forged in the horror of the last few hours, a strength he did not expect in someone so young.
"I know many of you want to leave, but we can't go. We know what's out there. The city is uncontrollable chaos. The military isn't doing anything; the roads are blocked. Where would we go? Here, in high school, we have high walls. We have resources. We have food, water, a place to defend ourselves. And most importantly, we have each other. We cannot survive alone in that hell. We have a real chance to defend ourselves."
She paused, her eyes resting on Tim, then on Alex, seeking silent confirmation. However, both looked at her, waiting for the others in the room to speak.
A murmur of agreement spread through the group, though some faces still reflected doubt.
A quieter Japanese student observed the surroundings with concern, her voice trembling as she asked: "But Emily, how long can we stay here? My parents… if there's a chance to get out, I… I want to try. Just for tonight, and tomorrow, at dawn, can't we look for a way out?"
The injured teacher, whose wound Emily's friend had just bandaged, nodded weakly, her face pale and sweaty. "She's right. The provisions… they won't last. And the zombies… what if they accumulate?"
Emily's friend intervened in support of what Emily was saying, her eyes red from crying and lack of sleep. "She's right, Alex. Where would we go? Outside is a death trap. Here we are safe, for now. It's our only hope."
Another young man who seemed close to Emily and her friend also supported the idea of staying. "It's the only option. Outside… it's hell."
Emily, despite the objections, maintained her firm stance. She had heard the opinions for and against, and from time to time looked at Alex to observe his reactions.
"I understand. The fear is real," she said, her voice softer but unwavering. "But running blindly is suicide. Outside there is chaos. Here we can fortify. We can defend ourselves. For now, it's our best option. Tomorrow, yes, we can advance further, secure another floor, look for more supplies. But first, let's make this place a refuge."
Two other young men, who had been helping the group move furniture and were covered in dust and sweat, joined the affirmation, their words echoing the need for a plan, for direction.
Tim, for his part, looked at Alex.
His loyalty to Emily was evident, but Alex perceived a shadow of doubt in his eyes, an internal conflict that manifested in a slight frown, as if he weighed Emily's words against the brutal reality, he himself had witnessed outside, a reality that haunted him.
"He's probably thinking about Ron and the shelter," Alex thought as other people began to voice their opinions.
The students Alex had rescued shifted uncomfortably, their faces reflecting not only their fear, but the vivid image of the chaos Alex had shown them. One of the girls raised her hand, her eyes on the verge of tears, her voice a whisper pleading for a way out.
"But sir… Alex. You got us out of there. You know what's out there. Isn't it better to leave? To find a safer place, far from the city."
Alex listened; his gaze fixed on Emily.
The determination on the young woman's face was unyielding, a wall of conviction that he admired and, at the same time, worried him. She saw hope where he, burdened by his visions and the experience of what was outside, saw a long-term trap, a false sense of security.
It was not the time to argue, to break the fragile morale of the newly formed group. He needed to gain their trust, assess their resources, and, above all, establish control.
"Listen to me," Alex said, his voice resonating with a calm but undeniable authority, cutting through the murmur and capturing everyone's attention. "This place has potential. For now, it's the safest we have. But for it to be a refuge, we need to truly organize. We need to secure every corner of this building, know exactly what we have. We cannot improvise."
He turned to Emily, his eyes meeting hers, a silent test.
"I propose that, for now, we focus on completely securing this section. The main hall, the adjacent corridors, as you have been doing. And then, we need to approach the cafeteria and the dining hall. Consolidate food and water supplies. It is vital to know what we have and where it is, and to protect those resources. It is the first step for any survival plan."
Emily looked at him, evaluating him.
Alex's proposal was practical, a concrete step towards her vision, and a way to validate his leadership with others.
"Agreed," she finally said, nodding with renewed firmness, a spark of hope in her eyes. "It's a good first step. Let's secure this building and then the cafeteria. Let's start."
Alex took charge of the security tasks, with Tim and the most capable students following him, their movements more coordinated under his guidance.
They blocked stairwells and cleared corridors, the air filled with dust, sweat, and the persistent smell of blood and slight decomposition that filtered from the still unsecured areas.
Emergency lights flickered, creating dancing shadows that increased the paranoia. There were dark corridors and others illuminated, signaling that there were people taking refuge.
The questions soon came.
George, dragging a desk, asked in a trembling voice: "What are those things, Alex? How… how do you stop them?"
Alex didn't hesitate.
"They're dead. They don't feel anything. They only stop if you destroy their brain. A hard blow, a knife, whatever breaks the skull. If they bite you, you turn. There's no cure."
His voice was cold, pragmatic, unadorned.
The faces of some students turned even paler, while others nodded with grim understanding, as if the brutality of the truth were almost a relief compared to the uncertainty.
A tense silence settled, broken only by the sound of furniture being dragged.
The young Asian woman from before, who introduced herself as Yuki, asked somewhat hesitantly: "What's happening outside? The police… the military…?"
"The city is falling," Alex replied, not looking directly at her. "There's no help, at least not for now. We're alone. The military will leave soon if they haven't already. The sirens are dying down."
His words were a blow of reality that destroyed any residual hope of external help, forcing them to face their new and terrifying autonomy.
Another young man, Marlon, while Alex showed him how to use a piece of wood to jam a door, asked, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and respect: "How do you know all this? Did you prepare?"
Alex looked at him, his eyes tired but firm, with a gravity that bordered on the supernatural.
"Let's just say someone gave me information recently and I was able to prepare," Alex said, lying to avoid revealing his secret.
As they worked, Alex taught them.
"If you see one, don't make noise. If you can avoid it, don't fight. Stealth is your best weapon. And if they attack one, attack their head and make sure they don't get up again."
The conversations were courteous, but Alex maintained a distance. They weren't friends, not yet.
They were survivors, and he was the only one who knew what truly awaited them.
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[A/N: The only problem is that Alex doesn't remember anything about this group. The visions didn't show him anything about them. Could it be that the author forgot? Or will something happen to them in the future?]
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His mind was already calculating routes, evaluating threats, thinking about how to get Emily out of there, even if she didn't want to go. Attachment, however, was beginning to grow, a painful knot in his chest.
Every frightened face, every small hope he saw in their eyes, made the idea of abandoning them unbearable.
He was not one to abandon anyone.
And that, in this new world, there was a heavy burden, a weakness and a strength at the same time.
One hour later.
Alex, with Tim and George by his side, formed an advance trio. While the rest divided into groups with Emily's classroom as the center. They would rest, keep watch, or gather all the resources they could.
"Ideally, we should secure the path to the cafeteria before dawn, or things could get complicated during the day," Alex thought, imagining the chaos that would unfold the next day.
They moved through the classrooms and corridors away from Emily's room, each step calculated, each shadowing a possible threat. Fatigue was noticeable in their movements, slightly slower, their reflexes less sharp.
In the history classroom, the gloom was almost total, only broken by the light of their flashlights.
They found two zombies: one dragging itself across the floor, its body rigid, eyes glassy and lifeless; the other standing, rhythmically banging against a broken window, a hollow, monotonous sound repeating endlessly.
Alex moved first, his knife a silent flash that found the crawling one's brain with a dull thud. Tim, with his own knife, took down the second with a precise blow to the head, the impact echoing in the room.
George, pale and wide-eyed, secured the door with a piece of wood, feeling a mix of nausea. He had been through this before, but it was hard for him to get used to it quickly.
"Less noise," Alex whispered, as they checked the lockers, his eyes scrutinizing every dark corner. "Stealth is life. Every sound is an invitation to death."
In the math classroom, under an overturned desk, they found a girl curled up, sobbing silently, her body trembling uncontrollably.
She was unharmed, but in a state of catatonic shock, her eyes fixed on an invisible point, babbling incomprehensible words. Alex quickly assessed her, his eyes searching for any sign of a bite or scratch.
"Come with us. We'll help you."
George guided her back to the already secured corridors where she would meet the support group.
As they advanced, Alex didn't miss the opportunity to instruct, his words concise and pragmatic, burning themselves into Tim and George's minds.
"If you see an inactive one, don't wake it up. If you can't avoid confrontation, aim for the head. And always, always, cover your arms and neck. Those are the most vulnerable areas."
They continued to advance, already near another staircase that would lead close to the cafeteria, but first they found another room.
The teachers' lounge was a disaster, a testament to the hasty escape.
Overturned chairs, papers scattered on the floor.
The air was dense, charged with the sweet smell of decomposition, more pronounced here, almost nauseating.
Two zombies, one of them with a tie still knotted around its neck, a former teacher, dragged themselves through the mess, their movements slow and erratic, their guttural growls.
Alex moved quickly, his knife ending the threat of the zombie with the tie, the blow precise and silent. George, with a piece of pipe, lunged at the other, but his blow was clumsy, barely grazing the living dead's head.
The zombie staggered and turned, its arms dangerously outstretched towards George, its yellowish teeth inches from his face. Alex had to intervene in an instant, pushing Marlon aside and securing the kill with a precise blow to the zombie's skull.
"George, focus! One mistake and we're all dead!" Alex hissed, his voice tense, the danger of the situation evident in the cold sweat running down his back.
As they searched the room, a muffled groan alerted them. It came from behind an overturned metal cabinet. Alex and Tim pushed it with difficulty, the metal scraping the floor with a sharp screech, revealing two huddled, trembling figures. They were teachers. The relief on their faces was palpable as they saw other humans, their eyes filled with a mix of hope and terror, their bodies trembling.
"You're safe," Alex said, his voice trying to be reassuring.
As they helped the teachers up, Alex saw the mark.
On one teacher's arm, a clear, deep bite, the skin torn, swollen, and blackened at the edges, already showing the first signs of infection. The teacher looked at him, his eyes filled with terror and pleading, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"Help me, please," the teacher stammered, his voice a barely audible thread, each word an effort. "It hurts… so much. I don't want… I don't want to turn. Please, don't leave me like this."
The scene froze.
Tim, who had seen the bite, paled, his face turning ashen, a shiver running down his spine. The other students accompanying them fell silent, their gazes shifting from the teacher to Alex, seeking an answer, a solution they knew didn't exist.
Back in the main hall, the news spread like wildfire, stifling the fragile hope that had begun to grow.
The teacher sat in a corner, pleading softly, his body hunched, while the group debated in a cacophony of fear, denial, and despair.
Emily, her eyes filled with tears, her voice broken by anguish, almost tried to approach the teacher, her desperation palpable.
Alex stepped forward, his voice softer than he intended, but firm, trying to maintain calm in the growing chaos.
"Emily, the teacher… he's been bitten. He'll turn soon. There's no cure. You know that. The bite… it means he's going to turn. There's no going back."
"No! We must help him! There must be something! A cure, a doctor! We can isolate him! We can't just… let him die!" Emily exclaimed, her voice laden with desperation Alex recognized.
Emily's best friend, Amy, her eyes fixed on the teacher, her voice on the verge of hysteria, almost interposing herself between him and the rest of the group, shouted: "No! We can't just leave him! We can't do that!"
A young woman approached Emily, her face serious and hardened by what she had seen in the streets. "Alex is right, Emily. We've seen it. There's nothing to do. It's the truth."
One of the students Alex had saved earlier, his voice a choked lament, knelt, covering his face with his hands. "But it's Professor Morales! We can't… we can't do that to him! It's inhumane!"
Voices rose, a cacophony of fear, denial, and despair.
Some students looked at Alex, seeking a solution other than the brutal truth, a magical way out. Others clung to Emily's hope, to the denial of reality.
Professor Morales, still conscious, pleaded, his voice growing weaker and with a sickly tinge, his pleading eyes fixed on Alex.
Alex observed the chaos, the weight of the decision crushing his soul.
The image of Sonny, the memory of his visions, the vulnerability of these young people looking at him with a mix of terror and hope, even the recent memory of Lily. Everything was crowded in his head.
He couldn't allow him to reanimate among them, endangering everyone. But he also couldn't be the executioner, not in that way.
The dilemma was unbearable, a cold knot in his stomach.
His mind, however, was already beginning to formulate an idea, a way to manage this that wouldn't involve the most brutal act but would ensure everyone's safety.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Thank you all for reading.
I hope you enjoyed it.
Alex, as he's already shown in his visions, is always looking for a way to keep the shelters running. The problem is that this one, in particular, isn't sustainable in the future.
Furthermore, he will now face the first difficult decision he'll make as part of a group.
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Read my other novels.
#Vinland Kingdom: Race Against Time (Chapter 66)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 16)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 2)
You can find them on my profile.]