Alex broke away from Tim, exhaustion crawling through every fiber of his being, but the need to think was stronger. He walked back to the courtyard, the afternoon sun filtering through the trees, casting long shadows on the ground. He sat on the edge of the central fountain, the cool concrete feeling like a blessing against the heat of his body.
The silence, broken only by the whisper of the breeze, was a brutal contrast to the hell he remembered from the cafeteria. Alex closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face. Tim's plan was a good one, but the weight of the decision to abandon these people was heavy on his heart.
In his mind, he reviewed the faces he had met in the last few hours. The teachers who seemed not to know what to do, and the students who were now more uncertain of their future than ever.
Alex, who had at first only seen them as strangers, now saw them as people. People who trusted him, who saw him as a leader, a savior. He felt guilty for abandoning them, even if he wouldn't leave them without protection.
But at the same time, he remembered the group of people he had saved, now in the safe house in the northeast area, whom he hadn't contacted since the call that morning, and his friend David's group, whom he could have helped in these difficult times.
His mind was torn between loyalty and survival. He could stay and help these people, but if he did, he would be abandoning those who needed him elsewhere. The apocalypse was a zero-sum game, and there was no way to win without losing someone along the way.
He let out a heavy sigh, the sound lost in the air. The guilt, the burden, and the responsibility felt like a knot in his throat.
Just then, a shadow came between him and the sun. Alex went on alert, his hand darting to the knife strapped to his waist. He was about to pull the knife when he noticed it was a girl, one of Emily's companions.
She was short, with light brown hair held back by a headband, and her eyes were a similar color to her hair. It was the girl he had seen before, the one who was with Emily when he first found her in the classroom.
Alex tried to remember her name. Emily had called her once... Yuki.
"Yuki," Alex said, his voice hoarse. The girl flinched, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Yes. How do you know?" she asked, her voice soft and with a Japanese accent that Alex barely noticed.
"Emily told me," Alex replied.
Yuki nodded, her face full of genuine curiosity, but Alex, exhausted and overwhelmed, didn't feel like talking. He remained silent, and Yuki sat down beside him.
The silence between them was an oasis in the middle of the chaos.
The distant murmur of voices and the creak of doors opening and closing in the courtyard barely reached them. Alex felt more relaxed, but the discomfort of Yuki's company—a complete stranger to him—kept him on edge.
Just as he thought the girl would get up and leave, she broke the silence.
"Can I tell you something?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
Alex nodded silently, not knowing what to say. He just wanted the girl to leave so he could be alone, but something in her eyes made him feel like he needed to listen.
"A couple of years ago," Yuki began, her voice trembling slightly. "My relationship with my parents got worse… At first, they were strict but loving. But one day, I got into trouble at my school in Japan, and instead of talking to me, my parents decided to move."
"We moved from place to place without stopping. They looked for jobs in distant places as if they wanted to get away from me," Yuki continued, her emotions raw. "When we got here, the same thing happened. They left me here while they looked for jobs in other cities… And now I don't even know if they're okay. I don't know if they're worried about me… And, to be honest, I'm not worried about them either."
Yuki paused, her eyes fixed on the ground, as if she were reliving the moment in her mind. Alex just looked at her, not knowing what to say. He had no idea how to react.
"I don't know if it's normal to feel this way, with everything that's happening," Yuki continued, "but I'm confused. I don't know if it's normal that I don't miss them. I don't know if it's because the world is going crazy, or if it's because I don't feel anything for them anymore."
Her eyes filled with tears. Alex, feeling the weight of her anguish, just patted her on the shoulder, one of the few ways he had to show empathy.
"I'm scared," Yuki sobbed. "I'm scared of what's happening, of whether we'll be safe. Of whether we can ever be normal again… I don't know if I'll ever feel safe."
Yuki's tears began to fall. Alex, seeing her face filled with anguish and her body trembling, felt a knot in his throat. He hesitated to hug her, but seeing her so vulnerable, he couldn't help it. He wrapped his arms around her.
Yuki's body went rigid at first, but then she snuggled into his arms, trembling and sobbing softly. Alex, uncomfortable, stroked her back with one hand, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He didn't know what to do, but the need to comfort her was stronger.
Just as he was thinking of letting go, Yuki looked up. Her eyes, full of tears, stared at him. Alex, who had been lost in his thoughts, was breathless. The moment was fleeting. Her eyes locked with his, and then, without a second thought, she kissed him.
At the same time, at the gym's entrance.
Tim looked at the group of volunteers he had gathered.
The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows on the floor. The gym, a place of games and sports, was now a place of death. It was here, in this very place, that the students realized what was happening, not just inside but outside the high school.
This was where it would all end.
"This is the last section of the high school left to clear," Tim said, his voice echoing in the empty gym. "After this, control of the high school will be in our hands… in your hands."
The group looked at him, their eyes full of determination, although with a hint of fear in the background.
Tim turned to the door, opened it slowly, the metal hinges emitting a soft squeak. A dense stench—a mixture of sweat, dust, and decaying flesh—slammed into them like a wall. Tim peered through the crack and scanned the area.
The scene was a silent chaos. Zombies wandered the court, their bodies moving aimlessly, tripping over benches, bouncing off the walls. There were about forty of them, a terrifying number, but one they could handle.
The only ones who seemed more active were a couple of them gently pounding on the doors of the locker rooms and storage areas, places where Tim and the rest hoped to find their living companions and teachers.
The gym, with its closed doors, had made the zombies automatic, waiting for some stimulus to act. Tim knew that Alex's plan had worked. With a whisper, he motioned for the others to come closer.
"Silence," he whispered. "We're going to kill the closest zombies by hitting their blind spots. We're going to do it without making a sound. If they discover us, we move on to the next plan. Understood?"
Everyone nodded.
Tim took the lead. He moved cautiously, his eyes scanning the area, his mind creating a tactical map of the gym. With a motion of his hand, he signaled two of the students.
They nodded, split up, and headed toward a couple of zombies moving slowly on the court. With a quick, silent movement, they stabbed them in the head. The zombies collapsed without a sound, their bodies falling to the ground.
The silence was a relief, a victory. The tactic was working.
One after another, the group moved, killing the nearby zombies. In a few minutes, eight of the forty zombies lay on the floor. The group of volunteers, who had initially moved with fear, now moved with confidence, their movements more fluid. Tim smiled, a tense smile, but a smile nonetheless.
But the moment of calm didn't last long.
One of the students, in his haste, tripped over a table, and his sneakers squeaked on the floor. The sound, sharp and shrill, echoed in the empty gym. All the zombies stopped. Then, slowly, they turned. The horde had been alerted.
"Re-group!" Tim yelled, his voice echoing in the gym. "Now!"
The students moved quickly, joining Tim in a corner of the court. The zombies, alerted by the noise, moved toward them. Tim, instead of running, stood still. He waited.
When the horde was a few feet from them, Tim began to jog. The group of volunteers, who now moved as a single body, followed him. They ran in circles around the main court, as if they were herding sheep.
The zombies, slow and clumsy, followed them. Tim, who had devised the plan, felt a pang of relief. It had worked. The zombies, no matter how great in numbers, were still predictable.
From time to time, Tim would order them to stop, turn, and get rid of the closest zombies. Blood splattered on the ground, but the group didn't stop; they just kept moving.
The gym, which was once a death chamber, was now a dance floor. A dance of death.
Tim's plan was succeeding. Now that the students and teachers had gotten used to the rhythm, Tim began to give them more freedom.
"George, Marlon, you guys take care of the rest!" he shouted.
The boys nodded, took over, and followed the plan.
Tim, watching them, thought of Alex. He had been the one who had taught the group how to fight, how to think tactically. And now everyone seemed to be getting used to dealing with the zombies. At the same time, this relieved the discomfort Tim felt about leaving them on their own when he and Alex took Emily with them.
Fifteen minutes later.
Tim stood in the center of the gym, a solitary figure in a sea of silence.
The bodies of the zombies lay scattered across the court, a macabre carpet of lifeless flesh. In front of him, the same group that had looked fearful at first, now looked content, proud.
They had dealt with a large group of zombies on their own, and the success was visible on their faces—their smiles were small, tense, but still, they were smiles. The victory was a faint light in the midst of the darkness.
"Well done," Tim said, his voice echoing in the silence. "Now, let's finish off all the zombies. Make sure they don't get up."
The students and teachers nodded and dispersed, their spears and knives in hand. With a new and grim determination, they carried out the order.
The sound of the spears plunging into the zombies' skulls was a horrible but necessary sound. The revulsion they felt at first was now a necessity. The blood, the flesh, and the stench were something they would have to live with for the rest of their lives.
Once the task was completed, Tim led them toward the closed doors of the locker rooms. The adrenaline of the battle had been replaced by the anxiety of hope.
Would anyone be alive behind those doors?
The first door, the men's locker room, gave way. As it opened, a group of scared students became visible. They were huddled in the corners, their bodies trembling, the terror on their faces palpable.
Their eyes, full of terror, lit up when they saw Tim and the rest of the group. They were dirty, tired, and hungry; their expressions showed the fear they had lived with the constant pounding, the distant gunshots, the growls of the zombies outside, and the hunger.
A pang of relief and sadness struck Tim. They had survived, but at a cost.
"Go," Tim ordered, his voice soft. "Go to the cafeteria and eat. You're safe."
A couple of students, with tense smiles, helped their companions get up and guided them out of the locker room.
As the group left, Tim headed for the next locker room, his heart pounding. They found a similar situation, and in the last one, more of the same. Now, only the last door remained, the one to the storage room.
Tim looked at it, a mixture of pain and guilt settling on his face. It was the same door where he, Emily, and her companions had taken shelter. It was the same door where Sonny had found them, and then, unfortunately, would be bitten by a zombie while protecting Emily in their escape.
Tim reached out and put his hand on the doorknob. The door, which was once a security door, was now a door of memories. Tim took a moment to breathe, to honor the memory of a man who had given his life for them, and then, with a trembling hand, he opened the door.
The group of volunteers, who had waited in the hallway, peered through the crack. The afternoon light, which filtered through the windows, cast a faint light on the interior. And what they saw left them breathless.
In the center of the sports storage room, the body of a zombie lay, its skull shattered by a blunt weapon. The body was stiff; its dead eyes fixed on the ceiling. In the back, a group of students, mostly women, huddled around a professor, who seemed to be taking a nap.
On the opposite side, a couple of young men, with bruised bodies and black eyes, looked at the professor with hatred.
One of the students, a girl with blonde hair, got up with a cry of relief.
"They've come to help us! They're here to save us!" she shouted, and ran toward the group.
Minnie, who had accompanied the group from the beginning and had earned Tim's trust, moved quickly. She checked the students for bites, and then asked a couple of companions to guide the girls to the cafeteria to eat.
The girls, seeing that the guides were students, relaxed a little. But their eyes, full of terror, showed the hell they had lived in that place.
The commotion had woken up the professor.
He was a large man, with a messy beard, and a face that seemed to have been carved in stone. He got up calmly, hugging one of the students who had not been able to get up before, and approached Tim's group as if nothing had happened.
"Marlon, boy! I'm glad you're here," the professor said, seeing someone he recognized, his voice deep and soft, but with a shadow of superiority. "We've been here for hours. It's good to see that the military has arrived. I figured they would, after everything that happened."
Tim said nothing.
He approached the professor, with a false smile on his face. His eyes moved from the professor's face to the bruised bodies of the students who were being checked by George. The hatred in his eyes was palpable.
Tim knew something was wrong—something very bad had happened in that place. The innocence of the students and the malice of the professor were visible in the atmosphere. The professor, who had expected to be received as a hero, was surprised by Tim's calm.
"Military?" Marlon asked, from the side.
"Yes, boy," the professor replied, his voice softer, more condescending. "I know a couple of high-ranking people. I'll give you their names so we can get better help."
"And you," he said, pointing to Tim. "Are you the leader of this group?"
Tim, with the false emotion of someone who had found a lifesaver in the middle of a shipwreck, held out his hand. "Yes, it's an honor. It's good to know there are people with connections."
The professor, with a satisfied smile, held out his hand. But instead of a handshake, Tim kicked him in the chest with a strong kick. The professor, who had let go of the student to shake hands, fell to the ground and collapsed against the wall. The sound of the kick echoed in the empty gym.
The professor, pained and enraged, got up with eyes full of fury.
"What do you think you're doing?" he shouted, his voice full of rage.
But before he could do anything, he found himself facing Tim's weapon. The professor stopped dead in his tracks, his face pale. He remained silent, his eyes fixed on the weapon. Tim, in an icy voice, said to him:
"I'm going to ask you only once. What did you do to these girls?"
The professor, with eyes full of fear, said nothing. He just stood there, his body trembling. The silence in the gym became oppressive.
They had saved many people during the day. Some suffered more than others. Here in the gym, which would be the last place to leave, they saw for the first time the cruelty of the world, a cruelty that was once hidden by morals and laws, but that now in this chaos would begin to flourish.
The world they had known, a world where teachers were a figure of authority, had collapsed. And in its place, there was a world where power was the only language.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
This is a long chapter, I know, but I wanted to show two parallel perspectives, and above all, show little by little how reality turns cruel.
By the way, it's not that the teacher turned evil just from spending a few hours locked up in this specific situation, but rather that he already had evil thoughts toward his students, only now, taking advantage of the situation and their fear, he showed his true colors.
Also, it's worth mentioning a little about what happened in the warehouse. There was a zombie lying in the middle, the other students were beaten up, and there's also the fact that he's apparently a teacher with important connections outside of high school.
Guys, it's been a while since I asked this, but feel free to comment, donate power stones, or click the heart button on my profile, please.
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Read my other novels
#Vinland Kingdom: Race Against Time. (Chapter 81)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 23)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 9)
You can find them on my profile.]