[This is a side story taking place simultaneously with the main story. It does not affect or resolve the fates of the main characters in Volume 3.]
***
[Jay – Bangkok Streets, Near Survivor Camp – 12:35 p.m.]
The city is like a corpse stretched out in front of me and I can see the smoke curling up from shattered towers like the last breaths of something that used to be alive.
My camera is shaking in my hands, it's lens catching flames licking broken windows, shards of glass glittering , this zombies shambling through the rubble like they own the place now.
I force a grin, even though my stomach's twisting.
"Yo, survivors, it's Jay and Jane, live from hell!" My voice booms louder than it feels, sharp against the low moans of those monsters drifting from every alley.
Jane's right beside me, her phone steady in grip, pink hair matted with sweat and ash but still somehow looking badass. Ofcourse she'll even be hot as a zombie.
She leans in front of my lens, winks, her voice fierce and bright like always.
"Class Z: Can You Survive?"
She lets the question hang because perfect timing.
"That's right, fam—Class Z, the last kids standing and the dead walking. Can you make it through this?"
We can hear moans hum behind us, close but not too close.
We're good at running and,
Better at filming. We're influencers for a reason.
[12:40 p.m.]
Jane pans the camera slow and smooth, it catches wrecked cars piled like toys, a body of elderly man (can't call him man anymore but yeah) slumped over a bicycle, zombies tearing at something dark in an alley I don't want to look at too long.
"Bangkok's done fr," I narrate, stepping over a puddle of blood that's already starting to congeal.
Jane zooms in tight on a graffiti wall we sprayed in red:
"CLASS Z = DEAD".
"See that?" she says, her voice dropping low and almost intimate for the lens. "Class Z ain't just a grade. It's them. The zombies or whatever peice of fresh waste they're." She jerks her thumb at a zombie standing twenty feet away, it's jaw is hanging loose and is watching us but not lunging. We don't know why.
I laugh but it comes out nervous LOL,
"Yo, chill, dude. We're live!"
The chat's blowing up with views spiking, people spamming heart emojis and fire emojis, people typing "RUN" and "YOU GUYS ARE LEGENDS" in all caps coz they love us.
They love the danger.
And we love the views.
[12:45 p.m.]
As we move we hear a sound riping through the air of human scream. Another one bitten. I swing the camera fast, catching a group of survivors sprinting past us and soldiers in tactical gear herding them toward the barbed-wire camp up ahead like sheep.
"Check it," Jane says, zooming in smooth.
"Army's got a camp, but it's a like cage. And we need to get more out of this zombiecalypse."
I lower my voice, talking straight to the lens like I'm confessing.
"Class Z: Can You Survive? Bet half those kids won't."
A zombie stumbles out of a shattered shopfront shattering the glass. Jane's phone stays rock steady, but I see her hand shake just a little.
"Jay, we gotta move," she hisses off-mic, barely audible over the moans.
I nod but still rolling.
"Keep it real, fam. We're not stopping."
But inside I'm thinking the same thing. We're running out of streets.
[12:50 p.m.]
I film a kid crying alone in the dirt, clutching a torn backpack like it's the only thing he has left.
" This is Class Z," I mutter under my breath, quiet enough the mic barely catches it.
" Everyone lost everything."
Jane's eyes dart left and right and watches zombies at the edges of the crowd, soldiers shouting orders and rifles up.
Then a shadow falls over my lens. Ofc I'm afraid.
A woman in tall, leather jacket with a gun holstered low on her hip and her eyes like sharpened steel.
She steps right in front of the camera, blocking everything.
"Turn that off," she says with low voice, she sounds dangerous, the kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl.
I lower the camera slowly with my grin fading fast.
"Whoa, lady, we're just—"
"Boss Vitcha," she cuts in, staring us down like we're already dead.
"You kids be careful."
Jane's jaw actually drops.
"Kids?"
Well we're 21 so we ain't no kids.
[12:55 p.m.]
Boss Vitcha has a calm,cold and commanding presence in a way that makes the whole street feel smaller. She grabs my arm, not rough but firm enough I know I'm not getting loose, and pulls me behind a wrecked truck.
Jane follows us quick, her phone still recording, we're sneaky as hell. Hehe.
"You two are too loud," Boss Vitcha says while her eyes are scanning the street behind us like she's already counting threats.
"Zombies will hear you and those useless army soldiers too."
I try to smirk, but it comes out shaky.
"Boss, we got a million views—"
"Views don't stop bites," she snaps, checking her gun with a flick of her wrist.
Jane zooms on Vitcha's face—scarred cheek, hard jaw, eyes that have seen way too much. Apart from all this she sure is hot. Jane whispers to the lens with low but excited.
"Meet our new MOTHER."
Boss Vitcha glares at her with a flicker or pride, maybe, or just exhaustion.
"Move," she says, already leading us toward a narrow alley like a MOTHER she is.
Zombies are moaning closer now, drawn by the noise we've been making all day. Predictable.
[1:00 p.m.]
The alley is tight with thick shadows, Boss Vitcha's boots are silent on this cracked concrete.
My camera catches her back, this time her gun raised, scanning every corner and moving like she's done this a hundred times. She seems like a mafia boss to me. Mafia MOTHER for us.
"Yo, fam," I say with low voice so it doesn't echo, "Boss Vitcha's running the show now. Class Z: Can You Survive? We're about to find out."
Jane's phone screen cracks suddenly, WTH a zombie hand smashing against a wall nearby.
Boss Vitcha spins and fires a perfect clean one shot and a zombie drops mid-lunge.
"Keep up," she growls, pushing us forward faster.
Jane and I exchange looks. We're scared, alive and hooked. The camp's behind us, the city's burning, and Boss Vitcha's our shield.
Atleast for now.
The camera keeps rolling and the title burning in my head:
Class Z: Can You Survive?
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