After enduring three more minutes of relentless assault from the Boxin' Gang (a name that still brings a smirk to my face), the trio paused their onslaught. They began to converse with Chub and Maria, deliberating on their future plans for me.
I surmised that they would grant me a temporary reprieve, as lunchtime was nearing its end and classes were set to resume promptly at 1:00 PM. However, there was also the possibility that they would forgo their classes to continue their torment, ensuring that I had fully absorbed their "lesson".
Every fiber of my being was aflame with pain so intense it felt like a thousand needles were piercing my skin, causing internal bleeding. My breaths were shallow and labored, and movement was nearly impossible as the pain engulfed me like a wildfire.
I groaned in agony, coughing up copious amounts of blood. My body felt paralyzed, and though I knew I would eventually regain my mobility, the thought brought little comfort amidst the lingering torment.
Cane's laughter echoed around me, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. "How pathetic. If you submit to us, we will cease... 'educating' you, as long as you refrain from ridiculing us."
Chub, nonchalantly munching on potato chips, chimed in, "You should consider it. It's for your own good. We're not opposed to resorting to lethal measures."
Jason scoffed dismissively, "I'm not done with you yet. Even if you agree to become our slave now, I'll continue to beat you until I've had my fill!"
Maria, puffing on a cigarette, chuckled at Jason's remark. "How ruthless. That's what I love about you."
I was at a crossroads. I had no desire to become a pawn for these bullies again, yet I found myself falling into the same pattern time and time again. I had hoped that moving to America would free me from this cycle of servitude, but it seemed that was nothing more than a pipe dream.
If I continued to resist them, my suffering would be endless. Worse still, my defiance could put my parents in danger. I couldn't bear that thought. I should have left this world years ago. I wouldn't have had to endure this pain. My parents wouldn't have had to worry. Curse this life of mine! Curse everything! Curse... me!
Troy broke through my thoughts, lifting me by the collar of my hoodie. "Well? What's it going to be? Are you in... or out?"
"I..." My voice was barely a whisper, the pain making it difficult to speak. I could move slightly now, but not enough to make an escape. I was cornered... and it seemed I had no choice but to ac-.
Abruptly, the door to the rooftop access swung open, revealing a female student who staggered in, her movements reminiscent of a drunken stupor. The sudden intrusion startled the Boxin' Gang and myself, prompting a moment of shared confusion.
The newcomer was a girl with long, brown hair, her gaze fixed on the ground as a low growl emanated from her throat. I wasn't sure if the others had noticed, but there was something distinctly odd about the veins in her arms. A bite mark marred her neck, its shape eerily similar to that of the girl I had seen earlier.
"Hey, can't you see we're in the middle of something?" Jason's voice held a hint of rising anger. "Get lost unless you want to get hurt. I don't mind hitting a woman."
The girl remained silent, standing still as if frozen in place.
"Ugh. Cane! Teach her a lesson and send her back downstairs!" Jason commanded, reaching for a cigarette.
"What!? Won't we get in trouble with the principal!?" Cane asked, his tone a mix of playful sarcasm and maniacal glee.
Jason chuckled, "Did you forget my dad is the principal? Now, get rid of her!"
Cane complied, advancing towards the girl with a wicked grin. He halted before her, placing his left hand on her neck without hesitation. He tightened his grip, seemingly intent on making her plead for release.
"Trying to act tough? You're a very interesting w-" Cane's sentence was abruptly cut off as he glanced down at his right hand, now lying on the ground, blood pooling around it. His usual eccentric expression morphed into one of sheer horror as he realized his hand had been severed from his arm, bitten off by the girl with an effortless ease.
He let out a blood-curdling scream as the girl lunged at him like a predator, proceeding to feast on his body while he was still alive.
Panic ensued among the remaining members of the Boxin' Gang as they watched their comrade being devoured by what appeared to be a cannibalistic psychopath. I, too, was horrified by the unfolding scene. From below, the sounds of screams echoed upwards, indicating that something was amiss within the school.
"What the hell is happening!?" Maria's voice trembled with fear as she watched the girl continue her gruesome meal.
The girl suddenly turned her gaze towards the remaining gang members. Her hair no longer obscured her face, revealing a visage of decay. Her flesh was rotting, peeling off her bones, and a wound on her neck oozed blood. Her eyes were vacant and white, yet they seemed to fixate on the bullies with a ravenous glare. Her raspy breaths and low moans filled the air, creating an atmosphere of dread. It was clear to me that this girl was no longer human. She was a...
"...zombie," I muttered, my voice barely audible. The bullies turned to look at me, their faces mirroring my own confusion and fear.
"What...?" Chub stammered, his eyes darting between me and the undead girl.
Cane, or rather, what was left of him, began to rise. His bones cracked and shifted as if realigning themselves. His jaw hung loosely from his face, threatening to detach completely. His gaze was filled with an insatiable hunger.
"Cane...?" Troy's voice wavered as he called out to his former friend, but then...
Cane, now a mindless, ravenous zombie, charged at the remaining gang members, followed closely by the female student. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. The world as I knew it had ended, replaced by a new reality of survival and fear. This was the beginning of the zombie apocalypse.
As the Boxin' Gang members, Troy and Jason, grappled with the undead assailants, Chub and Maria were paralyzed by terror, their screams echoing off the rooftop. I knew I had to escape. I had to ensure my parents were safe. I had to push through the excruciating pain that threatened to consume me. I couldn't afford to die today, not until I knew my parents were out of harm's way.
Jason managed to land a kick on the female zombie, who seemed unfazed by the impact. He then turned his glare towards me, "Irishman! You damn motherf*cker! This isn't over!"
In response, I raised a defiant middle finger, my expression unchanging. I made my exit, leaving the rooftop through the access door. The terrified screams of Maria and Chub followed me, their cries reverberating through the school. Good riddance!
———
In the labyrinthine corridors of the school, I found myself sprinting with a desperation born of sheer terror. A horde of educators and pupils were engaged in a futile race against the relentless undead, their efforts ending in a gruesome spectacle of carnage. My own survival hinged on a precarious dance of evasion around the zombies, a task that pushed my physical capabilities to their limits.
I was no athlete, but the urgency to ensure the safety of my parents spurred me on. The world had descended into chaos, the unthinkable reality of a zombie apocalypse unfolding before my eyes.
My frantic escape was abruptly halted by an insurmountable obstacle. A throng of zombified students had congregated around the stairwell, their mindless chatter echoing ominously in the confined space. Recognizing the imminent danger, I swiftly retraced my steps, the sight of the undead sending chills down my spine.
As I navigated the eerie hallways, the chilling cries for help from barricaded classrooms served as a grim reminder of the unfolding horror. The strategy of fortification had backfired tragically, with the presence of an infected individual within their ranks. It was a fatal mistake often depicted in zombie films.
The path from which I had come was now teeming with the undead, their numbers swelled by those who had fallen prey to the zombies' insatiable hunger. Trapped between two advancing hordes, I stood paralyzed in the middle of the hallway, the crescendo of screams echoing in my ears.
The sound of a vehicle crashing through the school gates and into the entrance signaled that the ground floor was no longer a viable escape route. Despite the dire circumstances, I found myself clinging to life, a stark contrast to my previous death wish.
Driven by desperation, I turned my gaze towards the window, a potential escape route that seemed tantamount to suicide. The prospect of a three-story fall was daunting, especially given the excruciating pain that already wracked my body. However, my determination to see my parents and the unbearable stench of decaying flesh left me with no other choice.
With a surge of adrenaline, I hurled myself through the window, shattering the glass and plunging towards the wreckage of the crashed truck below. The impact was brutal, shards of glass embedding themselves in my flesh and eliciting screams of agony. Despite the overwhelming pain, the need to ensure my parents' safety kept the specter of death at bay.
Aware of the relentless pursuit of the undead, I rolled off the truck and hit the ground with a thud. Ignoring the pain, I forced myself to my feet, taking in the chaotic scene at the school gate. Students, staff, and a solitary security guard were engaged in a desperate struggle against the advancing undead. The zombies from the third floor began to leap from the windows in pursuit of me.
With no other option, I continued my flight, wincing as I pulled shards of glass from my body. Spotting a row of parked bicycles near the school gate, I commandeered one and pedaled away, leaving behind the harrowing screams and the battle for survival.
The grim reality of the situation was undeniable. The world was in the throes of a zombie apocalypse, a scenario eerily reminiscent of a recurring dream I'd had for the past four days. To add to the irony, this nightmare had chosen to manifest itself on September 11, a date that marked both my birthday and a tragic historical event.
Overwhelmed by the cruel twist of fate, I let out a roar of frustration, venting years of pent-up anger. "Why does life keep on messing with me!? You want me to suffer endlessly!? And on this day too out of all days!?" I screamed, railing against the injustice of it all.
———
In the midst of my frantic pedal-powered escape, I found myself skillfully evading the onslaught of the undead and the chaos of vehicles driven by terrified survivors. The relentless pursuit of the zombies was a constant threat, with the lumbering walkers being relatively easy to avoid, but the sprinting ones posed a significant challenge. Their ceaseless chase, unhindered by fatigue, was a grim reminder of their undead nature.
I steeled myself against the harrowing screams of women, the elderly, and children, each one falling victim to the zombie horde. Compassion was a luxury I could ill afford in these dire circumstances. The notion of playing the hero and attempting to save them was a fanciful and unrealistic thought. My primary concern was the safety of my parents.
Suddenly, a blue Lamborghini came barreling towards me. The driver, who appeared to be a man of considerable wealth, was under attack from a scantily-clad female zombie. Whether she was his wife or mistress was irrelevant in the face of imminent danger. I hastily abandoned my bike, narrowly avoiding a collision as the luxury car plowed through several houses in Forest Mall GreenStreets.
Pain coursed through my body, eliciting a groan as I coughed up blood. Despite the agony, I forced myself to stand, finding myself encircled by the shambling undead. In the distance, I could see the sprinting zombies feasting on hapless humans, while others were turning their attention towards me. With no other options, I gritted my teeth and pulled the last shard of glass from my leg, wincing at the pain, and prepared to use it as a makeshift weapon.
"I may be ready to die for a while now," I thought, gripping the shard so tightly that blood began to seep from my palm. "But I won't go down without seeing my parents one last time!"
As the zombies closed in, they inexplicably halted their advance. Seizing this opportunity, I dispatched them with swift strikes to their heads, their most vulnerable point, before making my escape to avoid the faster zombies. I didn't understand why they had paused, but it had bought me precious time.
In a stroke of luck, I came across a motorcycle left behind by a biker who had fallen prey to the zombies. With the keys still in the ignition, I commandeered the vehicle and sped towards Staten Island Urby Apartment, mowing down any zombies in my path. My vision began to blur, tinted with an orange hue and interspersed with flashes of the familiar humanoid figure, before returning to normal.
My mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear, but my singular focus remained: the safety of my parents. I hoped against hope that my mother was safe in our apartment and that my father had managed to escape his office in New York, provided the virus hadn't reached there yet.
Navigating through the chaos, I swerved around zombies and wrecked vehicles, even colliding with dying or transforming individuals. Guilt gnawed at me for my actions, but I pushed it aside. There was no room for remorse when the lives of my loved ones hung in the balance.
"Please be safe, mom, dad," I murmured, struggling to maintain control of the motorcycle. It was a poor time to admit that this was my first time riding one, but I forced myself to think of it as a faster bicycle to keep the fear of crashing at bay.
———
As I disembarked from my motorcycle in front of my apartment complex, the momentum propelled the vehicle into a horde of oncoming zombies. The impact of my landing on the asphalt was harsh, but it was the sight before me that truly took my breath away. The once tranquil premises of the apartment complex were now a scene of chaos and horror.
Zombies were relentlessly pursuing the remaining humans, attempting to breach the hastily erected barricades protecting the individual apartments. The once pristine swimming pool was now a macabre spectacle, its waters tainted with blood as newly transformed zombies emerged, ravenous for human flesh and intent on spreading their infection.
My heart pounded in my chest, not from the fear of being alone, but from the horrifying thought that my parents might have already fallen victim to the undead. The adrenaline that had been fueling me began to wane, and the pain from my earlier injuries returned with a vengeance. I found myself kneeling on the asphalt, surrounded by the encroaching undead.
I sighed, resigning myself to my fate, "Perhaps this is for the best..."
Suddenly, an SUV plowed through the zombie horde, coming to a halt before me. To my surprise, my father was at the wheel, with my mother in the passenger seat. She leaned out of the window, beckoning me urgently, "Get in, my baby boy! Quickly!"
"Move it, son!" My father echoed her plea, his voice laced with desperation.
Summoning the last of my strength, I pushed myself to my feet, narrowly avoiding the grasp of a zombie. I managed to clamber into the backseat just as the undead began to swarm the vehicle. My father floored the accelerator, mowing down the zombies obstructing our path.
"Are you okay, son!?" My father's voice was filled with concern, likely hoping that I had escaped unscathed from the zombie onslaught.
Suppressing a groan of pain, I managed to respond, "I-I'm fine... dad..."
My mother, unlike my father who was focused on navigating through the chaos, had a clear view of my battered state. My face was marred with fresh bruises, my eyes were swollen, my right palm was caked with dried blood, and more bruises littered my body.
I averted my gaze, feeling a pang of guilt as I saw the worry etched on her face. She was no stranger to my frequent encounters with bullies, and I could tell she was distressed by my current state. I wished I had thought to conceal my injuries. The pain inflicted by the bullies was momentarily forgotten, replaced by the hope that they had met their end at the hands of the zombies.
"Baby..." My mother's voice was filled with guilt, even though she was not to blame for my predicament. I could tell she wished she could tend to my wounds, but we lacked the necessary medical supplies.
"I'm fine, mom." I reassured her, my voice monotone despite the pain coursing through me. My injuries were severe, but I had endured worse. This pain was nothing compared to what I had experienced in the past. Yet, it was undeniable that it hurt.
"You've been bullied again, haven't you?" My father's voice was filled with barely suppressed rage, his grip on the steering wheel tightening to the point where the zombie apocalypse seemed insignificant in comparison.
"You don't have to worry about me, dad." I tried to alleviate their concerns, focusing on enduring the pain. However, my attempt was futile as I could see my mother on the verge of tears. "Just focus on the road. Our current situation is more important than mine right now."
My father sighed, likely agreeing with my sentiment given the relentless pursuit of the zombies. "Fine. When we find a safe location, let's talk about it. Okay, son?"
I remained silent. I had no desire to discuss it. This was not a new experience for me, having faced similar situations back in Ireland. My focus was on the current predicament. The existence of zombies was baffling. I had always believed it to be scientifically impossible, yet here I was, staring at the undead through the window of our stolen SUV.
My existence has always been fraught with turmoil, and the advent of the undead has only served to exacerbate my plight. The prospect of a normal life seems increasingly elusive, a sentiment that has haunted me since my birth on September 11, 2007. As I turned 17 today, I can't help but reflect on the cruel irony of my circumstances.
Suddenly, a searing headache pierces through my thoughts, accompanied by a raw soreness in my throat. My vision is momentarily bathed in an eerie orange hue, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of a humanoid figure. The figure flickers in and out of my sight before everything returns to normal. The world as I know it is rapidly spiraling into the realm of the inexplicable.
The cacophony of terror reverberates through the boroughs of New York. The air is thick with the screams of the doomed, their fear palpable as they are pursued and bitten by the relentless undead. The sight of children crying out for their parents, only to be brutally consumed by the zombies, sends shivers down my spine. The elderly, defenseless and resigned to their fate, are easy prey for the monsters. A handful of survivors desperately fight off the undead or seek refuge within the relative safety of the buildings.
Amidst this symphony of horror, the strains of "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Öyster Cult echo hauntingly from the radio, a chilling soundtrack to the apocalypse unfolding before my eyes.