Chapter Eleven: The Final Assault ~2 Jet

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~Jet~

            Before any dream formed over my sleep, I was disturbed by my cramps.

            I roll over, and it the process my head bumped on hard wall. Fully awake now, I found myself lying on the floor beside the display windows. It was nighttime, and as I shake my head I stood up. I can’t even remember sleeping next to the creepy windows.

            Or maybe I do. Here’s the guy always out of place, and I finally remember I was sitting next to the glass for as long as I can recall. They were having some fun—which I didn’t think wasn’t the best now that we weren’t really safe at all.

            I hear Jimmy snoring, and next to him was Jules. Last thing I remember was he’s crying when someone mentioned Sam by accident.

            As I walk around, I can’t take my eyes off the windows—to the world beyond. Trees were like tall, creepy ghosts swaying, and I was about to squint to see if I’m seeing everything right when a growl came hushed from outside and a zombie pushed his face on the glass.

            “Shit,” I exclaim as I took a step back. Its face was so disarrayed his mouth seems to open so wide I can put both of my hands in. It kept on pummeling its bloody arms on the glass windows, and for the next five seconds I was flooded by fear.

            Walking absentmindedly behind him were dozens of zombies.

            I rushed to the others sleeping on the center of the room, and I admit they didn’t take it nice when they saw me waking them up.

            Principal Guns grunted when I shake him up to wake, and I kept on peering over the window. It hasn’t left and just kept on brushing the glass with its rotting face.

            After about ten seconds, Mr. Riggins woke up, his eyes narrowing at me. He blinked about three times to see if he’s really awake now.

            “What the hell, what’s going on?” He asked grumpily.

            “Sir, there are dozens of them outside!” I respond quickly as I try to wake John next. He was muttering something about seventeen and kids, and he just shrugged my hands as he curled over to give me his back.

            Mr. Riggins stood up with a few grunts. Before I can warn him, the zombie on the window pounded again—louder this time. Looking beyond, he stomped on the floor hard as he says something.

            “Help me barricade the windows and the door,” Mr. Riggins told me.

            Still unsuccessful, I gave up. And why am I caring for these people anyway? They’re not related to me and I’ve made no permanent memory with them. I stopped, thinking I shouldn’t bother with them when all I should think about is myself.

            “Sir, they’re coming! They saw me, and they’re heading here,” I said, trying to sound calm.

            He looks over again and then he nods. “What are we going to do then? Team up and do—“

            Mr. Riggins stopped when we heard an explosion. I was certain it came from the door leading to the tunnel because it sounded like it didn’t come from outside.

            “What was that?” Principal Guns grunted as he wakes and curls up. He kept on wiping his eyes until he saw us. “Can’t an old man have his decent—“

            The muffled explosion sounded nearer.

            When all of us are on the road again, dozens of zombies swarmed towards our direction. They were unbelievably quicker from the last time.

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