Holding On

Day Two: 4:02 p.m.

Today, a man wandered up to the foyer window while we were playing cards. Felix was the first to spot him. She screamed and pointed.
He was definitely on the verge of turning. His eyes were a bloody red, his blue irises barely visible. His skin was a turning gray and his hair was bloody and missing pieces of scalp.
He banged on the glass, his fist leaping a bloody print. "Bleghschlebderufteg!" No one could figure out what he screamed.
Mr. Peterson hurried over. He took a look at the man and shook his head vigorously. "Go away!" He yelled, thrusting his finger outward.
The man put his face on the glass, smearing blood and saliva across the clean surface. He howled like a dog. Something was definitely wrong with him.
Mr. Peterson turned to a teacher standing by—Mr. Zuni—and motioned him over. He whispered something in his ear and Mr. Zuni took off to the coaches' offices with a nod. He came back with a shotgun. Felix once again gasped.
"Just to scare him," Mr. Peterson assured her. He took the gun and cocked it, pointing it at the man who took a step back. "He's not fully turned. He's just now started turning, but he'll be dead soon. I just don't want him to die right here. His body rotting might inflict the infection upon us more fiercely. If one of you turn, everyone else will."
Mr. Peterson looked down the scope of the gun and sighted the man, straight in. The man stumbled his way away. Mr. Peterson gave the gun back to Mr. Zuni and then started his way back to the gym.
"Everyone back in the gym," he announced. "I need to make a statement."

"We are going through a very rough time," Mr. Peterson says. "Many people have died, many. I hate to say it, but your family is probably already dead." Gasps. Whispers. "We're going to keep you for a week like we said and then you can decide if you'd like to leave or not. But if you leave, you will not be allowed back in under any circumstances. You're old enough to make this decision and we trust you on it. We do not trust you however to not text a certain someone to come here and get you out before the week is done. Therefore, we are confiscating your cellular devices." Disappointed moans, some complaining. "Please make a line up to me, where I will have a tub. We will write your name on a Post-It note and stick it to your phone so you can have it when the week is up."
They will not take my phone. Not only is it my personal property, but it's the only reminder I have of my family. It's not even dead. If all power goes out, I want my phone to work. I will not let them have it.
As people start to shuffle their way to Mr. Peterson, I grab Felix's arm. "Put your phone in your pants."
She looks at me, confused. "Raven, I—"
"Just do it. There may come a time they won't give them back. Come on, Felix," I say as quickly as humanly possible. She shoves her phone in the front of her pants as do I.
We still follow the line up to the tub and Post-It notes.
Mr. Peterson eyes us when we walk up. He nods toward the tub of phones.
I shrug. "We keep our phones in our lockers during school hours. Do you want me to go get it?" I smile innocently.
Mr. Peterson shakes his head. "Of course not, just go ahead and sit back down."
Felix and I do as we're told and take our seats. The line dwindles down until the last person sets their phone in the tub.
"Thank you for your cooperation, everyone," Mr. Peterson says, clearing his throat. He smiles at us and reminds me of politics. He looks like someone running for president—calm, collected, and pristine. He may be dead inside, we would never know, because we're intrigued by that perfect smile.
"We are all in this together—" (Come on, Mr. Peterson, you're better than that) "—so I'd like you to share any concerns of your's?"
A boy sitting in the front row with curly red hair that needs a major wash, raises his hand. Mr. Peterson nods toward him.
"Food? How much do we have?" His voice is high pitched and he has a lisp. Like the teenage girls we are, Felix and I giggle under our breath.
Mr. Peterson swallows and then covers it up with a chuckle and a smile. He is really good at this. "I'm sure we have enough food to last us all a month. Maybe more if some of you decide to head off in your own directions."
He opens his mouth to speak but is suddenly cut off from the wild explosion that has swallowed the right half of the gym.