Last Dawn of a Horde

Chapter Six: The Fallen ~James

~James~

    I was dreaming.

    I don’t know what these dreams do to help me, but as far as I know, I was escaping zombies right now. To be exact, four were chasing me. I know they can smell me, and we're playing hide and seek. Just before they can see me, I’ll squash their heads with the club I had in my hands.

    But the problem was I was asleep. There’s nothing I can do to free myself from slumber.

The sun stirred up hotly on the skies. As if it mattered to us.

Today was one of the biggest fight for the boys—I was one of the players, and the game was against Jet’s section. The flat ground was bone dry, and all of the audiences are carrying umbrellas and wide fans with them.

Standing before the six of us were the high net and another six boys playing the last match with us. It was the playoff already; we lost one time and we defeated them. They did not lose yet, making a playoff between us. If we win, our class gets the trophy—boys and girls for volleyball. If we lose…then we get the second place.

I was on the very front center. Our lineup was Leo, me, and Perry for the front line, and on our backs were Jules, Geno, and Miguel. Miguel has the ball, and ready to serve.

Second set came. Jet’s class got the first set of fifteen points against our twelve points. If we lose the second set, it’s over. They win.

The current score for the second set was ten to five—we’re the five. Sweat glistened on our faces, and the sun’s position against us wasn’t a good one. We kept squinting and eventually lose the ball.

Miguel got his serve. His serve wasn’t high, and when I thought it will not pass to the next side, it did. Jet let J.D. get the ball, and he tossed the ball back to us.

We almost panicked. Our classmates were cheering us, and when my muscles moved, I volley the ball back to the other side. From their side, Jet spanked it off and if it wasn’t for Perry’s strike, it would’ve landed on our side.

Ten to six. The referee whistled, and the class of St. Joseph burst into cheers.

“Nice one,” Jules the captain ball said as he tapped Perry’s back.

The referee whistled again. Miguel got the ball on his hands. He spiked to serve, and the ball touched the net. It wasn’t volleyed back, so it was ten to seven. Jules called for a break, and five minutes were given to us.

I hear Rich cheer from above the grounds bleachers. He was munching peas, and I hear him say something close to “You can do it guys!”

We formed a circle. Jules came to our ears.

“Go to defense,” he told me. “Leo, catch the ball only if you can, okay?” he tells Leo.

Leo nodded, his thin mascara wearing off slightly.

“Just a few more points to fifteen, guys. Serve well, and let the ball if you see its trajectory falling for outside. Get it?” Jules tells us, his breathing really heavy. He got consecutive games for today, making him extra tired.

“Fight St. Joseph!” Perry urged.

“FIGHT!” we replied in chorus, followed by applauds from our classmates.

We set ourselves on the field on the same position. Miguel was on the serving line for the third time, and from behind, I can hear Jules urging him to get a good serve.

He used spiking again, and the ball hit the net. Murmurs of disappointment grew from behind, and Ellie yelled, “Substitution!”

They all laughed, with Miguel raising a peace sign with his index and middle finger. Score was eleven to seven. The server for the other side was Luke, and his serve ball flew very high. I set myself under the falling ball, and yanked it to the other side. They broke lines and none of Jet’s classmates hit the ball.