This Is Our World Now -A Walking Dead Fanfiction

Chapter Four- Doors

Mrs. Douglas, can you please explain to me why you are here?"

I slowly tear my gaze away from the window of the office of the principal, Ingrid Mueller. I sigh and explain,

"I stabbed a roamer in Weapons class."

She does not look surprised.

"Ms. Douglas, I know you are excited to take the next step in our community here at Garfield Safety Center, but that is only able to happen if you respect your teachers and their instructions. Otherwise, we have no problem withholding your weapons and supply run rights. Am I clear?"

Two things piss me off about what she said. First, the school is not a "Safety Center." That is the lamest thing I have ever heard, and I want to shoot whoever came up with that name. Second, taking away my weapon rights?? She's got to be kidding. However, I don't want to get in trouble anymore than I am, so I simply say, "Yes, Ingrid."

Calling her by her first name is a huge mistake. Ingrid- I mean, Mrs. Mueller- glares at me and rises menacingly from her wheeled desk chair.

"Excuse me, Ms. Douglas, what exactly did you call me?"

I shrink away, immediatly regretting what I said, but she is not done.

"Even though this world has changed, respect for those older than you is not a custom that should be discarded. I am STILL your principal and-"

"No," I interject, "No, you are not. You keep this place running, but it is different now, because this is not just a school anymore."

Fuming, Mrs. Mueller begins to say something, but the secretary suddenly bursts through the door, and hurriedly says,

"Mrs. Mueller, I am so sorry to interrupt, but you may want to see this. Now."

Mrs. Mueller shoots me look that says "we will talk later," before hurrying out of the room after the secretary. I decide to follow them.

The secretary leads us to the front of the school, where the heavy wooden doors have been boarded up and sandbagged at the bases. This part of the school is not able to be fenced in or barricaded, so once everyone was in the building, the doors were closed off permanently.

Now we stand before this array of wood, nails, and sandbags. There is small crowd gathered, nervously whispering.

"What is it?" Demands Mrs. Mueller. The secretary parts the crowd and we finally see it.

There is a small hole in the far right door. About a foot or two across at most. Through it, several gnarled, bloodied, clawing hands are reaching. Another hole farther up gives us a glimpse of the area below.

Hundreds of zombies swarming the parking lot, filling the street, scrambling up the stairs to the school, with only a flimsy wooden barrier between us and them.