~James~
Then we should be dead already. These two men may make me angry for me to punch them, but what they’re saying made sense. If I had been a zombie…wouldn’t I feel imminent death? If our survival only made us a bad choice of dying, then why am I still sitting with here if our fates are sealed to doom?
“Because being alive and staying alive has a difference,” says Mr. Riggins suddenly.
The truck darted to fast, and I noticed Hunters whizzing skywards, and explosion hundreds of meters away fill the air. It must be seven in the morning, but the sun was absent. We encountered Mutated zombies on the way, and they almost attacked our wheels. There came the moment when my teacher needed to poke his upper self out of the window to shoot zombies.
Because being alive and staying alive has a difference.
Those words imbibed and branded themselves on my mind. Honestly, my teacher utters no sense when it comes to literature and sayings, but that sentence tended the fire of hope in me. I will stay alive.
“What happened to you, sir?” I asked Principal Guns.
“Well, I have a business trip that day the plague broke,” says Principal Guns. “The airport got shut off the time I was about to board. Some biological agencies got into action, and those who exhibit fever and hyperactivity were taken off the airport. Those who were cleared are sent back to a relocation site.
“Riggins and I escaped that site when an infected music man got into our filter, and the site became hazardous for the living. We returned to the school--my school, and saw it deserted with drooling zombies. My office was dirty and empty, and guns were stolen,” Principal Guns finishes.
A stony lump filled my throat. A funny thought—he thought the guns were stolen. But at least, he doesn’t suspects us, and I don’t want to be sued.
Mr. Riggins comes back to our view. “We can’t waste our bullets! Where are we heading?”
“To the virus base, sir,” says Bridge.
Mr. Riggins looked at him in disbelief, and he finally says, “Who are you, young man?”
“I’m Bridge Carson, sir,” Bridge replies.
My teacher ignored him completely.
“Oh my God! Avoid that barricade!”
Mr. Riggins yelled so loud my eardrums almost burst. We turned so hard to the left, and then to the right, slamming us on the windows, almost. John’s face glistened with sweat, and the air turns so dry like my throat. The sky was turning pale orange, and it was an omen to see.
They are already burning some parts of the city.
We passed through thick zombies, and that’s when I realized what that barricade was—the SWAT is heavily guarded with loaded guns to kill people, dead or alive.
“We’re all going to die!” Perry yells from behind.
“You are not alone?” asks Mr. Riggins, veins prominent on his neck.
“We have our friends with us,” I replied to him.
He didn’t look so happy, and I remembered his words again. We turned hard to the right again, and then we screeched to a halt. We are here.
“Where is the base?” I asked Bridge.
He was rummaging dirty trash cans, and when I can’t take the smell of methane any more, I backed away. The mentors were guarding our backs, their guns ready to fire. John was helping Bridge through the uncollected garbage, and they looked panicking.
“What are we finding? Where are we?” I asked again, waiting for a response.
“The antidote must be anywhere here,” says Bridge coolly but quick. He turned a trash bin upside down, but found nothing but trash. “The base is always underground. We’re on its surface.”
It made my heart skip a beat. I wondered if there are spy cameras around, and I took a step back to our teachers and the principal. Birds were fluttering nearby, and they seem to stare at me. Creepy.
“What are they finding, Stan?” asks Mr. Riggins, brows arching.
“An antidote for the virus, sir,” I answer.
He raised his eyebrows more. “That’s insane. Impossible.”
I really want to say it was possible, and the possibility is getting expandable, or I want to tell him that Bridge had a connection with the doomsday terrorists, but the thought of him strangling our newfound crony was a bizarre one.
“He claims it so,” I say, “some who made the virus must have made a cure if they ever got the virus themselves.”
He nods, looking so convinced.
From the piles of rubbish, I hear Bridge yell, “I found it!”
I run to where they were. Carson was holding a brown leather case the same size as a pencil case graders use, and he pried it open. Just as he did so, behind me was a loud BOOOM.
* END OF CHAPTER EIGHT *
YOU ARE READING
Last Dawn of a Horde
Teen FictionThere are two things we were absolutely afraid of: Getting killed by the dead, and getting killed by the living. All we have to do is to choose. I am John. Friends are my greatest strength. As long as they live, my life's eternally happy. I am James...
