This Is Our World Now -A Walking Dead Fanfiction

Chapter Twelve- Leaving Home

ONE AND A HALF YEARS AGO

"Have a good day at school, honey," my mom says as I open the front door to leave. Every morning at seven, my brother Benji and I walk to the bus stop. We take the 48 from our neighborhood, down to our schools. He gets off six stops before me, but otherwise, it's the same route.

The morning is damp and dewey. We have to watch our steps, our we might accidentally step on one of the brown snails that are camouflaged on the ground. i did that once and it was disgusting.

The toes of my faded gray Converse get washed clean as I step through puddles on the sidewalk. My brother avoids the ouddles, to keep his fancy indoor soccer shoes from getting soaked.

We turn onto the main street, 18th, and make our way to the bus stop. I check my phone, and calculate that the bus will be here in approximately three minutes. I pull my sweatshirt hood over my ponytail, and make sure Benji has his hood on. He does. Soon enough, the bus bumps up the hill and pulls itself to a stop in front of us. The doors flick open, and I hop on, scanning my school-issued bus pass on the machine next to the driver. Benji does the same. Then we make our way to the mid-back section of seats. I claim window, and mu brother plops down next to me.

The rain increases, and as the distance to school gets smaller, it begins pouring. Benji's stop arrives, and as he steps out the back door of the metro bus and shuffles toward his school, I watch him through the glass of my window. Rain streams down it, so his figure is blurred and watery. The bus pulls away, and I turn my gaze towards the road ahead.

Throwing on my jacket that I took off when I boarded the bus, I exit through the same back doors that Benji did. Head down, I navigate through the parking lot across from the bus stop, and make my way up the steps to the school's front doors. Once inside, I follow my same, every day path to first period. Straight, left, right, left, up two flights of stairs, left, right, class. The bell doesn't ring for another eight minutes, so I go to my friend Emmy's desk, and we pull out our phones to play a game. Before I know it, the bell rings and Ms. Harper, my math teacher, strides into the room, telling us to "put away our phones" and "get out our math notebooks." I do as she says.

Math, then English, and History, pass in a blur. It is an autopilot routine of calculate, read, study. Typical school. However, when we go into Spanish, fourth period, there is finally something interesting going on. Everyone is crowding around Ms. Gomez's computer, or la computadora, as it is called in this class. I can't see over the tall juniors and sophomores, so I nudge my way to the front. On the screen is a woman, a news reporter, with the words BREAKING NEWS!!! running below her repeatedly.

"...from the mountains, thought to be from the recent plane crash. This...horde of creatures has finally made it's way up to the Northwest, and is moving fast. Civilians are advised to stay at home, to lock doors and windows, and gather supplies. This outbreak could reach the main urbanarea of Seattle in the next forty-eight hours. I'm Renee Holland, and this is Koro 9 News."

The class breaks up into murmurs, but I can't focus on anything as I grab a chair from behind me and collapse into it. We all knew about the outbreak of a deadly virus that had something to do with zombification or cannabalism or something. Nobody expected it to get here so quickly, though. The last major news coverage of it was five days ago in Milwaukee, nowhere near here.

Ms. Gomez quiets us, then speaks,

"Class, as we all know, this is not a time to panic. You are very safe here, and the city is still untouched. I know none of you expected this to come so soon, but we have to be prepared now. I am going to find more news coverage of it, meanwhile, work on these Spanish verb conjugations."

The class settles down to work, until about twenty minutes later, Ms. Gomez pulls up a newscast onto her computer. She calls us over, explaining that this was just emailed to all the teachers in the building.

A news anchorman sits at a table with his hands folded together tightly. A title flashes under him, displaying him as "Richard Brownford, Seattle School District Representative." He tell us,

"Hello students, staff, and family of the Seattle Schools community. In lieu of the recent events of the outbreak reaching the Seattle area, the city council and school district have agreed upon the following plan. Until this epidemic is controlled, all elementary through high-school age students will be confined to their school buildings 24 hours a day, to ensure their safety. Schools are designated safe zones, and keeping minors there is in the best interest of everyone. Thank you for your understanding. The lock-ins begin tomorrow, so students will be required to bring a bag or two of belongings to school, along with a sleeping bag and pillow. Remember, this is only a temporary situation, to ensure all our students' safety."

The video ends, as does class. I walk out of class in a daze, not knowing what to make of this. I'm not alone; the hallways are nearly silent compared to the usual ruckus. I finish my day quietly, and we don't do much anyways. Everyone is too distracted.

When Benji boards the bus on our way home, he immediatly sits down and curls up against me. It's hard sometimes to believe he is only nine. I then realize that I may not see him for weeks, after tomorrow, so I put my arms around him, and we ride home in silence.

We hurry home from the bus stop, unspokenly agreeing that we need to spend as much time as possible at home before we have to leave.

The night at our house is solemn, filled with packing and preoccupation. My mother constantly is in and out of my room, asking if i have this, that, and the other thing. By the time I finish, I have a duffel bag stuffed to the brim, and my backpack busting its zippers. It is not nearly enough.

The morning comes all too quickly, and I drag my feet as I get dressed, eat breakfast, brush my hair and teeth, not wanting to leave. But the time comes, and Benji and I are tearfully hugging our parents good-bye. They watch us walk down the street, then we turn a corner, and I look back and can't see them anymore. I look at Benji, my brave baby brother, and slip my hand into his. We'll be back in only a few weeks.