by Rosaria, A.
“Mr. Morrison,” the girl next to her said, “she didn’t mean that.”
She wanted to tell the girl to piss off, that she could defend herself, but instead she chose to ignore them.
“Priss, you should know better than to associate with trash.”
Trash? Did he just say that? And what would you call people who ran at the first sign of trouble? Trouble most likely caused by their own company. And she was trash for surviving the shit hell outside? She would rather be outside with Ralph, where the chances of survival were near zero, than stay with these bloated fucks in safety.
She cast Mr. Morrison an angry look. He didn’t hold her stare and backed off a little.
“You are a guest, a lucky one at that, and should be grateful we took you in and allowed you to stay with us.”
She shouldn’t. It would get her in trouble, but he was asking for it.
Slowly, Sarah stood up.
The class fell silent.
“What did you call me?”
Mr. Morrison raised a finger at her and furrowed his brows as he scowled. “Trash. T. R. A. S. H. Worthless or discarded material or objects; refuse or rubbish. You, in other words. I told them I didn’t want you in my class, but they insisted. The only thing you are going to do is distract my students with your crazy ideas.”
Crazy ideas like dead people rising and attacking the living. Terry had told her not to tell anyone what really was going on outside. The official narrative should be upheld, because they wouldn’t believe her anyway. This was a haven. Here, ignorant people were kept safe, the deserving few who would work for the betterment of mankind. Terry was right; telling them only resulted in ridicule, and didn’t help this particular teacher in liking her.
“Get out of my class and go back to the infected you keep talking about. For all I know, you are a carrier.”
Mr. Morrison poked his finger against Sarah’s chest. She looked down at his finger. She shouldn’t, but she would.
Sarah grabbed his finger and twisted. Mr. Morrison squealed, holding his hand with his index finger at an odd angle. Smiling, Sarah pushed Mr. Morrison, kicked him behind the knees, and floored him. He tried to crawl back up, his face red in rage. She kicked him again. The jocks in the back of class stood up, ready to help Mr. Morrison. Sarah stared them down, and whatever they saw in her eyes made them back down. An uncertain look passed over them when they lowered themselves back in their seats. Sarah smiled and squatted near the teacher.
“Next time you mess with me, I’ll kill you. Believe me, you wouldn’t be the first.” She cast a look around the class. “Or the last.”
“You can’t talk to me like this,” Mr. Morrison said.
“Yes, I can.”
Sarah punched his nose. The kids in the room jumped up at the loud crack of breaking bones. Blood splattered. Oh, she was so going to be in trouble for this. Still, she couldn’t stop smiling. The look of complete horror on her classmates’ faces, and utter terror in her teacher was priceless.
She stood up and looked around the class one more time. She stopped at Priscilla, or Priss, the jerk liked to call the girl. “Want to tag along?”
The girl sat with her elbows pressed to her sides and shoulders tense; however, there was also a twinkle of fascination in her eyes. Her mouth opened and quickly closed again. She wasn’t that bad, a quiet girl who minded her own business most of the time. She didn’t give Sarah any grief, and like today, she actually stuck up for her. Not that Sarah needed anyone to stick up for her, but it showed character and she liked that. Sarah wished she had valued these things earlier. She would have seen Ralph in a different light, and it might have spared her going out with a loser like Jake.
“Don’t do it, Priss,” Mr. Morrison said.
Sarah saw Priscilla flinch at being called Priss by him. That name must tick her off, but her natural shyness must have prevented her from saying anything about it. Not that Sarah believed it would stop someone like Mr. Morrison from using it.
“Come on, Priscilla. You don’t want to stay with these losers, do you?”
Why was she asking her anyway? No reason to get the girl in trouble with her.
Sarah turned, about to leave. Mr. Morrison kicked the floor to get away from her, sliding his butt back to his desk.
“Sarah, wait for me.”
Sarah glanced at the girl and nodded. Priscilla gathered her things. With her backpack pressed against her flat chest, she ran after Sarah. Once Sarah stepped outside the classroom, the room erupted in noise and movement. She didn’t care to look; she signaled Priscilla to follow her.
“Sarah,” the short girl said, “where are we going?”
Good question. What was the plan? She hadn’t thought things through, and had pulled Priscilla into her mess. What was she thinking?
Sarah sighed. She faced Priscilla. “Listen, you better return to class. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
Priscilla frowned. “Then why did you ask me to tag along?”
“Spur of the moment thing, I think.”
Priscilla frowned. A look of disappointment passed over the young girl.
Sarah felt like an ass for doing this to her. “Look, I wasn’t thinking. I just lashed out… this… I don’t know, Priscilla.”
“Please call me Priss. I just don’t like it when he calls me that. Only my friends call me Priss.”
“Okay, Priss. I know it’s too late now. I just want to go back to my cell.”
“Cell?”
“It’s not big enough to be a room, and they once kept me locked in there.”
“Okay. Let’s go hang out in your room, then.”
Sarah walked down to the end of the corridor. Priss tagged along. Sarah turned left, moved to the twin doors as if she was allowed to, and exited the school without permission. Another infraction she couldn’t care less about. Outside, she went right and walked past the staff dormitories compound. To the left of the cross point led to the gates, straight to the barracks, and to the right, the financial district. From this point, a bus went to the different districts. It was the only vehicle out this time of the day. The roads were nearly empty, only a few people on bicycles going to and fro, to wherever their jobs demanded them. Most people were inside working or doing whatever.
Sarah went right and walked for a mile to get to the shelter compound. On the fifth floor, she had a room. Most people in the shelter stayed inside. She had no idea who they were, having only caught glimpses of a few, and she had never talked to any of them. The glimpses she got were enough to discourage any meetings; these people were dead in their eyes.
“I hope you didn’t mind the walk,” Sarah said.
“No, I actually enjoyed it.”
Yeah, another reason to like the girl. Sarah loved walking. She missed it almost as much as she missed Ralph. Well, that and freedom.
Sarah and Priss had walked in silence, but she was glad to have someone with her. So far, she had only Terry to talk to, but most of their talks were of the professional kind, him questioning her and her not really answering him. However, despite everything, he wasn’t so bad, and it helped that he was handsome and not crazy like his brother, Anton.
Sarah’s stomach cramped. This happened every time she remembered Anton.
She shouldn’t have pulled the trigger.
And today wouldn’t end well. Terry would certainly lecture her about what she did in class.
In the distance, the compound loomed. A gray, square building without windows. Four entrances to four different parts of the building, each section separated from the other and only sharing the top floor.
“You live in that building?” Priss asked.
Sarah smiled. It was difficult for a rich kid to understand that not everyone lived in wealth and splendor. “Changed your mind?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s just… I didn’t expect that. My father told me… Well, never mind that. I don’t mind. I guess if you live there, it must be okay.”
“Cool.”
To enter, Sarah had to use her keycard and she guessed the little machine would snitch that she wasn’t in school. It would give Sarah fifteen minutes tops to spend alone with Priss—unless they let her be this time. Sarah chuckled as she opened the door. Like they ever would. The moment they stepped inside, the door shut behind them, and red lights started flashing. Priss raised her eyebrows in question.
“They don’t mind you having visitors, do they?”
“The guards are coming to get me.” Sarah raised her passkey. “They get a ping every time I use this.”
Realization dawned on the young girl’s face. She could be a beauty if she took care of herself. She always wore baggy clothes and her hair was unkempt. She was a short, skinny, Catwoman.
“Follow me,” Sarah said.
They took the elevator to her floor and her room. She used her pass to get in. The door locked behind her as the inside keypad turned red. Auto lock. No way to get out. They knew her whereabouts and most likely were on their way.
“Well, you are my first invited visitor. Sorry that I don’t have cookies to offer you.”
Sarah showed her room with a flick of her hand. A bed, one tiny table, and one chair. A door led to the six-foot square privy and shower area.
Sarah sat down on her unkempt bed and patted next to her. “So what are we going to talk about? The newest boy band? The latest in fashion? Your boyfriends?”
Priss shook her head. “Why did you hit Mr. Morrison?”
“I guess I just don’t like him.”
“I don’t like him either, but I don’t hit him.”
Yeah, Priss had her there. Not liking someone was no reason to hit him or her, and certainly not in the way she had hit Mr. Morrison. Then again, it was an improvement over killing. To be fair about Anton, it hadn’t been just not liking him. The man had wanted to kidnap her, and who knew what else he wanted with her.
“I don’t know. Maybe it was anger for being kept here against my will.”
“Why are you angry about that? Do you prefer to live outside with the infected and die by their hands?”
“Please, Priss. You are a smart girl. You know they are not just infected people.”
“You want me to believe zombies exist?”
“I’ve seen friends turn. I’ve bashed their heads in. It was no infection. They were dead already.”
Priss shook her head. “It’s the shock of needing to kill to survive. The infection turns people into raving lunatics. They are still alive. My father and others are seeking a cure to help everyone.”
“Bullshit.”
Priss stood up briskly. “Don’t say that. My father is doing his best to find a cure.”
“Maybe he is, but not one to save the people outside the walls.”
“No! The people—”
“They are already dead!” Sarah said harshly.
Priss recoiled and raised her hands in front of her face as if to block a blow.
Sarah shoulders sagged as she slumped back on her bed. With her hands, she covered her face and sighed. “Please, Priss. You don’t believe the crap they feed you at school, do you? Like the other kids?”
Sarah removed her hands to look at the girl. She stood with her back pressed in a corner. Eyes wide. Damn. She had scared her, and she didn’t mean to. She liked Priss.
“Look,” Sarah said softly. “I’m not mad at you. I’ll never hurt you, okay? You do know that, don’t you?”
Priss relaxed but still said nothing.
“I know it’s difficult to believe what I’m telling you, but it’s the truth. I don’t know why they feed you guys lies about what’s going on.”
“Why would they lie?” Priss finally said. “You said yourself that you don’t know why they would.”
“I’ve seen it. Terry saw it. Anyone who has been outside has seen it. And I’m the only one telling you about it.”
Priss shook her head. Sarah gave up convincing her. This wasn’t someone not believing her; it was someone not wanting to believe her. Sarah had seen the doubt before in the girl’s eyes. The others went about their lives, oblivious to what was happening, but Priss had become more drawn in lately. The eyes less shiny with ignorance.
Sarah had an outburst the first day they had forced her to attend classes. That was a month or so ago. The bastards were so confident that their brainwashing had worked that they didn’t mind her spewing the truth, and they were right. No one believed her and the few like Priss who suspected something was wrong actively fought the truth.
Sarah sighed and stared at the door. When would they come bursting in?
“Never mind. It doesn’t change a thing. We are trapped here, and whatever is outside is kept out. Infected crazies or walking dead, the same thing happens to you if you go beyond the walls—you die.”
Her face grew somber. Ralph. Was he still alive?
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I want to believe you—I really want to—but what dies stays dead.”
“Ask the Christians and they will say otherwise.”
“Sorry, but I don’t believe in fables either,” Priss said with a stern face.
No way would she win an argument with that girl. Sarah wondered again why she brought her along. She liked her, certainly more than the others, but despite the fact that Priss listened to her, she also wasn’t budging. Oh well. Sooner or later, she’d see it for herself. Whatever these people think they have, they’ll not be able to keep it.
“Well, I wouldn’t believe it either if I were in your place. Maybe we should talk about something else. Boyfriends? Do you have one?”
Priss fidgeted uncomfortable with her fingers and looked down.
“You don’t have one? A pretty girl like you?” No answer to that. “Have you ever had one? You must have by now. You are, what, seventeen?”
“Sixteen.”
“And there is no one you like?”
Priss looked up, eyes red. She sniffled. It dawned on Sarah. “Not here. Outside?”
“Dad said he couldn’t come along. I…” She lowered her head again and sniffed, holding the tears back. “He’s probably infected by now,” she said between sobs.
Most likely dead. And most likely this was the reason why she wanted to believe the official story. It gave her hope.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Priss smiled a sad smile and shook her head. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be fine. I’m sure my dad will find a cure and everything will be okay.”
Sarah ached, knowing nothing would be okay, not today, not tomorrow, not ever again. Their world had ceased to exist. At least Priss had a father left. “I’m sure it will. Don’t mind me with my crazy talk.”
“Would you apologize to Mr. Morrison, then? Make things right again? I know he is an ass, but it would suck not having you in class.”
How had they come to this? Even if she wanted to apologize, she was certain it was too late to do so.
“Priss, I—”
The lock light switched to green and the door slid open.
“Dad?” Priss said.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with graying and receding hair stood in the door opening. Two black-clad soldiers stood behind him, their guns ready. All three were wearing hazmat suits. Her father’s face was much like Priss, though likable as hers was, his had a cruel edge to it. His mean eyes were fixed on Sarah. His lips formed a contemptuous curl.
“Bitch, you’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”
Sarah backed down on her bed, pressed her back against the wall, confused by the hate in the man’s words. She never thought a teacher would mean this much to Priss’s father, a scientist and administrator, one of the leaders of Haven.
Priss’s dad slid his eyes toward his daughter. Distraught, replaced the contempt and hate.
“I told you never to enter this building. No one ever should; nobody should even be able to, except this bitch.” He pointed at Sarah.
He cast Sarah a hateful glance. “You did this on purpose.”
Sure, they told her never to bring anyone inside, though what harm could it do? “She just wanted to tag along.”
“Shut your trap,” the father yelled. “Guards, take the trash out. Go through the decon room for safety’s sake.
Priss’s father stepped out to allow the guards in. Sarah looked at Priss; the girl looked stricken. Sarah thought she would get a scolding, house arrest, but it seemed something much worse had happened. She didn’t resist when the guards grabbed her. Each held one arm and dragged her out.
Sarah cast a look back. Priss’s dad restrained Priss from going after her. Damn everything. Had she just swallowed whatever pride she had left, the both of them would still be in class.
Sarah smiled, whatever happened, she’d bear the consequences. However, deep down, Sarah knew that not all consequences were for her to bear. The girl would have her own, and in the end, it would be Sarah’s fault. Sarah’s smile faltered as they carried her away.
CHAPTER THREE
Ralph opened his eyes to the dark green of his tent’s roof, and scratched the scar at his temple. Every time he awoke, the scar itched. Still alive, he thought. They had all survived another day in paradise. He would be jumping for joy if it were something to be happy about.
Ralph turned on his side. The bedroll beside him was empty. Ethan had prolonged his watch and didn’t bother to wake him. Ralph gave his wristwatch a distasteful look. Seven in the morning. Not too bad. He had five hours of sleep, an extra hour courtesy of Ethan. However nice that was, everybody needed his or her rest before moving out by noon, and that included Ethan.
Ralph wore the same clothes he had on yesterday and the day before that, and the one before that. One dirty yet sturdy pair of cargo pants, and a woolen, long-sleeve turtleneck. He didn’t bother anymore to undress before sleeping, didn’t bother to wash himself every day either. He stunk of weeks-old sweat. Water was too precious a resource to waste, and there was no sense cleaning your clothes if every other day you were falling and crawling in the mud to escape the living dead.
He grabbed his holster with his 45 and his rifle as he climbed out of the tent. Ralph shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand as he surveyed the other tents. Five counting his. Brenda was asleep in hers. Unlike Ethan, she had changed her watch with Lauryn. Another tent was empty. The new couple who had joined their group a few months back. Jayne and Randy, both in their late twenties. The remaining two tents were filled with their occupants still sleeping. This was a first time for many out in the open.