Alive?

by Melissa Woods

  Pain, pressure.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch.”

  Something in the air. Something new.

  “What are you doing? Get off me! Help!”

  Violet awoke sweating and out of breath, the shadows of the dream still hanging over her. What was it? A nightmare?

  A memory?

  Her eyes scanned the teachers’ lounge. Everyone else was asleep.

  Not everyone. We’re not all here. One of us is dead. Downstairs on the floor.

  Sam said they’d bury Amy tomorrow, out in the field behind the basketball court. He, Matt, and Joe had spent the evening digging her grave. He said they could all say some words, but Violet knew she didn’t have any. She rolled over, hoping to get a few hours’ sleep before then. But in her dreams, she was haunted by blood, bites, and pain.

  The next morning, they threw the corpse of the infected man over the wall. They buried Amy under a large oak tree. It was raining. No one said anything at first. They stood in silence around the mound of dirt for the longest time. Finally, Sam stepped forward. He cleared his throat.

  “Goodbye, Amy. At least you’re away from this now.”

  A week passed. The school was secure again, and everyone was attempting to get back to normal. Or at least their version of it. Things were different, though, and not just with Violet. The others had changed, too. They hadn’t lost anyone since the first day. They’d thought the school was impenetrable. That feeling of safety had come crashing down on their heads.

  Since Amy’s death, everyone was constantly alert. Their lives were even quieter, conversations in whispers that seemed to last no longer than a few minutes. No one would sleep unless someone was keeping watch by the window. It was largely unnecessary, since the gates to the school were now securely locked, and the door to the lounge was bolted shut whenever everyone was inside. Still, every night they took shifts staying awake.

  The air was constantly tense. Every now and then, someone, usually Joe, would try to lighten the mood with a joke, or casual conversation, but it always fizzled out. But despite all that, despite the tension and anxiety, Violet was at least beginning to get over her grief. She was starting to feel human again.

  Revision: as human as someone who craves human flesh can be.

  Yes, the hunger was still there, but she could control it, at least when there was no one actively bleeding out in front of her. That was part of the reason she was still trying to keep her distance from the others. It was safer if there was no temptation.

  Today, Violet was down in the art block again. It was silent down there, but she wasn’t afraid. She was used to it. She followed the long, yellow hallway, decorated with paintings and sculptures made by students. It seemed like they had been crafted a lifetime ago.

  How many of them are dead now?

  She entered one of the studios. This was the one Amy used, and Violet suddenly felt incredibly guilty that she’d never come in before. Every wall and surface was covered in Amy’s art. They were mostly paintings, though there were sketches, too, hardly a surface not covered in them. There were even more balled up and thrown roughly in the direction of the overflowing garbage can. Violet was holding onto the last drawing Amy had been working on. It was on the floor next to where they had found her. Violet guessed it was going to be a picture of the two of them, but they were just outlines. They didn’t have faces. Still, Violet had carried it around in her pocket like a talisman, not caring the lower left corner had soaked up a little of Amy’s blood.

  She put the picture down for the moment, walking the room as though she were in an art gallery. Amy’s work was varied. The first few paintings she passed were calming: flowers in a meadow, a riverside at sunrise, some horses on the beach. Violet guessed her friend had coped with the walking corpses in the beginning by pretending they didn’t exist. But slowly, the world outside began to creep into Amy’s work: the painting of a beautiful flower, deep red and alone in the middle of the field, had black shadowy figures just visible in the distance. In the next riverside scene, the black figures appeared again, once more only just visible on the horizon, hidden slightly by the trees. The horses grazing in the next painting were stalked by the same shadows, the once-blue sky now dark grey, with streaks of red across the clouds.

  Violet’s heart felt heavy. Amy’s art had always been so beautiful, but now it was tainted. She grabbed the painting of the horses and angrily crumpled it between her hands. She regretted this immediately, of course, and tried to smooth it out on the table. Something else caught her eye: a sketch of a group of people. This was unusual since Amy rarely drew people. She had always said that no matter how hard she tried, someone would always be unhappy with the way she portrayed them.

  “But you draw me all the time,” Violet had replied when she said this.

  “Because I don’t care what you think,” Amy had said wickedly, not even looking up from her nails, which she had been painting a deep crimson. Violet had thrown a pillow at her, laughing.

  She pushed those thoughts away, not ready to deal with those memories right now. Violet instead brought her attention back to the drawing. It was of all of them. Amy had made it seem like they were posing for a photograph, sitting on or around a large couch. Sam and Tom were smiling, standing just behind the chair —although Amy had managed to capture beautifully the fact that Tom’s smile could more accurately be described as a smug sneer. Maggie and Emily were sitting on the couch together, smiling shyly. Joe was pulling a funny face beside Tom, which might’ve been directed at him. Amy and Violet were sitting on the other side of Maggie and Emily, with Ben on Violet’s lap. Matt was next to Violet.

  Wait. Violet peered a little closer. Were she and Matt holding hands?

  She rolled her eyes. “Very good, Amy,” she muttered. But she felt a smile cross her lips. Even now, Amy was still able to tease her. After she rolled up the drawing carefully, she secured it with a rubber band.

  As she went to leave the room, she saw something different. It was a piece of paper with some writing on it. She picked it up curiously, reading the few words.

  Amy. Amy Lowe. My name is Amy Ann Lowe.

  The words were simple, probably testing out a new pen, yet they hit Violet like a truck. There was something about the writing, about the simplicity, that made Amy seem alive, if only for a second.

  Violet left the room with the rolled-up drawing and the paper with Amy’s name. Things felt like they were starting to spin. She needed to breathe—to go somewhere else, somewhere far away from the paintings her dead friend had created. Somewhere safe and small.

  She found herself in the boys’ bathrooms, in the stall with all the graffiti. Not the most glamorous place, but it felt somehow safe. Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, she read the writing again.

  Amy. Amy Lowe. My name is Amy Ann Lowe.

  Is not was. When Violet read this writing, Amy was still alive. Her name is Amy. Not was Amy.

  It seemed Violet hadn’t cried all her gross blood tears after all. New ones began to prick viciously at the corners of her eyes. Hastily, she folded up the paper and stuffed it into her pocket. She took a breath. When she felt relatively sure she’d managed to hold back any eye leakage, she unfurled the drawing and tacked it up to the cubicle wall. No one else really came down to the art block, so Violet felt secure none of the others would see it. But she would know it was there, and that was enough.

  New tears threatened, and Violet wiped her eyes, distracting herself with the writing on the walls. Most of it was run-of-the-mill, but there were a couple that made her smile. Her favorite was a short dialogue, beginning with:

  I love Harry Nicks and I’m not ashamed! D.P.

  Then below it: We all know it’s you, Daniel Parker.

  And below that: You tell us all the time. We don’t care.

  Then: This is Harry. Still not interested.

  She smiled, but jumped as she heard the door to the bathrooms open. Violet held her breath, not s
ure what to say to anyone who found her sitting on the toilet crying blood. She roughly wiped at her face again.

  They won’t come this far down. Whoever it is will use a cubicle nearer to the door.

  Violet was thinking this reassuring thought right up until the moment the door swung open and nearly hit her. Matt stood in the doorway, surprised.

  “Jesus, Violet, you almost gave me a heart attack.” He grinned. “What are you doing?” Suddenly, he looked down at the floor, and Violet thought he might actually be blushing. “Sorry, stupid question.” He turned away, and Violet laughed.

  “Unfreeze, I’m decent. Just sitting.”

  Matt turned back. “Oh right, so you are.” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Can I ask why you’re hanging out in the bathrooms?”

  What answer could she give? I’m trying to avoid you guys in case any of you get a paper cut and I try to eat you?

  Yes, she was grieving Amy, but she knew her real reason for hiding away was more down to her fear of what might happen if she lost control. But she couldn’t tell Matt that, so after an incredibly long and awkward silence, she decided to stall.

  “Why are you in here?”

  “Well, I actually need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Go then. I’m not listening.”

  Okay, that didn’t sound incredibly creepy.

  Matt seemed to consider it, but then sat down on the floor in front of her, letting the door close behind him. “I can hold it.”

  Violet lifted her legs, sitting cross-legged on the lid to give him more room. Matt regarded her more intently for a moment. “Have you been bleeding?”

  Crap, blood tears.

  “I had a nose bleed.”

  Matt seemed a little confused. “Oh…okay. It’s just, it’s around your eyes.”

  “I sneezed.”

  “Oh.”

  Great, Violet, that makes perfect sense. I’m sure there will be no follow-up questions to that.

  “But how did—”

  “That floor looks dirty,” Violet interrupted.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “It’s got to be full of bacteria.”

  “No doubt.”

  “They’ll be burrowing into your skin as we speak.”

  “That’s probably what that weird feeling is.”

  Violet raised an eyebrow. “So why are you sitting down there?”

  Matt shrugged. “It feels like we haven’t spoken in a really long time.”

  Oh no, this might be about to get heavy.

  Violet kept her tone light. “I’m okay. I just needed some space. You know, to deal with everything.” Weak answer, but Matt was, as usual, too nice to call her out on it.

  “Do you think you’ve had enough?”

  No. “Maybe.”

  Matt smiled. “Good, I missed you. Well, we all missed you. Everyone. Not just me. I missed you a normal amount.”

  Another awkward silence, and Violet couldn’t help but hope for a zombie to stumble in and give them something else to focus on. Luckily, Matt noticed the drawing.

  “Wow, is that one of—”

  “Yes,” Violet interrupted. She didn’t want him to say Amy’s name. She didn’t want to hear it out loud.

  “It’s amazing.” Matt studied the picture for a long time, and Violet really hoped he didn’t notice the hand holding. She pointed to the declaration of love on the wall beside the drawing, diverting his attention.

  “Have you seen this one?”

  Matt grinned. “Yeah, it’s my favorite. Well, other than that one.” He nodded to the one where Violet was listed as the twentieth hottest girl in eighth grade.

  “That one’s pretty funny, too.”

  Matt shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean it makes me smile when I read it. I remember when it first went up.”

  “Really?” Violet asked. For some reason, she had assumed he saw it for the first time when she did.

  Matt nodded. He spoke in a serious tone, but he was smiling. “Oh yeah, I was one of the contributors. You have no idea how much work goes into this kind of thing. There were drafts and re-writes.” He looked Violet in the eye, lowering his voice to a serious whisper. “You know, it’s permanent marker, Violet.”

  “It sounds like a big job.”

  “Absolutely. Although to be honest, I didn’t get much of a chance to share my choices. I was just there to write it out. Apparently, I had the best handwriting.”

  “Wow, that’s wild.”

  “Yeah, not exactly something the girls went crazy for.”

  “Why did they care about handwriting anyway?” Violet asked. “It’s a gross list on a bathroom door.”

  “Violet. Permanent marker.”

  She laughed, a genuine, light, carefree sound she hadn’t heard in a long time.

  Matt continued. “Anyway, I wasn’t allowed to actively participate in the order of the list. Let’s just say I wasn’t quite so cool back then as I am right now.”

  “No?”

  “No, I’m at least…” He paused to consider this. “At least a third cooler than I was when I was fourteen.”

  “Wow.”

  “Exactly. So like I said, no one really cared what I thought. In fact, my choice for number one got pushed right to the bottom.”

  “Well, that must’ve been…” Violet trailed off, realizing what Matt had said. She felt her cheeks burn. “Oh…thanks.” She didn’t know what else to say, never knowing how to take compliments. On the rare occasion she had received them in the past, she’d usually made an awkward joke and scuttled away.

  Luckily, she was rescued by Joe, who chose that exact moment to swing the stall door open, almost hitting Matt in the face.

  “Well…this is cozy.” Smirking, he eyed them with mock suspicion. He stepped into the cubicle, which was now a real squeeze. Despite this, Joe fought to close the door once more. He sat down beside Matt. “What are we doing in here?” He raised an eyebrow. “Is it a sex thing?”

  “No!”

  “Joe, one of us is sitting on the toilet. How could that in any way—”

  Joe shrugged. “I don’t know how you guys operate.”

  Matt scrunched up his face. “If you thought it was a sex thing, then why did you come in?”

  “It’s been a while. I don’t mind being a third wheel.”

  After a rather awkward pause, Violet decided to blow past that one. “Why are you really in here?”

  “I like having stuff to read when I pee,” he explained. “Plus, I was trying to find you. Sam and I have noticed that things have been a bit…mellow, recently. We think it’d be a good idea to cheer everyone up, so we’ve created a game!”

  “Is it called ‘Let’s see how many people we can fit into a dirty bathroom stall?’” Matt asked sarcastically. “Because I think we’ve exhausted that one.”

  Joe cocked his head. “No, but it might be fun—Sam!”

  “Thanks, Joe.” Violet rubbed her ears at the sudden outburst. He grinned apologetically. She heard the main door to the bathroom open, and Sam’s voice drifted inside.

  “Yeah?”

  “Get over here,” Joe called back.

  “No, I’m not falling for that again. Whatever it is, I don’t want to see it.”

  “Just come here!”

  Violet heard Sam knocking open the other stall doors, muttering, “I swear, if this is the same as that thing you showed me last time—”

  Their door opened, and Joe managed to catch it just before it hit him in the face. Sam looked down at the three of them, wearing a confused expression.

  “What are you doing?

  “Explaining our game.”

  “Why are you doing it in the bathrooms?”

  “I don’t know. Violet and Matt were doing a sex thing in here.”

  “We were not—”

  “Joe! That’s so—”

  “Anyway,” Joe interrupted. “Sit.”

  Sam shrugged. “Okay.” He dropped down, and
Matt groaned uncomfortably.

  “I still need to pee,” he wheezed.

  Luckily for Matt, it didn’t take Joe and Sam long to explain the premise of their game. Soon, they were off.

  The game involved a chair on wheels, some mannequins from the textiles room, and a person who didn’t mind careening down a hallway and smashing into the wall at the end. It was a bit like bowling, but on a larger scale and a lot more painful. One member of the team sat on the chair, while the other members launched them into the mannequins. Whichever team knocked over the most mannequins won the round. Matt, Sam, and Violet were on one team. Joe, Maggie, and Emily were on the other. Tom didn’t want to play.

  “Great!” was Joe’s reaction, which earned him a foul look from Tom as he stalked away. Joe sucked in his teeth. “I meant because the teams won’t be odd,” he explained.

  “Sure…” Violet grinned.

  They played best of five, then best of eleven, and then just kept going over and over again. Violet had no idea who was winning by the end, but couldn’t remember the last time she’d had that much fun.

  Violet woke from another dream with a start. She was covered in sweat and shaking, but could remember nothing she had dreamed about. Only that there was blood, screaming, and something fantastic.

  She really hoped all those things weren’t connected.

  Matt was keeping watch by the window. Something was different about him. As the room started to come into focus around her, she realized there was an orange light flickering on his face, even though the candles had been extinguished for the night.

  Violet got off the couch, then padded across the room toward the window. She was cold, wearing a long-sleeved—but thin—shirt, and some shorts from the PE department. Both were a little small. Fine for sleeping in, but not ideal for nighttime walks. She halted beside Matt at the window.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He started a little at her voice, having been so focused. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He pointed to a spot not far in the distance. Violet followed his gaze. One of the houses on the street outside, the one where they had met, was on fire. It roared out of control, crumbling as they watched.