The End Boxset: Postapocalyptic Visions of an Unstoppable Collapse Page 16

  Alice wondered if she had made a mistake. But she couldn't think of any other way to get Kiya. She slammed the brakes and the car came to a quick halt. Brian flew forward, placing his hands on the dashboard for resistance. Alice switched off the head lights and rested her head against the steering wheel.

  “Why couldn't I have just told you two to stay home from school today?” she asked, “Of all the days. Couldn't you both have gotten sick?”

  “Why do you wish that we got sick?” Brian asked.

  “Nothing, son. It's okay. It's not your fault. We're going to get your sister and everything will be fine.”

  “Not without Tobias,” Brian replied.

  His comment went largely unnoticed, by Alice, whose mind was on other things. “We're going to have to hide the car again. People don't understand yet why their own vehicles are broken down, but once they realize that their cars aren't going to start, they'll stop at nothing to take ours.”

  “I get it, mom. Can we get Kiya already and go home?” Brian said.

  “Listen. We're going to get into the school, just like we did before. We have to be quick, and remain inconspicuous.”

  “Like ghosts?” Brian asked.

  “Sure, ghosts. Just like ghosts.”

  Alice parked the car among the others on the side of the road. No one within close distance had noticed them at this point. It was a risk, but a risk, she felt, worth taking. Brian took one look at the school. “There are huge walls covering the school, how the hell are we going to get in there?” he asked.

  “Brian! Don't talk like that. We have to believe in this. For your sister.”

  “How do you know that she's even here? Maybe she left already. Maybe she's home,” Brian said.

  “We're going to find out then, aren't we?” Alice said. She opened the door, clutched the flashlight, and exited the car. Brian got out and slammed his door. “Shhhh!” Alice said with her index finger raised to her lips. From outside the car they could hear the loud uproar from the crowd outside the school. The surrounding walls, pure concrete were impossible to scale. The metallic front gate was shut, offering little way of forced entry. Alice listened carefully to the commotion of the crowd as she tried to understand the situation. She approached a restless middle-aged woman waving her fist in the air.

  “What is going on here?” she asked the woman.

  “What's going on?” the woman asked back in disbelief. “What's going on is that the school has our kids in there and they won't release them. They sealed the school off and won't let anyone in. They got damn near about a riot about to go on here.”

  “How can they do this?” Alice asked. He voice was drowned out by the chants of the unruly crowd.

  “What?” the woman asked.

  “I asked how they can do this?” she repeated.

  “Beats me,” the woman shouted as the crowd grew louder. “But they sure are doing a good job so far.”

  “Look, he's almost over!” a man shouted from the middle of the crowd. Everyone looked up, including Alice and Brian. A burly man scaled the nearby wall of the school with a rope. A hush fell over the crowd as the man neared his destination. “He's going to do it!” a woman yelled. The man made it to the top of the wall lying flat on his stomach as if resting. The crowd cheered ecstatically.

  “I knew he could make it!” an excited voiced shouted. The man at the top of the wall stood up on the wall and waved to the crowd below. The cheering was deafening. Alice and Brian had little option but to watch the scene unfold. “Let's do this,” another voice called.

  Amidst the cheering and motivation, a distant pop was heard. The man at the top of the wall was struck by something, sending him spiraling to the ground at the crowd’s feet. A gasp came over the crowd following his fall. In a second he splattered to the pavement at their feet. Collective shrieks filled the air. “They shot him,” someone yelled. “They shot him!”

  Massive anger came over the crowd. A few people ran to the fallen man to examine him. “They killed him,” a voice said, “Murdered in cold blood!” The noise and calls for justice were overwhelming. Alice soon realized that she was in the thick of a very serious problem. The crowd was going to explode anytime soon, and given the circumstances of today, such behavior would only warrant more brutal force. She knelt down. “We have to find another way into the school, Brian, just like before.” Brian nodded. Alice looked around in fear then squarely into Brian's troubled eyes. “We can do this,” she said.

  Chapter 3: Kiya’s Plan

  “I ordered them to take any measures necessary to ensure the safety of this school!” Mr. Wright yelled to the Vice Principal, Ms. Foley, as she stood jotting into her notebook.

  “They shot a parent scaling the walls. Now the man is dead, and if you thought that the parents were upset before, you've literally enraged them now,” Ms. Foley said.

  “No matter,” Mr. Wright declared, rising from his desk, “in another couple of days it won't be worth a hoot what they think.”

  “We're looking at the most massive lawsuit this school has ever faced. How could that possibly not matter?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.

  “We've been through this. I've let you in on all the details about what's going on beyond these walls. We're talking an all-out war. Dozens of terrorist attacks reported around the country. This is the moment where we take action and make a difference. You assured me that you would support all of my decisions from here on out.” Mr. Wright said pacing around his office. “And now here we are, and you're already wavering.”

  “I'm not wavering, sir, I just—”

  “Make sure to write this down,” Mr. Wright said with a quick turn in Ms. Foley's direction. “I want a kerosene lamp in each classroom. Three jugs of water in every lavatory. In one hour I want each grade escorted to different areas. The sixth grade can have the gym. Seventh grade in the auditorium, eighth grade in the cafeteria. We should keep them segregated for a little while at least.”

  Ms. Foley scribbled Mr. Wright's dictation, nodding her head.

  “Of course, we want to make sure that the sleeping cots are set up prior. It will have to be a joint effort between the faculty and the various student monitors we've assembled.”

  “About those, monitors,” Ms. Foley said. “What kind of authority have they been granted?”

  “They've been relegated to keep order among the students, under my explicit direction. We have to make sure that our students remain orderly and one way to achieve that is at the behest of their fellow peers.”

  “It's late and I'm sure the children are getting hungry,” Ms. Foley said.

  Mr. Wright looked around his office, the shadow from the kerosene lamp flickered across his face. His harsh blue eyes were enlarged by thick glasses. He removed his glasses and placed them in his front pocket. “Meals will be dispersed as soon as we get the students in their respective areas. Just make sure that everyone is on the same page,” he said.

  Ms. Foley closed her notebook and looked down at the ground, slightly troubled. “About that. I should inform you that some of the faculty is not taken to this plan at all,” she said.

  Mr. Wright's eyes flared in her direction. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I mean that several teachers have expressed concern about sealing off the school like this. Many of them want to leave, and feel that we have moved well beyond our authority to keep anyone here after school hours.”

  Mr. Wright slammed his fist on his desk. “Dammit Mary, this is your area! I told you to get them under control.”

  “We've done our best, but they have families of their own that they want to get home to.”

  Mr. Wright scratched his head in a frustrated manner. “Send them to me,” he said. “I want to speak to any faculty member showing signs of non-compliance.”

  Ms. Foley paused for a moment. “Get those stupid fuckers in here. Now!” He shouted, startling her. “Mr. Wright. That's no way to refer to the faculty. I would remind you that we'
re professionals here, and obscene outbursts are not going to influence anyone to your side,” she said.

  Mr. Wright's face grew flush. His brows furrowed, veins protruded from his forehead. Rage was building within the features of his contorted face. Then suddenly, he grew calm.

  “A point well made, Mary. I sincerely apologize if I offended you. I will...do my best to behave in only the most professional manner. I am, after all, the principal of this school. I should be setting an example.” Mr. Wright studied his reflection in a small 8x10 mirror hanging on the wall. He pulled at his tie, straightening it around his collar. “People have certain expectations of me and my abilities as a leader. Expectations that have to be met in order for us to maintain order and control.”

  “We have a lot of different factions to consider,” Ms. Foley added.

  “Factions?” Mr. Wright asked.

  “Students, faculty, guards, parents, and that's just within the school. Then you have the superintendents, the PTA, the school board, the mayor, and congress. We're going to have to answer to them all at some point.”

  “It's a considerable sacrifice consider, Ms. Foley. It's as simple as that. I'm not suggesting that there's not going to be any fall-out as a result of this, but our role as educators carries with it certain responsibilities. How far would you go to keep these kids safe?”

  “I'm willing to do anything within reason, Mr. Wright.”

  “Excellent, so go round up the defectors and bring them to my office.”

  “Excuse me?” Ms. Foley asked.

  Mr. Wright laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I'm only kidding. Please tell the faculty members who have questions or concerns to come see me. Thank you.”

  His touch on her shoulder felt awkward, but oddly comforting at the same time. Ms. Foley nodded, and turned away. Mr. Wright's eyes followed her on her way out. His smile dropped as she shut the door.

  Kiya's sixth grade class was tired, upset, and nearing its breaking point. Mrs. Crabtree was at her desk, trying to read her magazine from the light provided by the kerosene lamp. Several students were sleeping with heads on desk. Others were quietly chatting. Kiya rested her forehead against her folded arms at her desk. She wanted to sleep, but felt too anxious. What she really wanted to do was to leave. Everyone wanted to leave. They had been told to “wait for further instruction” and although nothing was spelled out, it was assumed that something very serious had happened. This foreboding sense of the danger that lurked beyond the school seemed pretty clear, even to the children. “Terrorists?” voices whispered throughout the classroom. “An actual terrorist attack?” This frightened several of the students. Then, as the time passed, the theories grew wilder. “Aliens? So it was aliens who shut off the power?” “I heard they don't want us to leave the school because there's zombies out there.” And so the rumors went. Mrs. Crabtree didn't know enough of anything to put an end to the speculation. She had to no real answers to provide. Their guess was as good as hers.

  In class, there had been a few incidents later in the day of kids crying, being disobedient, or asking to use the bathroom and then not returning to class. But, for the most part, things had died down, once Thomas Cassie and his team of fellow students were put in charge of “keeping order” among students by Mr. Wright. Officially they were referred to as “student monitors,” but Thomas preferred the term “enforcers.” He was the biggest kid in the sixth grade, held back last summer to repeat the sixth grade. It was ironic that Mrs. Crabtree's class had become more orderly once the worst students in the class—namely Thomas and his associates—were made into glorified hall monitors.

  Other than Thomas, there was Gary, an angry kid with disheveled, unkempt hair. He was slightly out of shape for his age. Though he hadn't fully made it to “fat kid status” yet, he had gained a lot of weight over the summer (long hours of endless ling playing video games over the months had taken its toll). There was Anthony, one of the self-proclaimed, “fastest kids in school.” He was already something of a track star, and, like Kiya, was new to the school. Kiya sort of liked him, and he was nice enough by himself, but always a jerk when the other boys were present. Carlos rounded out the group, a kid with dark, serious eyes, a good dresser, but he always got in trouble for not paying attention in class. Mrs. Crabtree was less than enthusiastic about Mr. Wright's “student monitor.” Especially when he seemed to pick the most ill-behaved students in class for the task.

  “Everyone likes to look at these kids and call them bad, but they're not bad. I'm providing them an opportunity to see their potential as leaders. Think of what it will do for their self-esteem,” Mr. Wright explained to her out in the hall, only a few hours earlier. She had questioned the merit of students bossing the others around, especially in such a potentially volatile atmosphere. Maintaining discipline and order was not and should not be the responsibility of the students, she explained. Besides, she was the teacher, and she could not have her students thinking they were above her authority. “You needn't worry, Mrs. Crabtree. Your authority is beyond question. The students answer to you. And the student monitors answer to me.”

  “You see, that's precisely the problem. Your monitors won't listen to me,” she said.

  “Of course they will,” he answered with a quick pivot towards his office. As his footsteps clicked down the hall, Mrs. Crabtree heard a faint gunshot from outside that shook her to the core. Its origins sounded near the front gate. She quickly marched back to her classroom. “I heard a gunshot,” Shelly Ackerman said. “Is everyone okay?” Mrs. Crabtree asked.

  “I want to go home!” a boy said in an exhausted tone. “Me too!” Erika, the red-headed girl, said pounding on her desk. “Soon, children, soon,” Mrs. Crabtree said while taking a seat at her desk. She had nearly run out of words to comfort them or excuses of why they had to remain in the classroom. She felt that she was failing them. Something wasn't right about any of this. Suddenly, the classroom door swung open revealing Thomas and his monitor team.

  “Alright you pukes, Mr. Wright wants everyone to gather in the gym,” Thomas said.

  “Thomas, watch your language! You're not to refer to any of the students as—that word,” Mrs. Crabtree said.

  “Sheesh, I was only kidding. But everyone has to move into the gym now, principal's orders,” Thomas continued.

  Kiya raised her head from the desk. It was pure night outside. It was dark in the room, even with two kerosene lamps placed in the front and back of the classroom. She felt relief that they were finally leaving the classroom. But the gym didn't sound like a fun place to be. She wondered how long it was going to be before all the students got sick of this. She needed to call her mom, but the phone lines weren't working. For all she knew her mom could be outside the school waiting for her. The instant the thought of her mother hit, she felt hopeful. She had a plan after all. She needed to escape.

  “Why are we moving into to the gym? What did Mr. Wright tell you?” Mrs. Crabtree asked Thomas.

  “Is the whole school going to be there?” Shelly Ackerman asked.

  “Even the eighth graders?” Erika, the red-headed girl added, feigning terror.

  “That's enough, Erika. Where is Mr. Wright, Thomas?” Mrs. Crabtree asked, standing up from her desk.

  “He's having a meeting or something. Each school grade is like, in a different part of the school. We have these cot things to sleep on, and there's going to be food—”

  “Cots!” Mrs. Crabtree said with slight outburst. “Is he suggesting that we sleep here tonight?”

  “I don't know, Mrs. Crabtree, we have our instructions,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes. Mrs. Crabtree grabbed Thomas by the arm and took him outside. The door slammed shut. “Ooooooo,” the class said in unison.

  Kiya looked around her classroom, plotting. She needed to escape, that much was clear. She had a gut feeling that she couldn't explain. Kiya didn't think that she could do it alone, but if she involved a large group they would bring unwanted attention. Sh
e scanned the classroom searching for an accomplice. In front of her, Mark Nelson, the kid she couldn't stand, would probably be of little help. Plus he annoyed her. Shelly Ackerman seemed nice enough. And smart. But she was kind of a “teacher's pet,” and Kiya didn't know if she could fully trust her. There was Erika, the red-headed girl. She always spoke her mind, which Kiya liked, but her absence might send a red flag to the teacher. There was also Bobby Ramer, Jeff Springer, Jill Williams, Matt Buller, Fred Vaquez, Amber Greene, Luke Ardorno, Rachel Moss, Jesse Steinbeck, and one kid hadn't said a word in class yet. His name was Oliver, but Kiya didn't know that. Despite his strangeness and silence, Kiya could somewhat relate to him. She had barely said a word in class herself. And it's not like she had made any friends yet. But he was “weird,” and she was normal. At least that's what she told herself.

  “Let me tell you something right now, Thomas Cassise. No one tells my class what to do except me, understand?” an enraged Mrs. Crabtree said.

  “Yes, I understand, but—”

  “There are no buts. Now I don't know what Mr. Wright has told you, but I want you and your group to take your seats in class while I go talk to the principal.”