School Days

Previously, in Part 4: Boxes and Bombs

Part 5

School days, school days...

No more golden rule days...

I don't think those words are right.

Do I know the words? Did I ever?

The school.

I don’t want to talk about the school, okay?

I’m not ready…

I know, I know, I have been lying on the bed almost non-stop for the last three days.

Give me a little credit. I’ve gone back to the gas station every day to make sure the generator is running and the ice machine is working and the freezer is on.

Glad I froze milk and cheese—fresh stuff is starting to expire.

If any people show up there, they will thank me for my foresight.

People…

You know how I always used to wish for alone time? I’m over it.

I think I’m even getting over being scared to meet another living person. It almost feels worth the risk just to have someone to talk to.

Yeah, I talk to you. You don’t ever talk back.

I talk to myself, too. This morning I even answered myself. Mom used to say that was a sign of insanity. Not talking to yourself—answering yourself.

So I guess it’s official: I’m going crazy.

You want to know about crazy, Dear Diary?

This morning I was brushing my teeth. I looked up in the mirror and I saw my mother. I had to blink really hard to understand that it was me—but my hair has started to go white. I never believed those old stories of going grey overnight after a shock, but I may have to reconsider.

I find that I’m reconsidering a lot of old beliefs.

When I was a kid, I believed I would grow up, fall in love and get married. I’d have lots of babies, a nice house, a pretty yard with a garden and a man to grow old with.

What I got was a freeloading, philandering creep who dropped out of the program the minute I announced that Aaron was on his way. We never even lived together anywhere, let alone had a nice house.

I was seventeen when Aaron was born, and if not for my mother, we would have been living in a cardboard box. Because I had her love and support, I was able to finish school, go to community college and eventually get a job and an apartment in the city.

I did the daycare thing with Aaron up until he started kindergarten. For that year and his first grade year, I was able to schedule my work hours around his school and after-school program hours.

Then my company sold out to another—like they do sometimes—and suddenly, it was change hours or look for something new.

I discussed all options with Mom, and decided that it would be best for Aaron to stay with her during the week and go to school in her neighborhood.

Damn it, it was a safe neighborhood! I don’t know how this happened, or why—or who did it, either!

Aaron is seven. Seven years old! How was I going to let a child that young take the bus and subway to and from school every day—alone? I wasn’t, that’s all.

This system worked for all of us—until everything blew up. Literally.

I’d leave work on Friday afternoon and head straight to Mom’s for weekends with family. We were happy.

Damn it, we were happy!

Aaron loved his school; he had lots of friends.

Not anymore…

Shit. I guess I am going to have to talk about the school.

Do I need to tell you, Dear Diary, that I didn’t rush over there? I drove slowly; I had my eye out for Mom’s car.

The roads are a wreck over there—fallen trees, crumbled houses, toppled fences. Cars and trucks in various states of fender-bender-itis lined most of the route Mom would have taken to the school, so I just parked in front of her—uh…

Not-a-house.

The whole street was giving me the creeps. For the first time, I felt compelled to lock the car.

Last time I was here I found the old supply of face masks and surgical gloves we used during the pandemic. Remember when that was the worst thing we could imagine happening to us?

It is to laugh, as some wit once said.

The last thing I will never say again, out loud or even in my own head is, “It can’t get any worse than this.”

It has. It can. It probably will again.

Optimistic, aren’t I?

Anyway…

It stinks in town. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like in the city—this is dreadful, and there are thousands fewer people to consider.

Still—bodies in houses. Bodies in cars. Bodies in yards and on the streets. If that doesn’t creep you out, what could?

Oh, yeah. Zombies.

So far, so good on that front. But I have to admit, there were times when I was sure I saw one or the other, from the corners of my eyes, making a move toward me.

I didn’t have a choice, though. If I wanted to check out the school, I was going to have to walk.

I was grateful to have the masks and gloves, and grateful I’d left them in the car instead of bringing them here to my room. I doubled up on both.

I’m grateful to have my steel-toed boots, too, but I was sure wishing for shoe-covers on that walk.

All the way, keeping as much to Mom’s driving route as possible, I looked for her car. I wanted to see it; I didn’t want to see it. What would I do if I did see it?

For the first time, I understand what is meant by the need for closure.

Cars were queued up just as I’d imagined they’d be, all along the circular drive fronting the school.

Except, most of them weren’t precisely what you’d call cars anymore. They were burnt out husks of cars.

The school must have been the center of it all—it was…how do I put this? Jeez.

It was demolished. Smashed and scattered and burnt and flattened.

If not for the traffic signs, no one would even know it had been an educational institution.

It’s bloody difficult to cry in a mask, but the stench was much too strong to consider removing it.

In front of the building, between it and the circular drop-off driveway, a well manicured lawn had been maintained in warm weather. It’s all overgrown now, more brown than green. In between bodies, mostly small ones barely recognizable as children, bunches of marigold flowers have sprung to life.

I hate marigolds. Their bitter, unpleasant aroma makes me sneeze and wheeze.

And this—it was a sacrilege! How dare those stinky flowers live amongst the bodies of dead children!

Yeah, yeah, I know just a few days ago I was marveling over the single blossom in that old, decrepit barn on the edge of town.

This is different.

They shouldn’t even be there—the growing season is nearly over, and they should be long gone by now. But it’s still so hot outside. It’s very odd.

Almost as odd as me being angry with flowers; they don’t know that growing among corpses is just…disrespectful.

Ah, shit. Maybe it’s not. People send flowers to funerals, don’t they?

See? I am going crazy!

I couldn’t go closer to the school. I didn’t think I could bear it if I accidentally stepped on or kicked one of the kids. Besides, I didn’t see Mom’s car.

Then again, would I recognize it if I had?

I believe I would have—it’s a rather distinct shape and color.

But what do I know? I have, as I said earlier, reconsidered many old beliefs…

No. No. Not this time. It’s true, I am not positive. But I don’t believe her car was there.

Where does this leave me, though? Where do I go from here?

If they escaped the fate of others at that school, where would they go?

So, here we are, good friend Book. I do believe I can be forgiven for lying on the damn bed for the last few days.

I feel like I cannot move. It’s a wonder I’ve kept my food sources safe. It all could have gone the way of the remains of my chocolate cake. There wasn’t much left, but it’s hard as a rock today.

Time to get off my ass. Time to clean the room. We don’t want mice and flies, do we, Diary?

I believe we’re going to have to move on soon. I hate to leave the food—I’m pretty sure no one else has been taking care of things further down the road, and what I’ll find will be spoiled.

But this town is dead, and even though I was lucky enough to find refuge in the outskirts, all that rotting flesh is going to be deadly soon, even out here.

It’s still so hot outside.

Dear Diary—what is going on?

Soon to Come, Part 6: Nightmares

This story is a continuation of a series. You can find the rest of the stories here:

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

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