BRAINS: with a side-order of Flesh. by Siagrrl (parable of the sower read online TXT) 📕

“That’s it." She finished, sounding almost relieved. "You stayed unconscious until today, while Mr Tranchen, Delevan and myself did our best to make sure the rest of the school was locked up and zombie proof. Obviously,” she said looking a little embarrassed. “we hadn’t quite finished yet.”

“Uh-huh, okay.” I nodded, unsure as to whether the craziness was in the air and these two were also infected or not. “One thing still bothers me though. Why didn’t you call anyone for help? I mean the office has phones, yes?”

“We tried that. No dial tone.” Delevan replied. "The only radio we had cut out yesterday, too."

Suddenly a loud static-y sound erupted from the P.A system.  

"What the-?" I thought aloud.

"Testing, Testing...1, 2, 3..." We all turned towards the P.A that was hanging just above the infirmary door.

"Hello? Is thing on?" The voice said.

"It's a p.a, you moron. Even if they can hear you, they can't answer you!" Another voice interjected. 

That voice seemed familiar.

"Hurry up, already!"

"Oh, right. Sorry. Um, If there is anyone left alive here, please make your way to us." The first voice blurted.

"Wow. That almost sounded good."

I jumped as Mr Tranchen suddenly burst through the door. "Stephanie, there are –!"

"Survivors!" We replied in unision. 

With a mixture of excitement and confusion boiling in our veins, we all ran at full speed out the canteen and up the stairs to the office. Or rather, they ran, I hobbled behind. I'd had enough of running.

“Hey, wait! Slow down!” They ignored me as I fell back and had to lean on the wall for support. I guess the antibiotics - or whatever - were completely out now. I blinked and they were literally about 10 feet away from the door leading to the p.a room in the office, then in another blinked they'd dissapeared in the office.

“I’m still hurt, ya’know!” I muttered to myself.

Blood trickled down my leg again, for what seemed like the umpteenth time in what, an hour? Maybe two?

I slid down the wall and focussed on the bandage that was starting to come loose again, when I heard something. Soft growling - or heavy purring? - was coming from . . . somewhere. Sitting with my back against the wall now, I faced the closed classroom door opposite me and waited – for what, I wasn’t really sure. Taking a wild guess here, it's either some stray animal, or another . . .

Thing.

Whatever it was, it most likely had something to do with the small pools of blood that I had left in a trail behind me, that I just now noticed. If it were an animal it might be hungry for fresh meat. But a zombie? Did blood even attract them? Could that've been why that girl noticed me so fast? 

The soft growling sound had now been replaced with a rattling.

I've seen my fair share of horror movies, even more zombie related ones, and almost every one had different theories. Maybe it was a 'rage' virus, which heightened all instinctual abilities; eyesight, hearing. . . smell.

Her eyes.

I shuddered. That wasn't an image I was going to erase from my mind anytime soon.

I remember her noticing the blood, and pounding faster on the window, but I also remember her leaping for Dee first even though I was bleeding a lot more than he was. She also tried to smash his face in - along with the rest of him, but she was clearly eating the corpse we'd seen in the tennis court. if it were instinctual, wouldn't she have attacked me first? Or tried to eat Dee - but maybe she did, and I just hadn't noticed.

It was completely silent now.

I held my breath, mentally preparing myself for either option. Then an thought wormed its way in.

What if it was a zombie - thing - animal? Was that even possible?

A few moments passed and the only thing that had attaacked my was my own paranoia.

The door unlatched and slowly creaked open a couple of centremetres. Just enough to see three small, glowing, red dots in the darkness, behind it. Zombie.

After a few eerily quiet moments, they dissapeared. The door suddenly swung all the way open smacking into the wall leaving a graze. I searched the now open doorway for any signs of lif- I mean, movement. My gaze flickered to the still open office door. Nothing.

"HOLY FASHIZ-NIT!!" I yelped. in the instant I'd looked away he'd appeared out of nowhere and had crouched down in front of me. A zombie inches from my face. Freaky pupils and all. This one male and taller than Delevan. Another student.

I watched a sliver of blood ooze down his forehead and drip off his chin.

I considered screaming. Then thought better of it; he was inches from face - studying me. Screaming now may only startle him into ripping it off! I remained as still as possible, not daring to even breathe. I knowing that fleeing wasn’t an ideal option, I did – what I thought was – the next best option and stayed put. 

I waited. But nothing happened.

No snarling.

No screeching.

Nothing. 

Deciding to risk it. He was still sitting there, silent and still. He was definitely a zombie but somewhat different. Matted brown hair - dry, I noticed. Pale, grey-ish skin. A large round hole below his left shoulder displaying an array of tissues and muscle. It wasn't hard to tell it wa a gunshot wound. I noticed his – once white now dirt smeared and blood stained – shirt hung loosely off his shoulders with a small white sticker that read, Hi My Name is: Nathaniel.

My heart sunk, as I realised who he was.

“Oh my god.” I whispered. “You’re that new transfer student from Spain.”

Were.

I should have said, ‘You were that new transfer student from Spain.’ I looked up at his face, surprised at my gagging/desire-to-puke reaction not kicking in.

His lips parted and a gurgle escaped him. I'd forgotten I was supposed to be quiet. Eyes on me, he raised a hand to my face. Entranced by – well, something – I didn’t move, nor did I scream. There was something in his eyes that weren't in the girls'. Intelligence? That’s when I heard the fast-approaching footsteps.

“Hey, you flesh-eating mosquito!”

Delevan.

It had to be. I fought back the urge to sigh.

From out of nowhere a metal pole was swung in the zombies’ direction. Hitting ‘Mathieu’ square in the face. He was knocked onto his back and stayed there motionless. I blinked a few times before turning to a dishevelled and panting Delevan.

I felt like I should say something, but any sentence I tried to form just didn’t seem to suit the occasion. Delevan turned to me, the look on his face priceless.

“You okay!?”

“What was that?” I asked, ignoring his question. Not sure whether I was referring to what he just did, or what that so-called zombie wasn't doing.

“Huh? A zombie of course. Wasn’t that obvious?”

I sighed.

“That wasn't necessary.” I announced sharply, gathering my wits and pulling myself to my feet. I took a deep breath and turned to Delevan – noticing Ms Faeshar and Mr Tranchen heading towards us. I spun on my heal, hoping I looked more confident than I felt - it hurt like pulling teeth! - and strode (hobbled? limped?) over to 'Nathaniel.'

"She hasn't been briefed - or is it re-briefed? - on the types, has she?" Mr Tranchen, announced loudly, as if to imply my inferiority.

“Types?” I repeated, approaching the body.

Delevan nodded. “The disease/infection/virus, or whatever has different effects on people. We’ve seen three different ones, so far. You were the one who noticed it.”

“And?”

“Well, we’ve nick-named the ones we know of. You remember that girl with the red eyes?”

“Pupils.”

"What?"

"Pupils, Dee. She had red pupils. Not red eyes." I nudged Nathaniel's, (or was it ex-Nathaniel?) back with my foot. 

“Ms Faeshar called her a Rager. Y’know, like on the games and stuff how certain zombies are faster and more violent the rest are in a state of ‘rage?’ Well that’s where she got it from.”

So much for my earlier epiphany. “Uh-huh. Okay. And the other two?”  

“The slow ones. Attracted by heat and sound. So . . . your typical shuffler zombie. Shufflers.” Ms Faeshar pitched in.

So all it took was a couple of days for them to completely accept this? To the point of nicknaming them? As if reading my mind, Delevan added, “It’s more like we’re labelling them, I guess. Y’know. So we can tell them apart?”

“And the third type?” I crouched next to the body. A slow rager, maybe?

“Slithers.” Delevan said simply, I took note of his shifting, awkwardly from foot to foot. He clearly didn't want to say anymore. More secrets, yipee!

“Ragers, Shufflers, and Slithers. . .” I mused. Despite Dee's lack of input on the last one, it wasn't hard to imagine. The floor crawling zombies, or maybe wall climbing - either/or, were dangerous. Sounded like your typical cheesy movie plot to me.

I wondered again, if any of this was real. 

“Alexis. These are the survivors we heard.”

I turned away from Nathaniel for the moment; it didn't seem right that a single blow would finish a 'Rager.' Not after than girl. . .

They stood in a line – all girls. They all wore our school uniform.

The middle-most girl stood forward. “I’m- "

"-a year older than both of Dee and I. And those two,” l said, matter-of-factly, nodding towards the girls either side of her. “are both a year younger than us. You're Faith Mercedes.” The middle girl; long wavy fire coloured hair, hazel eyes, lean stature, pushed up the rim of her glasses with her index finger. She had that sophisticated and preppy look about her. 

"You know me?"

"I know OF, all of you."

The youngest (looking) girl – to her right – stepped forward. “Me too?” She squeaked.

"Hope Wentworth." Long unbound, near-white hair, complimented by her chiselled facial features. The most stunning emerald coloured eyes one would ever hope to gaze upon – so much more interesting than my own plain brown eyes – and a body that, although was flat, was also petite and somewhat fragile looking. But she wasn't to be underestimated, I'd seen her win many awards in our school's swimming events. I couldn’t help but pick up a random strand of my own pencil straight ash brown hair and stare at in disappointment, before flicking it back over my shoulder. 

Figuring that it would be a lot better for my self-esteem as well as my confidence, I stopped looking at her and studied the girl on the far left.

“And you, are Mercy Greta.” I couldn’t help but think of that as some kind of metaphorical sign from above. Ironic as it may be.

I stared up at the giant which was Mercy; it was hard to believe that she was a year my junior. Her bleach blonde hair was cropped short in a concave bob kind of way. Her brown eyes sparkled like dark shimmering pools of chocolate – I couldn’t tell if that was an effect from the masses of eye liner that