NICOLETTE AOIBHE KAVANAGH
In the middle of Anatomy class, something pokes my arm. I look to my left to find Vincent Cantrell, my annoying seatmate, weaving a hand through his curly hair. "Hey, Nicky," he calls when he notices my stare.
Ugh, he's such a cutie! My inner thought screams.
I pull on a stoic face and ask, "What?"
He flips his long, curly hair to the other side and flashes me a smile, his dimples in view. My heart immediately starts beating fast and my sappy self almost exposes herself. Unbeknownst to all, I have been crushing hard over him since 7th grade.
"What looks good on me? My hair up or down?" he asks while looking at his reflection in a pocket mirror. I smile.
"Your hair down. Mysterious is the new hot,"
Vincent flashes me a full-blown grin, obviously happy with my answer. "Thanks, Nicky."
He styles his hair down, so I focus on Ms. Delilah's lecture on the Endocrine System. I mostly am knowledgeable already on the topics she's discussing; a scientist for a father is a kind of small perk with academics. I repeat–a small perk.
I sense Vincent looking at me again. "Hey Nicky, what's our lesson about?" he asks. The sappy feeling a while ago turns into disbelief. I internally groan. For the love of God, stop calling me Nicky. The urge to scream and kill him on the spot entices me.
For a handsome guy, he sure doesn't care about his environment. Are all guys from this generation like this? They don't study because it's uncool, prioritizes their looks, and thinks basketball is life.
Honestly, it's tiring. Sometimes I wish I was born during the Romantic period. At least people back then value knowledge more than anything. Not like today's period. The advancement of technology and the generation of idiots.
Thanks to the reputation I have, people think I'm stupid like the rest, which gives me the advantage in tactic. There's a legitimate reason I feign this kind of personality for the show, although I'm not one to deceive my allies. My act must be so convincing that my mother thinks this change stems from my friends' influence and she is a sharp lady. While I'm having an internal debate, the unthinkable happens.
The lights go out.
The girls shriek while the boys howl with laughter at their reactions.
Vincent suddenly clings to my arm, surprising me. I snort at his cowardice. He's afraid of a little blackout?
Thankfully, the classroom is dark enough for me to drop the cheerleader act and I quickly assess my surroundings. You can see the boys' intent to impress the girls by acting tough. I smirk. Everyone fears the same thing–total darkness.
"Settle down, everyone," Ms. Delilah's voice floods the room, but it drowns with the current of students making noise. It's a nuisance that our block is the apple of the teachers' eye in eleventh grade. "Settle down or detention for all!" she warns sternly.
Her empty threat doesn't appease the growing noise.
I sigh. Thanks a lot, Ms. Ackerman. You and the other teachers never learn, do you?
I shake off Vincent, but he tightens his grip, much to my surprise. "Let go!" I shout in his ear, which causes him to loosen his grip and fall from his seat in fright. "No! Nicolette, where are you?!" he cries out as he gropes the air for me. I roll my eyes and leave him whining on the floor.
I can't believe he's worse than my ex-boyfriend, Vincent.
Before any of you say anything, let me explain.
Before man baby Vincent, there was Vincent Carsen. A charming, yet egotistic male hiding in an alpha's suit. If I had known nothing better back then, I would have never broken up. He was my first love and heartbreak. He was the early 2000s version of a fuck boy in a soft boy's clothing.
But enough about me.
The noise finally settles down after a few minutes of Ms. Delilah's sermon, so I take it as a chance to get some fresh air while there's still chaos. Although I'm not afraid of the dark, bitter memories from the past are clouding my head. As soon as I open the door, a voice squeaks from behind.
"Hey, Nicole! Wait for me!"
I recognize the voice to be Hazel's, one of my close friends in class, who stands up from the other side of the room. I'm about to approach her when my eyes take the wind of something from my periphery.
Instinctively, my body moves on its own and I slam the door back to its hinges just in time to hear a loud scratchy moan erupt from the other side. My mouth drops when I finally see its face loom over the square window on the door. Jesus Christ. My heart thumps faster in my ribcage like a drum solo.
Its face is mangled to the point I couldn't say if it was male or female and its skin hung like shredded muscle all over the bones sticking out of its body. Blood drenches the clothing entirely that it looked almost black and blended with the darkness outside the room. Within the darkness, it became more menacing.
It looks the same as the one in my nightmare.
Fuck!
Hazel, who finally reaches me, doesn't notice the creature looking at her as she gives me a concerned look, "Are you okay?"
My breath hitches as I try to find the words. Fuck, what the fuck!
Before I can say anything, I hear the other door open from across and I look just in time to find Patrick Seeley about to step out of the room. "Patrick!" I shriek as loud as I can, but I'm too late. The creature notices his presence and immediately dashes towards him.
Without thinking, I push Patrick away from the door, and with all my might, I plant a solid punch on the creature's mangled face. My fist buries deeper than I expect and I feel the soft texture of its rotting flesh. It falls on its back, but it regains its balance. I back away quickly and lock the door as fast as my muscles can permit.
"What the hell was that, Kavanagh?!" Patrick exclaims, on the floor in shock.
I realize the buzzing white noise from earlier dies down. Everyone's attention is now on me.
They probably don't see the creature from the door because I can feel their dirty stares piercing my back, but I don't give it any thought. The course of action is to exterminate any kind of entry from the outside. "Everyone! Make sure the doors are closed at all costs!" I order.
"Now you're just spouting nonsense, Nicky," This time, it's Vincent who rebuffs me from his seat. I glare at him. "Now's not the time to talk! We have a situation in our hands we don't understand!" I shout. Although it's dark, my eyes perfectly capture the way he rolls his eyes at me. Everyone mirrors his reaction, finding my outburst as another one of my dramatic moments.
I fume with anger.
"Don't believe me? See for yourself!" I grab him by the collar and slam his face on the glass window in a flash. At that moment, something in me savors his pain like a recent episode of my favorite show. His face sticks to the glass like glue and the creature loom over the door just in time.
Before I know it, he backs off and screams on the way to the other side of the room.
"Jesus Christ, Nicolette! What the fuck was that?!" he cries out. Patrick joins him in the back while the rest are still trying to piece out the puzzle. Although the glass window is usually visible to all, because of the lack of electricity, the rest won't be able to distinguish it through the dark.
Ms. Delilah silences the class and reprimands me, "Ms. Kavanagh! Behave yourself! Hurting other students is a violation. You get detention."
I roll my eyes at her and flip my hair. "Normally, I'd say sure, but it's different now so fuck off, old hag."
I hear her gasp from across the table, but I don't give it a thought.
I'm not a good deuteragonist.
"To those who don't know what's happening, something is lurking outside the classroom as we speak. I don't know what, but it may be a walking dead for sure." I assume. One boy behind Patrick suddenly perks up at my statement, almost happy, "Did you just say Walking Dead? Wait! I have to meet them!" John Dutchman, who I recognize from his nerdy glasses, stands up and heads for the back door.
"John!" I call, "Stop him!"
But my warning is too late. I watch with astonishment as he runs out the door with me just shortly behind. The doorframe is big enough for everyone to see outside. Fragments of light from the vacant room across ours illuminate the creature who meets him halfway. My breath hitches when John comes face to face with the creature.
It stops in its tracks and stares at him.
I hope in my head for a miracle.
Sadly, there's none.
I witness the creature swiftly bite into John's neck and push him to the floor as he screams out in pain. Goosebumps travel my skin as John tries to crawl back into the room, but the creature pulls him back by chomping down on his back. I turn to find my classmates' priceless faces, knowing they can see it too.
Well, I'm not crazy then.
"Ni-Nicole-" he outstretched his hand, but the creature shocks all of us when it swiftly tears off John's limb in a blink of an eye. I'm frozen on the floor with a hand on the doorknob, my mind blank.
I didn't expect the nightmares to be true.
"John!" One of his friends tries to rescue him, but I block him with a quick jab to his abdomen. John's pleas for help progress into gurgles behind me and I look back to find the creature feeding on John's throat. His eyes convulse. From my place, I can see arteries and shredded flesh pooling around the two like a bloodbath.
A literal blood bath.
Hesitantly, I lock the door as the creature gobbles up John Dutchman in tiny pieces. I catch my breath, only to jolt when something hits the door. I look up in disbelief at the sight of another creature looming over the square window–this time, its face belongs to the senior janitor on this floor.
It snaps its jaws at me, almost like a threat. My eyebrows furrow. You little–Hazels screams, excising my thought.
I turn around only to discover a horde of walkers banging on the other side of the classroom. Unlike the doors that only have a small window, the other side of the classroom is closed off by pairs of fiberglass which oversee the veranda and connects to the staircase in the hallway.
"Nicole!"
Jane Hilton, the class president calls. "What?!" I snap. Can't you see I'm trying to chill here!
"What should we do?" she asks in tears.
The fuck do I know about this shit?!
If I know this would happen, I never should have skipped World War Z and Warm Bodies on Netflix!
Jesus, I just watch Walking Dead seasons for Chandler Riggs!
"I don't know!" I panic, mirroring Jane's. Although I have plans about this situation, I don't have an idea about the first step of survival in a zombie apocalypse. I only read about it in books, but we all know not everything goes by the book.
Kristina's right–it can happen.
The walkers pound their fists on the fiberglass, the scratchy moans filling my ears.
One boy mocks the creature's expression, but shrieks when the glass cracks under its fists.
"This isn't a game! We'd be dead if you pull more of them here," Jane exhorts.
I search for Ms. Delilah, but I can't find her.
"Where's Ms. Delilah–?" I look around the room, only to find two feet poking below the teacher's table. "Oh," I say when it occurs to me she's unconscious. Better even–no fucking nuisance.
I kind of understand her predicament. Witnessing a person's death is no laughing matter. Not everyone handles the sight of murder and death well. As I roam around the room for resources, something shiny catches my eye. It burns my sight, but not enough to blind me.
Everyone's frantic noises quiet down when they watch me walk away from the door and approach the guy sitting between Patrick and John's friend, Sean. A knife peeks out from the paper bag belonging to Iver Ide, the only foreign transfer student in the class.
Iver Ide is a Brazilian student who transferred here in California last year under a scholarship program. Although we never really talked, he seems to have a seething hatred towards me under the guise he abhors drama queens. It's a shock that he's sweet and friendly to the rest, but to me, he's an asshole.
Just like Vincent, huh?
I guess every guy is like that.
He raises his brows at me when he sees me approach. "Move." I hiss.
Iver doesn't move. A headache ensues. "I said move, you dumbass! There's no time for games." He hesitates for a second but finally moves out the way. I delicately pick up the knife from his paper bag. The entire class drowns in silence as they eagerly watch me like a Youtuber.
Iver awkwardly stands beside me, almost as if he doesn't want to be here. Ditto, asshole.
"Why do you have a knife?" I ask.
"Why do you care?" he snidely remarks. I snarl. "Just answer me!"
One thing about me is that I have serious anger issues. If you mess with me, you're better off dead.
Oh, the irony of things.
"Don't put your panties in a twist, Kavanagh. Do you lack attention so much you question even the knife I've brought for home economics today?" he scoffs. Suddenly, my self-esteem plummets to zero at that moment. Oh fuck, yeah.
I ignore some of his friends' remarks, aware that they are working up a fight between us. Without another word, I head to the front door with the knife in hand to find a small group of walkers already waiting from the other side. The corners of my lip turn as an idea pops in my head.