I'm helping my dad carry a big suitcase filled with necessities outside to the car.
"Hurry up, buddy, we gotta be outta here in—"
KRUNCH!
"AAAAHHH!!!"
As my dad opens the door, I see my neighbor bite and rip out a chunk of his neck, with an immediate spray of blood afterwards—a clear sign that his jugular was torn right open. My neighbor...isn't my neighbor anymore: He has pale skin, milky eyes, a cheek ripped off and hanging, and a chunk taken out of his neck as well. I freeze in panic, dropping the cooler, and see my dad say goodbye with his eyes before promptly dropping dead. My neighbor—or whatever the hell that thing is—immediately starts to feast on my dad.
"JAKE!"
I turn around in panic and look around, trying to figure out who called my name.
"JAKE, GET UP!"
I answer, "Huh?"
WHACK!
I immediately feel a sharp pain on my cheek and instinctively sit up on my bed, hand on the cheek. "OW!!!"
As the slap wakes me up, I look around my room to ensure that this isn't a dream inside of a dream—it's happened more times than I'd have liked.
Think of the room as a square: the door is at the bottom left, while my bed sits in the top right corner, right under the window. To my immediate left, a nightstand is cluttered with my alarm, half-finished water bottles, and loose papers I still haven't cleaned up from last school year. My desk—used more for gaming than schoolwork—is tucked into the bottom left, with the closet diagonal to it in the top right. A few posters hang around the room with a beanbag chair for any visitors, probably meant to lighten the mood, but I've never really cared about bedroom aesthetics. I'm there to sleep, not to look around and marvel as if I'm a prospective buyer.
Back to the present, my brother, Sam, replies, "I wouldn't have to slap you if you'd go to bed on time, so you wouldn't sleep past your alarm. But, lemme guess: you crashed at around...two?"
Sam's a 15-year-old sophomore. Kinda short, brown hair, brown eyes, massive idiot.
I take a glance at my alarm clock: "6:30." I look at Sam with a smile, and say, "You wound me...one-thirty."
Unlike Sam, I'm at the average height for my age, with brown hair, blue eyes, and dimples. We might not look alike, but we have one thing in common: we both prefer to slip into the background. We hate attention.
He rolls his eyes. "Like that's any better. Just shower quick and get dressed so we can head out. You sweat through your…everything, so you gotta go the extra mile."
I look at myself, slamming my hand on the bed. "SHIT!" I hop out of bed and grab some boxers, a white t-shirt, and some plain-color shorts. On my way to the bathroom, I see Sam snickering a little bit, so I question him. "What's so funny?"
I give him a skeptical look, and he laughs even harder. "When you were dreaming whatever the hell you were dreaming, you were mumbling and thrusting your hands around and every—"
He's basically dying of laughter now, and I shove past him to the bathroom in frustration. "Okay, let's get something straight," I say, backing out of the bathroom doorway. "One, you're not funny. Two, you need the change of clothes more than I do."
"What's wrong with my outfit? These clothes are fine!"
"It's the first day of school, and you're wearing khaki shorts with a belt, and your hair's gelled back. You look like a middle-schooler who just got his first crush. High schoolers are ruthless, dude." I gesture to his belt. "By the end of the semester, you're gonna be found hanging in your bedroom by that fucking thing."
Sam just blinks, not knowing how to respond to that. "Just...get ready. You're driving."
"Yeah, I was assuming. That's what a license is for, Sammy." I click my tongue with a wink, and duck back into the bathroom while closing the door behind me.
Our mom and dad, Ashley and Luke, have always been close to us, and each other. They married out of high school before moving into the quaint little town of Marsden, where they had us boys. Marsden is semi-boring, to be honest; there's not a lot to do unless you count the town pool, library, and the handful of interesting shops. It's fun until you're about 11. But, by then, you've visited the same spots a hundred times and would rather just go home, play the newest console games, and drink soda all day.
As I'm about to leave the bathroom about 10 minutes later, I see what I look like in the mirror. Because of the gym, I have some muscle definition to add onto the height and handsome facial features I already have—well, I don't know about handsome, but I'll take my grandma's word for it. Either way, I'm not satisfied with it. Call it self-deprecation or comparison to unrealistically high standards, but I just don't like it.
I eventually come back out and quickly grab my phone, wallet, and keys. Just as I'm about to head out the bedroom door, Sam interrupts my flow. "Ahem." I turn around, noticing him pointing at my bracelet and sunglasses. "Ah…" I click my tongue. "That would've been bad." I put on the jewelry, slipping the glasses in my pocket. I flip the backpack straps over my shoulders afterwards, then head down the stairs to go to my car. "Nice save, Sammy."
"Uh huh," my brother adds, giving me a look.
I stop to give him a look in return. "What?"
Sam just shakes his head. "Nothing. Just...your sudden obsession with looking cool. Just a few months ago, you never would've even considered wearing this stuff. I just find it funny, I guess."
I cock my head. "I mean, I guess that's fair. But it's basically a rite of passage: Guys have to go through the lesbian haircut phase and glow up before they look fuckable."
Sam touches his hair, frowning at the discreet hint. "It's not that bad...is it?"
I open the front door, widening my eyes with a cringe. "I'll let you figure that one out for yourself, Ellen DeGeneres."
I get inside my car, toss my backpack onto the back seat, and turn the key.
RURRRR...
I dramatically groan. "I think I need a change of underwear." I've always loved my car, and the smell of it. It's the same smell as any older car, but I can't explain it. It's almost...rustic. I love breathing it in every morning.
Sam smirks, shutting the passenger door next to him and buckling himself up. "When you told mom and dad you loved the car, I don't think they thought that's what you meant."
I buckle myself in as well, preparing to back out of the driveway. "You kidding? This Sentra is my entire life. If I flunk out of school and end up living on the road after I get kicked out, this is gonna be my house."
That's not a lie. I drive a 2017 Nissan Sentra S, and it hasn't failed me yet. I drive it whenever I get the opportunity—which isn't terribly often due to my social life, or lack thereof—and sometimes just sit in it for a while, not doing anything. If I was to live out of my car in extreme circumstances, I could make it work.
"Um...how?"
I click my tongue. "Easy." I point at the windshield. "Sun screen going against the glass so I can sleep—that's the most important step."
Sam scoffs in amusement. "That it?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Didn't let me finish."
"That's what she said."
"Fuck yourself." I gesture to the back. "I'd have a blanket splayed across the entire back—after I put the seats down, anyway, and I'd have a..." I pause, trying to think of what else to say.
Sam smirks, noticing the pause. "Didn't plan that far ahead?"
I cock my head. "I'm not exactly planning on flunking out of school either, so there you go." I put the car in reverse, but as I'm halfway out of the driveway, I see Sam eyeing the radio with Spotify on my phone. "I'll give you one try to pick an acceptable song, and you're finished."
I can see Sam deep in thought, and he shoots me a devilish grin. I don't like it. "You're gonna hate me for this."
"I seriously doubt it can be worse than the gym teacher playlist lineup you've supplied me with in the past."
Sam shrugs, pressing play.
"So I put my hands up, they're playin' my song, the butterflies fly away..."
I just raise an eyebrow with a smirk. "Seriously? That all you got?"
Sam laughs. "THAT'S what she said."
I roll my eyes, putting my focus back on getting to school. "Fuck off and turn up the volume, 'Danny Zuko.'"
"MY HAIR ISN'T THAT BAD!" Sam exclaims, before going back on his phone.
"What're you doing?" I ask.
"Choosing an actual song, I just put on some Miley Cyrus screw with you."
"Nope, you're stuck. That's what happens."
"Wait, wha—" I yank his phone and toss it into the backseat. "HEY! I DON'T WANNA LISTEN TO THIS!"
"I'm noddin' my head like yeah, movin' my hips like yeah..."
I flip on my sunglasses and finish going down the driveway, pretending I can't hear him. "SORRY?"
"I got my hands up, they're playin' my song…"
"JAKE! IT'S NOT—"
"HUH? WHAT? SAY SOMETHING?" I start laughing.
"JAKE!"
I start singing along as I speed up down the road. "'THEY KNOW I'M GONNA BE OKAY, YEAH, IT'S A PARTY IN THE U.S.A!'"
I get to my parking spot around 10 minutes later, and Sam storms out of my car the moment I put it in park. I get out with another laugh, locking the door once I get my backpack on. I look up at the school, and mentally prepare myself for another year.
Marsden High is a pretty plain school: two floors, low scores, and excessive tours. The parking lot in front is essentially reserved for the seniors and juniors with their licenses, but I know a few sophomores who bought their way into a spot.
I scoff in amusement. "SAM! YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING!"
He flips me off. "I'LL FIGURE IT OUT!"
He's basically in the distance now, so I have to yell. "YOUR FIRST CLASS IS ALGEBRA 2, RIGHT? WHAT ROOM?"
Sam rolls his eyes and feels his way around his backpack, looking for his schedule. He eventually looks up and sees me waving it around in my hand.
I whistle. "LOOKING FOR THIS, 'DORA THE EXPLORER'?"
He gets his backpack on, white-knuckling the straps.
I walk over to him, and he rips the sheet out of my hands. He promptly looks it over before groaning. "FUCK YOU. I didn't even need it."
"Memorize it?" I ask, smirking as I walk towards the front doors.
"Yeah. If I accidentally walk into the wrong room, I'm dropping out."
I stop and take off my sunglasses, letting them hang by a temple in my shirt collar. I squint at the paper. "Nah, you'll be fine." I shrug.
As Sam sees me tucking in my glasses, he looks behind us, spotting a couple of pretty girls. "You wanna get some practice with this new glow-up charm of yours, 'Casanova'? Might even engrave your initials inside a heart underneath one of the bleachers."
I track where his eyes are facing and spot the girls. Sophomore girls. Pretty, but still sophomores. I give him a look. "Yeah...um, I'm here to get it over with and graduate, not catch a case and end up on the registry." Sam raises his hands in defeat, lowering them back down to opens the doors as we approach.
I'm immediately met with the same lobby smell I've gotten used to over the past three years: body odor, excessive cologne, perfume to cover up said body odor, and sweaty socks, with farts coming into the mixture during lunch. Oh, and did I forget the body odor?
"You're a bigger dick," I retort.
"Words you'll never hear in your life," Sam says back.
"That makes absolutely no sense," I say. "It wouldn't be 'you are' a bigger dick, it'd be 'you have' a bigger dick. You, on the other hand," I say, giving him a light backhand to the nuts, "have nothing."
Sam leans over, groaning. "I hate you. At least I wouldn't need 'Viagra' to get it up."
I sigh, patting his back. "Can we quit it with the dick jokes and tell me what and where your first class is?"
Sam groans, getting back up. "Algebra 2, room 332." He realizes something. "Wait, I know the numbers, not the location." I suddenly get a curious look on my face and shuffle through my pockets. "What, you forget your keys?"
I shake my head. "No, it's just...I forgot something."
"Forgot what?"
I slowly take a middle finger out of my left pocket. "I don't actually care." I start to walk away when Sam's still processing, and he yells,
"Wha— JAKE!"
I look at my own schedule, ignoring him.
Aw, shit.
Pre-Calc first.
I go through the motions of my day, not expecting anything out of my classes, but I'm pleasantly surprised to run into my best friend, Astrid, in my English class—full name being Astrid Rose Beaumont. I sit down next to her, happy that we get to share a class.
Two, if we're lucky.
"Hey, stranger," Astrid says, with a smile.
As soon as I get close enough to talk to her—or the other way around—I get a whiff of her perfume: flowers, honey, and a little sugar.
"Hey, Marc Jacobs," I reply, with a smirk.
Astrid sniffs her shirt. "Shit, I didn't put that much on, did ?"
Jokes aside, Astrid is a beautiful girl with long blonde hair, blue eyes, a button nose, and a wide smile. She's also been my best friend since I asked her for her sandwich at lunch in second grade, and my potential roommate at UCLA next year.
I answer, "I mean, it's the first day of school. Don't blame you for getting nervous and over-applying."
Astrid waves it off before flashing her classic blue-eyed smile. "Anyways, I'm really glad we get to have a class together, Jake. This is gonna be a fun year."
"I went through Pre-Calc and Physics before this. Define 'fun.'"
Astrid rolls her eyes. "I mean in this class, dummy. We can try to have our own fun here, and then you'll forget all about it."
I raise an eyebrow. "'Try'? That insinuates effort."
Astrid smirks. "Effort? Sir, my charm comes naturally." She teasingly winks.
I raise an eyebrow again. "Wink at me after a sentence like that again, and I'll stab your eye out with a number-two."
Astrid snorts. "Touché. Anyways, just give it a week—we'll both be tossed out of class for 'disrupting.'"
I shrug. "Hey, if it gets me out of class. At least I could do something I feel like actually doing."
Astrid puts her hand on mine. "Sweetie, we both know that if it were up to what you felt like doing, you'd be at home all day playing 'Call of Duty' and jerking off."
I scrunch my face at that last remark. "Let's not talk about my extracurricular activities."
"Oh, shut up. You should be comfortable enough with me to joke about that. We are best friends, right?"
That catches me off-guard. "Wha— yeah, yeah. we'll always be best friends. I care about you more than anything." I cock my head. "Well, maybe my parents beat you, but that's about it."
Astrid laughs. "I was kidding, but that's good to know."
The bell rings, and class starts. The teacher begins to go over the class syllabus, and I see one of my friends next to me start to nod off.
"All nighter?" I ask him, whispering.
"All-nighter," he answers, with a droopy grin.
"You know you're a dumbass, right?"
He gently nods, slowly falling asleep on his arm.
Astrid leans towards me and puts her mouth to my ear. "Honestly, I respect it," Astrid whispers, somehow with a touch of admiration in her tone.
I slightly shiver at the feeling of her hot breath before turning towards her in an effort to whisper back. "You SAY you're impressed, but it'll be annoying tonight when I have nobody to play 'Call of Duty' with. You weren't wrong about that—my other friends don't do that kind of thing."
Astrid looks at me with a saddened frown. "Aw, why not?"
"Simple: they're all immature." Astrid shoots me a look. "OKAY, shut up. We get it." I shake my head, getting back on topic. "Either way, it's probably why we get along so well, but that same immaturity gets them in trouble a lot."
"...Like?"
I shrug. "Partying, getting drunk, high, sometimes sex—although Mike doesn't remember. The point is, they're always grounded."
"Wait, how does Mike know he had sex if he doesn't remember?"
"The girl gave him a standing ovation." As Astrid processes the answer, I continue, "Either way, I don't do anything with them, before you ask." I cock my head in thought. "I mean, I TRIED, but I hate the taste of beer."
Astrid moves on from my prior answer to blink and ask, "WHAT?" She then takes a pause before continuing, "That's still not a good thing. You gotta get them away from that kind of stuff, because it seems like their parents aren't helping to prevent it that much. A parent's job is to teach their kid as much as possible to prepare them for the real world, but your friends are gonna get their asses handed to them."
I shrug. "While I agree with that, every nudge I give them ends with a bigger shove right back. I can't really do anything about it."
Astrid shoots me a glare. "You really think you can't do anything about it? That's bullshit, and you KNOW it. You're JAKE. My BEST FRIEND. If you really cared enough about your friends' well-being, you'd drag their asses to 'AA' yourself."
"Sure, but it's not an addiction," I explain. "The last time one of them drank was during the Fourth of July, and that was under parent supervision. They'll be fine." I put a hand on hers. "I appreciate your concern, but, to tell you the truth? If they're gonna fuck around, they don't need me to find out."
Astrid rolls her eyes, yanking her hand away. "'Thanks for the talk, Astrid.' 'Hey, I appreciate the help.' 'You're like the bestest friend in the world, and probably the smartest and most gorgeous—'"
"Oh for three already," I interrupt.
Astrid snorts. "I hate you."
The bell rings, and the rest of the day goes by. After my last class gets out, I quickly exit the building to meet Astrid outside.
"Hey, weirdo," I say, with a smile.
"Hey, dork," she replies.
"How were the rest of your classes?"
She shrugs. "Actually, pretty damn bearable. Woulda been better with you, though," She squeezes my arm. "Everything's better when it's you and I."
I give her a look, then swivel my head down towards the hand on my arm. "Who do you think you are, Gabriella Montez?"
Astrid laughs, letting go. "Fair point. But I'm making sure we make the most out of our last year, which means you're taking me to homecoming and prom."
I raise an eyebrow, amused. "And what makes you think I'd do that? What if I get a girlfriend that I wanna take instead?"
Astrid rolls her eyes in amusement "Okay, I get that you're trying to glow up and all so you can actually get a girl, but that's just not gonna happen, I'm sorry—" She cuts herself off with a laugh.
I scoff as well. "You think you're funny? How about I give you something to actually laugh at?"
I spin her around and pull her close, tickling her stomach.
WHACK!
"OOF!"
Astrid elbows me in the side and gets away, leaving me reeling. She clears her throat. "Anyways, homecoming? Non-negotiable, because it's in a week. I'm leaving prom up to you, but in my opinion, you could go to prom with a girl, break up a week later, and have the memory be ruined forever. But if you go with me, you know we'll be close friends forever, and you'll always cherish that memory."
I lightly cough, hand still on my side. "I think that was my pancreas."
Astrid laughs. "You'll be fine."
I get back up and say, "Wait, wouldn't the girl be mad at the assumption that we might break up a week later?"
Astrid snorts. "Well, you don't tell her that part."
Sam taps my shoulder and walks by me towards the car. "Speaking of the parts, this is the one where I go home." As I attempt to walk with Sam, Astrid grabs my hand, forcing me to stay. "Before you go, we'll hang out tomorrow, right?"
I nod. "Yeah, sure."
Astrid smiles. "Give Sam a noogie for me." She leans in and kisses my cheek. "I love you, Jakey. Now go away."
"Maybe ease up on the 'L' word in public? People might hear and think we're a thing," I explain.
Astrid raises an eyebrow. "Oh, poor you." She becomes more serious. "But, seriously. I love you."
"I love you too," I reply, before walking away.
Normally, it'd be weird for friends to say that they love each other, but we've practically been siblings for ten years. I think it's acceptable.
The moment I meet Sam at my car, he goes, "You and Astrid boning yet?" I give him a rough noogie for about five seconds, and he puts his hand on his head to gently rub it. "OW!!"
"Astrid says hi," I answer, unlocking the door.
BEEP! BEEP!
"Now get in, or you can walk."
Sam does as I say, tossing his backpack onto the backseat and sitting down on the passenger side. "So...I should take that as a 'no'?"
I do the same, starting the engine.
VR...VR...VRRRR...
"Sammy, I'm gonna tell you once: Astrid's like a sister to the both of us. She'd die for either one of us boys without a second thought, and I'm pretty sure if I ever had an issue with a girl, she'd beat the shit out of her and make it look like McGregor vs Poirier. So, no. I didn't bone her yet. Are you done?"
Sam just looks out the window. "Geez. Fine."
I eventually exit school grounds, and start cruising down the road. As I'm driving, Sam pulls up a video he got from his friends' group chat.
"Eww, Jake, look at this."
Sam shows me a video of some guy slobbering and biting the back of someone else's neck, before proceeding to chew off a bite.
I groan. "What movie's that from? That CGI's gnarly."
He shrugs. "I can't see any titles. It's almost as if it's real life."
"Or someone just got too lazy to tag it."
He cocks his head. "Touché." After a pause of him looking back at his phone, I hear him react to another one of those videos popping up in his group chat. And then another one. "You SURE this isn't real?"
I scoff. "Yes, Sam, because this isn't 'The Walking Dead.'"
"As if you'd pass up the opportunity to go hard—"
I raise an eyebrow. "Pause."
Sam rolls his eyes. "What I'm trying to say, is that you'd immediately go all bad-ass and get a 'Rick Grimes' persona going."
"Well, that depends on the season. And does it include a hypothetical wife banging another dude?"
Sam laughs. "How about we just drop the whole conversation, actually?"
I eventually bring us to a stop at a traffic light, about three minutes away from our house. A car suddenly goes way faster than it should, smashing into another.
SKRRRRT..SMASH!!!!
"NOT what I thought I'd see at two-thirty on an August afternoon," I remark.
"DUDE...," Sam adds, unsure of what to say.
As Sam trails off, the guy who was going too fast and caused the crash gets out of his car, looking like a deranged animal; he has a face of pure rage—albeit slobbering a little bit—with blood trickling down his face since it looks like he wasn't wearing a seatbelt. He runs to the other guy's window and punches it until it breaks.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
SMASH!!!
"WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?" the victim explains.
While he's gesturing, the assailant proceeds to grab the victim's right arm and chew right through it, ripping out a large part of the muscle on the top of his forearm. Blood immediately sprays onto the door frame and the inside of the car, showing the severity of the bite.
"AAAHHHHHH!!!!"
SKKKRRR!!!
I immediately gun it, taking Sam and I home before we're next.
The moment we get home, I put the car in park and turn it off, shutting my eyes and take deep breaths while white-knuckling the steering wheel.
BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...
"JAKE!...Jake...jake...What're you doing? doing?...doing..."
BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...
Sam shakes me from his seat, bringing me back to reality while inadvertently pissing me off.
"SAM!" I yell.
"WHAT'RE YOU DOING, BRO?"
"MAYBE I'M TRYING TO PROCESS WHAT THE FUCK WE JUST SAW!"
I look down at my hands and notice them shaking, as well as my heartbeat that pounds against my chest, threatening to burst through my ribcage.
Sam looks at me with worry. "You okay?"
I breathe deeply, closing my eyes again. "You know I struggle to process things like that. When I'm overwhelmed..." I look at my hands again before another deep breath.
Sam nods. "You shut down. I know." He takes a moment to think about his next move. "Should we go in?"
Errr...
I open the door, which is my way of agreeing. "Before I can't."
We go up to my room, too freaked to say anything. Well, not Sam.
"Should we get mom and dad to help you?"
I shake my head, still trying to calm myself down. "Half day, remember? It's noon right now. They're not gonna be home for hours." I look up at him. "Besides, would you honestly expect them to believe us?"
Sam sits down next to me, shrugging. "I mean, you need someone. What about Astrid? She's always been there for you."
I simply shake my head, and start explaining. "You wanna know the truth of that stupid 'glow-up' and why I'm acting like I have an inflated ego all of a sudden?"
Sam shrugs again. "Just assumed it was a phase."
I don't do anything in response to that reply other than continuing to speak. "I've never been normal. Never really fit in anywhere. Ever since my diagnosis, it made sense, but I still struggled. I guess I was sick of struggling and tried to bury it with an overnight change, but this—" I pause as my breathing is still shaky. "I did it so I can avoid...this. I'm not even acting like I have an ego, really, I'm just trying to be more outgoing and happier."
"Because you shut down when you're not, I know. It's fine, dude. How about I go to my room and relax with some YouTube, and you take a nap? That's how you usually handle this, right?" I nod, and as Sam gets up, he says, "It'll be fine. Nothing happened to us. Just calm down."
"No shit," I retort. After he shuts the door behind him, I flop back onto my bed. The rest is short-lived, however, as my phone buzzes.
BZZT!
I use my elbows to prop myself back up, groaning, but take my phone out.
It's a text from Astrid.
"Hey, Jakey. You wanna meet up someplace? The cafe?"
I sigh and think about how I'm gonna respond.
She can't know about this. Whenever I shut down, the last thing I need is attention. But I can't blow her off, either. My best bet is to swallow my emotions and pretend nothing happened.
"Can't get enough of me, huh? You can see me after I'm done hanging with my friends."
I forgot I agreed to that until I typed it out, which doesn't help.
BZZT!
"I could never get enough of you, Jakey. And it's a date," she answers, adding a kiss emoji at the end.
I think nothing of it, and flop back down just before I get another message.
BZZT!
"I'm gonna lose it," I say to myself as I take my phone back out.
"Yo, we goin' to the cafe?" one of my friends asks.
I get off my bed and roll my eyes. "Omw."
I drive myself to the cafe downtown, where me and my buddies always meet up. It's always been an after-school thing for us, although I was obviously less willing to make the trip this time around.
I walk in and sit down in a seat they evidently saved for me, listening in on their conversation.
Of course it's about the zombies.
"Have you guys seen those freaky zombie videos?" my friend Malcolm asks. "I swear they're everywhere."
"They're fake, dumbass. This isn't 'The Walking Dead,'" my other friend Phil retorts.
"That's what I said," I say, trying to steer the conversation away.
"Nah, man, I heard from my brother that his friend's dad was driving home from work, and he saw some guy standing outside of a Subway eating his sandwich, and some stranger just goes and bites his neck off," my red-headed friend Ryan replies.
"I heard that the fucking Tooth Fairy was real too. Notice any similarities? Both are bullshit," my friend Will exclaims.
"Like your grades?" I tease, trying to move onto another subject.
Will laughs, but gives me a look. "You're almost pale. Did you see something?"
"Maybe a ghost?" Malcolm teases.
I shake my head, sighing. "I was driving Sammy home. We were at a light, and all of a sudden, this dude slams into someone else."
"That's just a car crash, Jake," Will says.
I take a deep breath. "That's what I thought. But the dude who crashed was slobbering like a heroin druggie, and ran to the other guy's window, punched it until it broke, then bit his forearm off."
"Liar," Ryan retorts.
I shrug. "Believe what you wanna believe, dude. I'm not having that discussion right now."
"If you just saw a zombie, how are you not freaking out right now?" Ryan asks. "Kind of out of character."
I try not to get mad, even though he's not directly pointing fingers. "Maybe because a having a near heart-attack in public isn't the best way to spend my afternoon, Ryan."
Malcolm scoffs. "What, you stopped watching your cholesterol, old man? Get a gym membership and hop on Keto."
I ball my hands into fists under the table, but my friend Devon speaks up before they can piss me off even further.
"I think Jake was being serious. Listen to this headline: 'In a northern Connecticut town, man breaks window after car crash, and bites forearm of John Krander. John is currently hospitalized. Aggressor killed by police force.'"
"Holy shit," half of them say at once.
"Wait, how does that work?" Malcolm asks. "Does the dude come back and infect others at the hospital?"
"Maybe, but wouldn't people catch on and end the infection right then and there?" Ryan asks.
"You guys are pissing me off. This isn't 'The Walking Dead.' It depends on how this infection works: the symptoms, the actions of the infected, what they're like, how fast they turn, whether or not they actually die beforehand like in the shows, how fast they can run, and more. There's a lot that goes into it," I explain.
"Holy nerd," Ryan teases.
After his remark, I hear the door squeak open.
SKRR...
Astrid walks in, seemingly wearing a pair of nice shoes and tight jean shorts with a thin crop top to complement her arms and breasts, and her hair down and straightened. I can tell she put on some lipstick, too.
She puts her sunglasses away, doing a little hair toss as she gets close. "Hey, boys."
"I thought I said after I hung out with everyone."
Astrid laughs. "Shut up and order me something, Jakey."
"Why is it always ME?" I ask, getting up.
Astrid smiles, squinting an eye shut. "Because you're my best friend?"
I raise an eyebrow. "You forgot your purse, didn't you?" She cringes in return, and I go up to the register with an eye roll. "Uh...an iced caramel latte with whipped cream and sprinkles on top. Medium."
"You mean grande," Astrid corrects. "They use Starbucks sizes."
"What the fuck is a 'grande'? Am I ordering an Ariana concert?"
Astrid laughs. "No, it's just the word for medium."
I blink. "THEN FUCKING SAY 'MEDIUM.'"
The girl at the register is trying to hold back a laugh, so Astrid butts in. "Sorry. I'll take what he said, with whipped cream and sprinkles."
I smirk. "Whipped cream and sprinkles?" I tap my debit card to the pay pad while shaking my head. "The things I do for you."
Astrid kisses me on the cheek. "Thank youuuuuu!"
She gets her drink a few minutes later, and we sit down in the corner of the café; our signature spot since we were allowed to come here alone. Astrid bumps her hip into mine, laying her head on my shoulder while she takes a sip. "Mmmmm...you have to try this." She lifts the straw to my mouth, and I take a sip.
"Damn," I exclaim, before raising an eyebrow in realization. "You know, if you wanted to get my lips on yours, you could just ask."
Astrid teasingly laughs. "Crap, thought I was being discreet. It's kinda like second-hand kissing, right?"
I chuckle, shaking my head. "Not how that works, but okay."
Astrid takes her head off my shoulder, becoming a bit more serious. "Jake...I have something I need to get off my chest."
"Like that crop top?" I ask, teasing.
Astrid rolls her eyes and puts her drink down, putting her hands on mine. "Jake, I'm serious."
I turn towards her, recognizing the change in tone. "Sorry, I'm listening. What's up?"
Astrid looks like she's struggling to come up with the words. "So…we've always been good friends, right?"
"Yeah?"
"What I'm trying to say is, we've been such good friends over the years, and I don't wanna ruin it at all, but I just need to say that I—"
As she's talking, there's a faint yelling from the distance outside.
"AAAAHHH!!!" We stand up, seeing the commotion. It's some guy running around, kinda like a crackhead.
Again.
But this time, his eyes are almost milky-white, teeth are transformed into fangs, and he's drooling. He runs towards the woman that seems to be running from him, and closes the distance in like two seconds, ripping a chunk of her neck off.
Everyone in the store screams and runs outside, and Astrid looks at me, terrified. "Jake..."
BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...
THINK, JAKE, THINK!
"I...I'm going home. I gotta make sure Sam's okay," I manage to spit out.
Astrid holds my arm, nervous. She's too frazzled to notice that I'm doing even worse. "I'm coming with you."
"Didn't you drive here?" I ask.
Astrid shakes her head. "No, I walked. No more than 10 minutes from my house."
I nod, holding her hand. "Don't let go."
We run outside and quickly get in my car, heading home.
Once we get back, I put the car in park, turning to Astrid. "A, listen: We CAN'T tell Sam. About any of this. Got it? He'll piss himself. We already saw it on the way back home."
If I'm being honest with myself, the "pissing himself" comment was just a projection, because I really don't need to relive what I saw through conversation.
"Wait, WHAT?" Astrid exclaims.
I nod. "Yeah. One of them caused a car crash and bit someone's arm. But Sam doesn't know that it's a zombie. We can't let him find out, okay?"
Astrid nods in understanding. "Of course."
We both get out of the car and head up to Sam's room.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
Errrr...
"No homework, Sammy?" I ask, peeking my head in. Astrid follows.
"Nah, first day back, remember?" He looks at Astrid. "What's up, loser?" He then looks her up and down, grinning. "Why do you look like a 'Euphoria' character?"
I laugh, and Astrid rolls her eyes. "Definitely brothers."
"What?" Sam asks.
Astrid shakes her head. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
I notice him watching YouTube as he said he would. "I hope you're not watching anything having to do with the crash."
"No, I'm watching 'Minecraft.' What's the story with that guy, by the way?"
I sit next to him and look it up, with Astrid joining me a second later.
"Yeah, they did. The...," I pause, looking at the headline. Sam's already reading it, so there's no turning back. "zombie…was killed, and that John guy was hospitalized."
"But what if he turns in the hospital and infects other people?" Sam asks, worried.
I do a double-take. "I flat-out called him a zombie, and you give me nothing?"
Sam shrugs. "T.V. kinda desensitized me. Plus, the headline put quotation marks around 'zombie,' so it's probably just to scare people."
I cock my head, looking at Astrid, who shrugs. "He's not wrong."
I can see Sam start to think about it, and he gets visibly nervous. "Wait, wait, wait. What if these things start to infect more and more people, and— and—"
BUM-BUM....BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...
I put an arm around Sam, trying to hide my own emotions. "Kid, you'll be fine. You have me, Astrid, mom, and dad." I shrug. "Besides, if any of them get in, one of us could always use dad's old .45."
In my defense, humor helps.
Astrid gives me a look. "JAKE!"
I laugh. "What?" Astrid continues to glare at me, so I clear my throat, turning back to Sam. "It'll be fine. Trust me."
Sam nods. "S— so, what do we do?"
"Let's start with relaxing, and we'll explain it to mom and dad when they get back, alright?" I suggest.
"O— okay. I'll just keep watching YouTube."
"Sounds like a plan, Sammy."
Astrid and I go to my room, and I sit on my gaming chair, turning on my PC.
"Ahem."
I turn around and see that Astrid's sitting on the edge of my bed, arms crossed.
"What?" I ask, letting my headphones sit on my neck. "Is the screen too bright?"
She rolls her eyes. "No. It's just that I saw your hands when you were talking to Sam. You're taking this just as hard as he is, aren't you?"
I shake my head. "It's fine."
Astrid persists. "JAKE. I don't know what you two saw, but it made you shut down, didn't it? I know you. That shaking of yours doesn't go away for a while."
"If you know me, then you must also know that the last thing I need you to be doing right now is bringing it up."
Astrid nods. "Okay. Sorry. Um...also, I...nevermind."
I swivel around, giving her my attention. "Okay. No. Keep talking. You can't trail yourself off like that around me. What's up?"
She takes a breath, although her voice falters either way. "Um...I've always had this deep bond with you, but for a few years now, it's felt...a bit more."
She refuses to make eye contact with me towards the end of that sentence, so I raise an eyebrow. "Kinda how bonds work, 'Allie Hamilton.'"
She shakes her head. "No, that's not what I meant…I meant—"
SLAM!
"Sorry, I think that's mom and dad," I interrupt. "We'll finish this conversation later?"
She slowly nods, getting up with me. "Y— yeah."
I head down the stairs and see Sam already there. I try to intervene, knowing what he's gonna say. "SAM, DON'T—"
"MOM, DAD, JAKE AND I SAW SOME GUY GET HIS ARM BITTEN OFF!"
Too late.
Dad's the first to reply. "Cut it out, Sam. Your mother and I have already seen all those fake little zombie clips online. It's a bunch of crap. I hope you're not believing any of this nonsense—it's not helping anybody, especially not yourself. Now help us with the groceries." He then sees Astrid. "Oh, I'm sorry, Astrid. I didn't realize you'd be here."
Astrid goes slightly red. "NO, I'm sorry. I could let you know next time, if it helps?"
Dad shakes his head with a light smile. "No, it just caught me by surprise, is all. You're welcome here anytime."
Astrid smiles. "Thanks, Mr. Davenport."
Dad continues to smile with a nod, before turning to Sam and me. "We got home early because of everything that's going on, so we figured we could get groceries while we were at it. You boys gonna help us?"
I nod. "Sure, dad."
While Sam and I help them get the groceries out of the car, we hear some distant screaming, although it stops after a second.
"What was that?" I ask, slightly nervous, knowing what happened earlier today. "Did someone get hurt, or is it nothing?"
"The guy probably just stubbed his toe or something," Dad says.
"Helluva stubbed toe," Sam says. "You think he hit it against metal?"
I cringe at the thought. "DON'T put that image in my head."
Sam chuckles. "I knew you'd react like that, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity."
"I hate you."
We bring the groceries back in, and Astrid tries to help, getting some milk. She opens the fridge to put it away, staying mostly silent for a little while, before curiosity eventually gets the upper hand. "What's with the yelling I heard Sam blab about?"
I shrug. "I dunno. It stopped, so I don't think it really matters."
Astrid closes the fridge, shrugging. "Alright."
My dad whistles from the couch, with the TV turned on.
Pwhtt!!
"Hey, come here. They're talking about the zombie stuff."
I sit on the opposite side of the couch as him, wrapping an arm around Astrid as she cuddles up next to me. Sam's next to dad, and mom's probably in the kitchen cleaning up.
The news anchor clears their throat. "Earlier this morning, reports of so-called 'zombie' incidents have surged dramatically. Authorities believe this phenomenon is linked to an unidentified virus, which appears to spread through bodily fluids. In other news, military-grade detection drones are currently in the air, and so far, no signs of airborne infection have been detected. For now, experts advise staying indoors and avoiding contact with others, assuring the public that it's safe to relax—at least for the time being."
He's lying, and his fear is doing a decent job of showing it. I can see the tightness in his throat, the subtle clenching of his jaw, his eyes darting between the teleprompter and the screen, his head's refusal to swivel as a muscular reaction to fear, as well as the anchor swallowing in an attempt to hide a dry mouth.
"Well, that's bullshit," I say, casually. "Just because it isn't in the air, doesn't mean it's not a virus. Just means it's transmitted another way," I explain.
I know: "Why don't you just say what you saw?" I don't wanna get into it, so I lowballed it. Sue me.
Astrid swats me. "Language."
"I would say to trust what they say, but I wouldn't either," Dad says with a shrug. "But do watch the mouth, okay?" He winks. "Girls don't like swearing."
Astrid smiles with a wink of her own. "He gets it."
I ruffle Astrid's perfect hair. "Yeah, I hear you."
"HEY!" Astrid exclaims. "I hate you. It took half an hour to get it all pretty."
I roll my eyes. "You don't need to do your hair to be pretty. You're gorgeous just the way you are."
Astrid smiles. "Aw, thanks." She kisses me on the cheek.
The anchor keeps going. "This just in: According to world-renowned scientists and virologists at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, it IS a virus, but the name and origin is still unknown. As of right now, there are around 10,000 cases worldwide that line up with the virus' expected symptoms, with just over 1,500 in the United States. That's a much better number than I think many of us were expecting."
Still. Lying.
Still. Terrified.
I raise an eyebrow. "1500? Sure."
Don't. Ask. Questions.
Dad goes, "Even if the whole 'zombies' thing was real, there'd be a lot more than just 1,500 cases if you guys saw it in plain sight."
It makes no sense. The car crash. Those videos plastered all over social media, getting forwarded to every group chat and blowing up in friend groups—sharing stories about people they know, people they've seen. There's no way it's just 1,500 cases. It's gotta be at least a hundred times that, maybe more. This isn't reporting; it's damage control. They're lowballing it to keep everyone calm, to stop the world from tearing itself apart, while feeding just enough truth to keep people cautious.
My mom interrupts my train of thought by asking, "Honey?" I turn around and see her looking through the fridge in the chicken. "Where'd you put the chicken? I was planning on making some breaded tenders with mac-and-cheese for dinner tonight."
Dad shoots her a look of confusion from behind his shoulder. There's an open doorway behind the sofa that leads into the kitchen, so it makes sense. "I thought YOU got it!"
Mom shuts the fridge door in slight irritation. "WH— I SAID I WAS GETTING THE PANKO FOR THE CHICKEN!" She notices my dad slinking into his section of the couch and starts laughing. "You had one job."
I laugh with her, unable to suppress a smile. "Yeah, dad. You had one job."
He shoots me a look. "Keep it up, and the phone's mine."
I look back at my mom without skipping a beat. "On second thought, maybe cut the old man some slack."
He raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Careful."
I shoot him a look of my own in return. "Dad, you're pushing 53 this year. Let's not flatter ourselves."
He clicks the T.V. off, getting up. "Maybe, but you're pushing the cart when we get your mother's chicken." He looks at Sam. "You're coming, too."
He gives dad a look of irritation. "WHY ME? I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING!"
Dad thinks for a second, before turning to Sam. "I need a witness in case your brother runs me over with the cart."
"Well, it doesn't help that you keep testing me, either," I remark. I turn and notice Astrid before looking back at dad. "What about Astrid?"
Mom butts in. "I'll drive her back, don't worry about it."
I nod, but as I'm following dad and Sam out to the car, Astrid stops me in the doorway. She looks around to make sure nobody's in earshot, then cups my cheeks, looking into my eyes. "I love you, Jake."
I smile, although admittedly slightly confused. "I love you too, Astrid." I dart my eyes over at her hands in wonder before asking, "Um, tell your mom I said hi."
Astrid gives a light smile, but seems a little disheartened by my response. She slowly moves her hands back, slinking her arms back down her sides while seemingly shrinking in posture.
"JAKE!" Dad exclaims. "COME ON! You two can talk later."
I shake my head, snapping out of it, looking back at dad. "Sorry, just saying bye."
He sighs. "It's fine, just...." He makes exaggerated "come here" movements. COME ON."
I look back at Astrid, and she nods. "It's fine. I'll see you later."
I nod. "Always."
We drive down the street for around 10 minutes, and on our way to the grocery store, we see a flipped-over car. It looks like they tried to make a turn too fast, and rolled over from the excessive speed.
"Holy shit, guys," Dad says, casually. He doesn't really care too much, but at the same time, it's hard not to be concerned for the guy. "I'll go out and see if he's okay."
Sam and I let him go, but watch carefully from the car. As Dad walks towards it, my brain...I can't explain it. I'm suddenly dizzy, seeing...lights? I'm not sure. My ears start ringing and I feel like I'm about to pass out.
EEEEEE...
"You need help...help...help...with that seatbelt...belt...belt?"
RIP!!! Rip!!! rip!!!
"RAAAAARRRR!!!" Raaaaarrrr!!!! raaaaarrrr!!!
Eeeee...
The feeling starts to fade and away, and once again, dad's walking towards the other car.
Don't ask questions, because I don't know either.
Dad eventually reaches the car, bending over in front of the drivers' seat window and seeing a guy who's still fumbling around with his seat belt inside.
Dad asks, "Do you need help with the seat belt?" And gets a bit of snarling in return.
Raaarrr...
He's a bit confused at the sudden aggression, but tries to help him regardless. When Dad reaches his hand in to help with the seat belt, the guy inside roars and tries to make a grab at his arm.
"RAAAAARRRR!!!"
Did I just— You know what? Nevermind.
Dad instinctively shoots his hands back, noticing the "man" snarling and drooling, with milky eyes devoid of any color. He sees blood dripping from his neck—it looks broken, possibly partially torn open. He shouldn't be alive.
He...isn't. It's a zombie.
"It appears neither the news, nor you guys were lying," Dad points out, now with genuine concern, as he gets in the car.
ERRR...ERR...RRRRIPPP!
The zombie gets out of the seatbelt and crawls out, causing Dad to go wide-eyed and start the car again.
ERRRR...ERRRRR...ERRR...
"REALLY?" Sam asks.
"I'M TRYING!" Dad exclaims.
ERRR...VRRRRRR...
As Dad's about to drive away, the zombie runs up to the car and pounds on the glass.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Dad yells, with obvious fear in his tone. He slams on the gas and gets out of there, but as we drive past the zombie, I get a quick glance at how the zombie got out of the car. It BIT THROUGH THE SEAT BELT.
That has to be impossible. Seatbelts are made out of polyester webbing: high tensile strength, abrasion resistance, limited stretch. It should take thousands of pounds to get out of one, but...not if you have something sharp enough.
But there's no way that human teeth could bite through that sort of material. Maybe...there's a possible chance that the infected mutate and get sharper teeth. It'd make sense, as a virus like this would need to understand how to evolve in order to guarantee its survival, which means sharper teeth for easier biting.
Anyways, the important thing is getting home before another run-in occurs. I start looking out the window at the passing trees, but reality hits me.
"Dad, we still have to get groceries," I point out. "I don't think delivery guys are gonna feel the necessity of extra tips once walk into this themselves."
Dad sighs. "You're right. Let's just hope we don't get into another zombie accident, then."
"Can you not jinx us, please?" Sam asks, irritated.
We finish our drive to the store, but as we get there, it's like a scene straight out of a horror movie: cars are smoking and crashed into each other, people are running everywhere in a panic, and carts are overturned. Dad makes the questionable decision to go into the parking lot, as he can't see a valid reason for all this panic, since there's no zomb—
WOAH.
As he pulls forward a bit more, we see...well, a feast. There's a group of five or six zombies gathered around three different bodies, just feeding. I recognize one or two of them from outside of the store where I met with my friends.
I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.
"You know, maybe we should just deal with what's at home," Dad suggests.
"Good idea," I reply.
"I second that," Sam adds.
As dad's about to put the car in reverse, we see the zombies look right at us.
I clear my throat. "Dad, I swear to God, step on it or I'll make sure they get you first."
The zombies all race towards the car. They shouldn't be able to cause real damage if they catch up, but knowing that one just bit through a seat belt, we're not sticking around to find out.
SHRRRRR!!!
Dad slams on the gas and flips the car around with a 180, unwilling to be here long enough to know whether the rest of town is even worse.
We finally get back home and dad relays the story to mom, who apparently got back before us. She puts one hand on her hip and the other on her mouth, giving Sam and I the patented mom look of worry—the one where she's contemplating whether to hug us and never let go. She's mostly nervous because we had to witness it. I can see her shaking a little, and her eyes are darting.
"Are you guys okay?" she asks.
"Yeah," Sam and I both answer.
"The entire town's infested with what the anchor talked about," dad explains. "It'll probably be even worse an hour from now."
Mom rubs her temples, facing my dad. "Babe, we gotta pack up and get out of here. We'll stay at a hotel and lay low until this nonsense is over. School can wait. The boys are old enough so that I'm not worried about their education."
Dad nods. "We'll get started. Boys, go to your rooms and pack up all your necessities, and..." Dad gets a suitcase from the closet and unzips it.
ZZZIIPPP!!
"Toiletries clothes, everything you'd bring to a week at camp goes in here. Make sure it's filled to the brim. If there's not enough room, get another bag. We can't allow ourselves to run out for a while."
"I mean, it's not a fact unless it's right in front of us, given the—OOF!" Sam steps on my foot. "I— I hear you. I'll pack everything.
Dad stifles a smile, nodding. "Good. Go ahead."
Sam and I spend around five minutes stuffing our belongings inside the suitcase—easier said than done when you try to incorporate men's medium sweatshirts with the ten pairs of emergency socks your brother insists on packing. When we manage to come to a compromise and fill it, we step on the top until it's zipped, bring it out to the living room, and Dad nods in approval.
"Nice. I'll get the top end, you get the bottom." I do as he says, and he opens the door for himself soon after.
"Hurry up, buddy, we gotta be outta here in—"
KRUNCH!
"AAAAHH!!!" As my dad carries the suitcase outside the door, I see my neighbor run up behind him and tear out a chunk of his neck.
It immediately starts gushing blood, and he gives me a tender look to say goodbye. He knows he's not gonna make it. Then...he drops dead.
I— did I dream the future?
You know what? It doesn't matter. I just saw my dad die, and my neighbor—or whatever's left of him—is feasting on my dad.
I drag the suitcase back inside, slamming the door.
SLAM!
BUM-BUM…BUM-BUM…BUM-BUM…
I walk into the kitchen, still feeling my heart sinking lower and my blood pressure skyrocketing, and I face my mom.
"Woah, honey, what's the matter?...matter?...matter...I know this is scary, but it'll be okay..okay...okay...You have your dad and I...I...I.."
I try to spit it out, but I struggle to speak. "I...dad...the neighbor..."
"Honey, what is it?...is it...is it...Tell me...me...me..."
"Dad...dad's dead."
"Wh— what?...what...what...He was helping you a second ago...go...go..."
"Y— yeah, but…the— the neighbor came up from behind, a— and…he..."
I immediately see tears stream down my mom's cheeks, and she goes to open the door. Sure enough, there's the neighbor, moving on to my dad's right kidney. My mom reaches her hand out, crying
"LUKE!!!...Luke...luke..."
As the neighbor lunges for her arm, I quickly pull her back inside, shutting the door in front of us. Mom immediately starts sobbing and sinks to the floor, knees on the wood.
Sam walks in wondering about the commotion, but as soon as he sees the looks on our faces, his face goes blank before turning into a sob seconds later.
We all spend the next half hour inside on the couch, trying to come to terms with what's happened. None of us can move. I can't seem to catch my breath, I'm dizzy, shaking, and lightheaded. I just sit there with my family—the rest of it, anyway—listening to my own heartbeat.
BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...
After a while, we're introduced to some sort of engine-like sound from outside.
Vrrr.....
We look at each other in confusion, but a mysterious voice from a megaphone interrupts any uncertainty we could've had in the situation:
"Stephanie McGeorge, Kevin McGeorge, David Presley, Mariam Presley, Kinsley Presley, Kaito Yamamoto, Mei Yamamoto, Jamal Williams, Tiana Williams, Thomas Brownson, Sam Davenport, and Jake Davenport, please leave your homes immediately. Step outside and enter one of the trucks. We will escort you to a safe zone."
"Hell no," I remark. "Immediately just HELL no."
"I understand, but they must have everything planned if they're gonna call you by name," Mom explains. "You might be better off."
"Come on, don't say that," Sam says.
Mom shrugs. "Those guns aren't just for the dead, you know."
"Let's not make comments like that," I suggest, getting up to open the door. I see a couple long trucks as well as government officials, all wearing a mask to hide their face and avoid recognition.
Besides that, there's distant sirens and helicopters interrupting any further silence there could've been, probably as a defensive measure against the virus.
Sam and Mom join me outside, and while the officer holding the megaphone is about to put it back to his mouth, I notice that both bodies are gone. Dad's, and the neighbors. Did the officers move them?
I get that same feeling as before: dizziness, lightheadedness, ears ringing, and seeing lights.
EEEEEEE...
"You remove the infected, I'll take care of the deceased," an official states.
"Yes, sir," another official answers.
They both drag the bodies away, although the fading of all the feelings I'm being flooded with causes the flashback to mix with reality, until reality eventually wins and I come back to the present.
"Please leave your homes and enter one of the trucks. We will escort you to a safe zone."
I don't really trust this, but at the same time, it's the middle of an apocalypse; I don't really have a choice. I notice that everyone else in the neighborhood is going outside—called or not—and that the kids are going into different trucks. One thing that sticks out to me is that adults are being ordered to move away and stay in their homes. Some threatened.
I look at mom, not really paying any attention to that for now. "Should we…?"
She scratches her arm. "Ooh, itchy." She then hugs me. "Go ahead, sweetheart. You're better off going to an actual safe zone than you are at home. I don't know if I can protect you." She puts her hands on my cheeks, looking into my eyes. "I love you, Jakey."
I smile, tearing up despite myself. "I love you too, mom."
She does the same to Sam, and we eventually walk to the last truck. More homely, I guess you could say; alone. Not squished between others.
"Hold your horses, 'Jack Twist,'" I say to the officer. "We're coming."
Sam shoots me a look. "Really?" As I shrug and step forward, he stops me. "Wait…what if something bad happens?"
I rub his lower back. "I'll have it covered, Sammy. Just trust me."
One of the officials demands, "Please step forward."
I nod my head towards him. "Come on." We walk up to him, right in front of the truck opening. He holds some weird thermal reading device to the side of my neck and leans into my ear. "I would suggest you lose the smart-ass attitude." The reader beeps after a few seconds, and he backs away. "Clear. Please enter the vehicle."
"What, are we not getting our things?"
The official shakes his head. "Unnecessary, we'll have everything you need upon arrival."
"I mean, if you're taking requests, I'm a men's medium, size eleven shoe. Although, I might make that a size fifteen to try to compete with whatever's up your ass.
Sam shoots me another glare. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHUT UP."
The official nods. "I'd recommend you take your brother's advice. As previously mentioned, all necessities will be available for use upon arrival."
I gulp. "Arrival to where?"
"Don't worry about it. Get in."
I don't feel like pushing it, and do what he says. Sam follows. When I sit down, I look around and notice that it's all teenagers, and I realize that they're serious about the whole no-adults schtick.
"Wait, sir, where are all the adults?" I ask.
The official responds, "There are no adult passengers on this transport, or allowed on said transport. There will be a separate convoy for adults."
Yeah...not happening. I stay with my mom. "What? Screw this, then. I'm not going anywhere unless it's with my mom."
As I step out of the truck, the guard hits me in the face with the butt of his rifle.
WHACK!
"OOF!"
"SIT DOWN. I WON'T ASK YOU AGAIN."
I feel a sharp, stinging pain in my nose, and it starts bleeding. I sit down on a bench and wipe the blood off my face, watching all the kids cringe in reaction to the violence. I hear my mom yells in retaliation, making a beeline for the official. "KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY GODDAMN—"
My mom notices him about to point his gun at her, and she fearfully wrestles the official for it in order to guarantee her safety.
"MOM, LET IT GO! WE'LL BE FINE!" I try to get across.
She's stubborn. The official eventually wins and hits her with his gun, and when she falls, he has a moment of hesitation. I see his jaw open and a wince along with a mutter under his breath, before pulling the trigger.
"I love you," Mom mouths.
BAM!
"NOOOO!!" I yell, attempting to run out and possibly kill him.
Before I'm able to take a single step, the officer turns around, hitting me in the face again with his gun. It's different this time...
Everything turns black.