Besieged.

Author's Afterword

2010-11-16T13:14:00.000+08:00

My afterword, dedicated to the class of 2A1.

Well, this is my afterword for my critically acclaimed story, Besieged. I hope you will enjoy this 1,600 word essay I wrote in about half and hours time and I do hope that you will forgive me for that really stupid epilogue.

From the current look of things, I have to say that Besieged is my greatest work of written literature so far. Surprisingly, I never had much expectation for Besieged. At the moment I thought of the idea, I had already categorised it as a minor story which would get optimal ratings and a low popularity. A theme about a zombie attack never actually appealed to me, in fact, the theme was a far from my mainstream themes. All I had expected Besieged to do was act as a sideshow, while I produced more material for later major e-stories.

The turnout for Besieged was unexpected and similarly surprising. I never knew it would draw such acclaim. To this day, Besieged is my ultimate magnum opus. It may, in some eyes, be a little, insignificant achievement, but nonetheless it had exceeded all of my expectations.

Therefore, it is one of the main objectives of this afterword, to thank and offer and express my sincere gratitude to fellow classmates who have supported me and encouraged me throughout the entire duration of this e-story from the conceptualization stage, to the planning stage and finally to the publishing stage.

Firstly, I would like to thank Tan Qiu Yuan for his much needed encouragement and support of my plans and my plot. If it was not for him, I may never have had the courage or the momentum to go ahead with the story. If it was not for him, the various plots may have been a substandard work. If it was not for him, this story may never have been conceptualized. Qiu Yuan was the driving force behind my story plans, which I presented to him daily during every boring Maths lesson, where he would read through it, laugh through it, comment about it and eventually encourage me, by begging for more.

At first, I thought the plot was lame and stupid but with his enormous support, I felt vindicated from my previous impression of the plot. Then again, I thought his enthusiasm and his like for the plot was just an individual preference. I was proven wrong again, later on.

Secondly, I would like to thank a close friend, Chew Jing Wei for giving me the constructive feedback and criticism that made the plot even more firm. He had given me more ideas and more suggestions, and in my darkest hours of writing the story, had encouraged me and pushed me on. He was an instrumental friend and help for this story of mine.

Thirdly, I would like to thank my regular readers, who are not passive readers (I do have a dislike for passive readers ever since I started my writing), who have been giving me all the great comments and encouragement. Your enthusiasm for more chapters, for more fiction had certainly pushed me forward to deliver them as fast, and as high in quality as I could. I mean seriously. In my rather short years of experience in writing stories for fellow classmates, I have certainly deduced that regular readers posting comments of thanks or feedback is the main and most important fuel for a writer’s driving force to write chapters. I am indebted you all for your comments and feedback! Thank you, wonderful regular readers and critics like, Joel Yew, Zenda Tan, Jean Paul Wee, Brandon Teo, Isabel and at times, Kanesh. Thank you all!

Fourthly and lastly, I would very, very much like to thank my beloved class of 2A1! You guys are the greatest and you guys certainly make 2A1’10 the greatest, ever, ever class I have ever studied with in my entire 14 years of life! I would like very, very much to thank you all for letting me(even if you were against it) use your names for my story, and also I would like to thank those who were given terrible characters in the story.

The characters are the personification of various qualities found in the typical Singaporean student and it was one I exploited with rather great effect. Some of your characters portrayed in the story may have been the most virtuous ones, while others were the most vicious, the most evil portrayed. It may have been hard on you people. I am sorry for all sufferings and inconveniences caused. And thank you once again! With thanks to: Isabella Goh, Alfred Low, Joel Yew and Roy Tay. Thank You so much for enduring the “shame”!

This story was written for 2A1 and it was meant for the class of 2A1. It spoke great lengths about the disunity of our class and the terrible qualities of our class. I am glad now that all that has somehow transformed the class into a shockingly indestructible class of jolly retards with an indestructible unity and an indomitable spirit! The class of 2A1, many in body, but one in mind! Many in body, one in spirit.

Afterword, part II

I give a thousand apologies for the really stupid ending. I can’t recall why I had just simply decided to ruin the story with such a stupid and out-of-worldly ending. The ending had practically destroyed much of the hope pinned upon the story.

If possible, and if my dear regular readers want it, I will write an alternative epilogue. But again, that depends on the vox populi.

Anyway, on a lighter note, I had many ideas I wanted to input into Besieged. There were many more themes I wanted to cram into Besieged, rather than just, survival, rivalry for power, ego and a basic class-based conflict. I had contemplated putting in the conflicts of leadership ideologies, race and even the taboo topic of religion. I had been very, very tempted to input conflicts between religious ideologies into the story, but perhaps due to my laziness to reform the story, or perhaps due to my fear that any such input would backfire and result in the burning of my effigies and the eventual stoning of me, it was never placed into the story plot.

Many possibilities of how the story could have been changed if the theme of religion had been inputted into the plot. It might have made the story even more juicy, it might have made the story longer, it might have destroyed the story, it might have the torn the real life class of 2A1 apart. I do not know, we do not know. We may never know.

There have been feedback that the story ended to soon, with only thirteen chapters; there has been feedback that the story was very biased against the antagonistic characters; there has been feedback and criticism that I used only the popular figure heads of the class.

Yes, I admit I am responsible for all of this criticism. Though I do not how I could have lengthened story, I know that I could have been less emotionally-charged in my plot and my writing. The prejudice was intended when I was writing. Now, looking back, I regret it all. The use of popular figure heads in the class though for the characters, are somewhat justified. You know the reasons, I respect the criticism.

In another unrelated note, I would like to thank the following productions for giving me the ideas and the inspirations behind this story:

Firstly, George A Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. This revolutionary movie was my first ever zombie movie I watched. I had nightmares of it the night I watched it, and it had influenced me very much.

Secondly, Nexon’s Combat Arms quarantine gameplay mode. This was the actually and probably the main reason and factor as to why I decided to write a story about zombies. It was interesting playing the mode and it was fun shooting zombies to death with weapons. The teamwork to escape from being infected the zombies was necessary. I loved the game very much.

Thirdly and lastly, I would like to thank the 2007 film, The Mist. The Mist was really the main inspiration behind the conflicts between characters theme. It was a truly disturbing but really enlightening film which I seriously recommend to all religious-critics and maybe literature students. This film was really the main inspiration behind my story.

With that, thank you for your time for reading my critically acclaimed story, Besieged and thank you for commenting in the chat box! I am very happy and very satisfied to have written story and to have such great readers to read my story.

In a totally unrelated note, my latest major e-story Clementi Town Vice would be my very last major e-story for the near future, due to the lack of plots, themes, popularity and ratings. And especially due to the lack of reader’s response (that sucks a whole lot). Following the end of Clementi Town Vice, I would instead focus on my upcoming project, JSM The Story Express, a web blog where I would post up my short stories that I have dutifully written almost daily.

In other words, support for The Story Express would be warmly appreciated! Here is the link: www.story-express.blogspot.com

Thank you all once again! Have a nice life, live it to the fullest, to the greatest ever capacity, never regret a single thing in life and always, always, always, remain happy!

For 2A1 and for my regular readers of Besieged,

Jiang Haolie

Your selfless neighbourhood writer.

Cheers for life!

Chapter 13: Epilogue

2010-06-05T09:00:00.000+08:00

Day 25567(C. 70 years). 3.38 P.M.

The spacious room at the hundred and second floor had the lingering smell of disinfectants and solid metallic air. A floor to ceiling window that stretched the entire left side of the room provided a paranomic view of a sprawling metropolis domed with a weird-coloured sky, probably due to pollution. The paranomic view however, was obscured by the shutter curtains.

The atmosphere of the room was stiff and rather disturbed. Serving as a discussion room for people who have recently lost loved ones and are extremely distraught, the room had a feel of depression and solemness. A discussion group of ten people sat together in a circle in the middle of the room. They were the only occupants.

One by one, the people would recount stories of losing their loved ones and at the same shedding tears, only to be consoled by the unlucky host of the discussion group who had been paid to just listen in on these depressing stories, which did no more than destroy your day. And for the host, her job has destroyed many of her days for the past five years. The group consisted of mostly youngster, all of which were either wearing glasses or contact lenses with the aid of myopic surgery. There was however, an exceptional one. Instead of being young, he was old. Instead of being myopic, he had a perfect 20/20 vision. Instead of being rash and immature, he was very much instead wise and far too world-weary. Easily countable strands of white hair curled out of his shining head, complimenting the ageing image of a heavily haggard body, not excluding the numerous wrinkles across his battered face.

The world had taken a heavy toll of the old man, not forgetting the zombie crises he had been through. Zombies, the horrors of a past era, now left to be forgotten. Outside of the stiff room was liveliness. Outside was a utopia. Outside was happiness. Inside, however, the sadness was retained. The discussion centres set up across the globe was initiated by the central government federation to neutralize the growing numbers of apathetic and depressed youths. There were no apathetic and depressed old-age citizens, most of these were executed in the re-education camps. Sadness was looked down upon. Sadness would not exist, not in the metropolis at least. In the outer rim of the metropolis, some of it might still exist, but not here.

The old man was an exception. He was old, and he was sad. Well, it is not surprising that he was not detained and brought to the re-education camps. He was still a happy and lively youth at heart two weeks ago, where he responded pretty positively to the propaganda broadcast, although he did not really believe in it. He sat down, neither listening to the stories nor bothering to seem interested. His actions would usually result in immediate re-education, but the discussion centre was very much an exception. After all, most attendees of the discussion centres end up in the ovens sooner or later. Finally, it was his turn to share his story.

“My dear old comrade, it is your turn to share!” The host announced in a voice far too joyous to suit the mood of the room.

“Hello there comrades, my name is Jean Paul Wee,” the old man said in a raspy voice, with a slight rumble of phlegm. The rest of the discussion group chorused together with mandatory enthusiasm, “Hello there, comrade Jean Paul Wee!”

“Hi. I am eighty-four years old by this year. I am here today, because I am sad. I am sad because...because...” Jean Paul stopped, sighing for a moment, before continuing, “Allow me to tell you first about my history. I was a student in Clementi Town Secondary. The school was in Clementi which is now one of the zones outside the safety of our beloved civilized metropolis. My school came under attack during the very first outbreak of the zombie virus. My class held against the zombies for quite a long time. In the end, only me and another girl managed to escape to the safe zones.

“We were one of the only few survivors who managed to escape from the quarantined zones. I later married her. We were unsuccessful in bearing children, but we did enjoy the act of attempting to bear children. In the end, after a dozen more outbreaks of the virus, when the new empathy movement came, we joined the empathy party and we become one of the founding members of our metropolis. Two weeks ago. My wife started developing symptoms of the virus. She surrendered herself to the metropolis special branch. She tested positive for the new trojan-like strain of the virus. She was put into the oven immediately. The secret police came looking for me. I left my home which was confiscated and returned to the party. I became a fugitive. And finally I came here to the discussion centres. I came here because I know that there is bureaucratic immunity as long as I stay here in the centre. And now back to the question. I am sad because I have lost my wife. I loved my wife. I loved her very much. But what made me even more sad, was that she was far beyond being brainwashed by the propaganda. She was already a zealous fanatic of the party. What is the difference between the zombies we were trying not to be and being a zealous fanatic of the party? I don't see any! I don't see any!”

The rest of the discussion group looked at him in horror, or more of shock with a tinge of anger. “Comrade Wee! How dare you compare our beloved party with zombies! The party is all about love, it is all about empathy! Without the party, we would all fall back into the self-destructive tenets of the old world! The old world is all apathy! The party is disappointed with you, comrade Wee! Repent before it is too late!”

“Zombies. You are all zombies! Mindless fanatics! No difference between party fanatics and those zombies! None at all! You are all zombies! You are all zombies...” Jean Paul yelled, getting up from his seat in anger, pushing away his seat and retreating from the fuming discussion group. They all glared at him, clutching the party empathy booklet, waiting for the right moment to force the party empathy booklet upon his forehead and repent him. Very much a form of exorcism, exorcism of apathy...

“Zombies! Zombies! All of you are zombies! Fucking zombies!” Jean Paul yelled again, pointing at all of the discussion group members. He stared at them in exasperated shock. Jean Paul was cracking up. The empathy party system was cracking him. At that moment of tense silence, Jean Paul broke it. He started laughing. Then escalating into a roar of uncontrolled laughter. Sweat drenched his apparels, mucus dripped down from his nose and out from his mouth. Jean Paul was not sure what was happening. He could not understand what was happening. Hallucinations drifted through his mind. Solid colours turned into twirling cellophane flowers of yellow and green, towering over his head. The world around him exploded into colours. Jean Paul found himself sitting on a corn flake, waiting for some van to come. Walruses appeared around him, they warbled at him. Warble, warble, warble. He called out to the walruses, “You are the walrus. Wait, no. I am the walrus. I am the walrus!”

Jean Paul laughed. He laughed more uncontrollably. His bloodshot eyes gazed with animal-like curiosity at everything. His fingernails were growing, or maybe it was the skin on his fingers that were shrinking. It was tearing apart, flaking to pieces.

More walruses appeared. They came, they went. A yellow submarine sailed by and the walruses came running helter skelter, across the universe and then into the sky with diamonds, coming together, over him, then flying past, free as a bird. Strawberries, they were everywhere, they stretched forever in a field, filled with walruses all called Lucy. Jean Paul laughed. He laughed even more. His face sunk in, the skin on it shrinking to dryness, before tearing apart, revealing dark-coloured blood.

Jean Paul laughed. He continued laughing. Laughing and laughing, and laughing. It had been a hard day's night...A really hard one. He continued laughing. And laughing. And laughing.

Warble, warble, warble. They warbled. They warbled on endlessly. Laughter filled the strawberry field and the octopus garden next to it. Warble. Warble. Warble.

Jean Paul was choking on mucus but he continued laughing. It was unbearable, it was unstoppable. He did not have any intention of stopping. He just laughed. And kept laughing. He laughed. He felt a sudden urge to bite people. He loved biting people. It was fun. He kept laughing anyway. Laughter was good. He kept laughing.

Away into the night, the sun came rising. Here comes the sun, eight days a week. Jean Paul kept right on laughing. Laughter. Laughter. Laughter. Warble. Warble. Warble.

The End.

Footnotes of Besieged, coming out next week!

Remember to comment on the chat box!
All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 12

2010-05-29T09:00:00.001+08:00

Day 4. 10.45 P.M.

The helicopter sailed away into the night. The crammed cabin was ventilated with the wide-open cabin hatch. Cool night breeze blew at a relaxing pace into the forlorn faces of the five remaining survivors: Jean Paul, Kisshan, Zenda, Brandon and Vanes. Along with the survivors were three other soldiers in their camouflage overalls and the two pilots. Above them all was the a moonless night sky and the ear-crackling continuous chopping of the blades against the air, making all forms of communication within the cabin nearly impossible.

Zenda had never been in a flying helicopter before. The only times that she had been in a helicopter was when they were grounded on the landing pads in the military open houses. Although she was traveling in a helicopter for the first time, there was not much of awe. There was just a lingering sense of sadness, with an overlapping feeling of relief. The events of the past four fays has left her distraught and mostly disturbed. The memories of the place would still linger in her memory.

Below the helicopter, was a ghost city. Rows upon rows of empty buildings housing no more than shadows of what used to be the lively owners. Eerie and disdain figures roamed the unlit streets swerving their bloodied heads upwards to the roar of the helicopter as it swiftly went pass them. Following the ear-splitting trail of helicopter blades was glowing search lights that illuminated the area of the city that they had just passed Ahead into the horizon was a lit city, or at least the lit up part of the city. Salvation was in the distance. Zenda could sense life, real life, sprouting outwards in all direction except theirs, except the quarantined zone. The helicopter loomed forward towards the safe zone. Safety was near. So near, she could almost feel it. A bump shook the helicopter, a second bump shook it again. No one inside the cabin said a sound. It was just turbulence. Or was it?

~~~

Day 4. 10.52 P.M.

Dear diary,

There is salvation at last. Salvation. I feel joy in my heart but I cannot express it. The joy in me is dampened by sadness. I know not why the sadness is there. Is it because I lost so many classmates? Or is it because I just realized that my life now that it is put back on track, is totally screwed up? When I was back in the classroom, without any hope of being rescued, I was uncertain about how I will ever live through this crisis. But now in this helicopter, knowing that I have been saved the future is uncertain. I do not know what has happened to my family. I do not know anything that has happened outside the classroom for the last four days.

In me there is uncertainty. There is a fear of the future. I am scared. For once, I am truly scared. I am fearful of death now. Back in the classroom, it was an entirely different situation. I was not as fearful of death, I was prepared to fight all the way for life. After all, all I had to lose was just my life. But soon, I will have more to lose than just my life. I am confused, I do not know what to hope for...

Jean Paul Wee

20^th March 2010, Saturday

~~~

Day 4. 10.58 P.M.

The safe zone seemed to get nearer and nearer. Within a few minutes, the helicopter would be safely within the holds of the military checkpoints. The pilot spoke into the transponder radio, “Checkpoint Charlie-2, C-3825 approaching at vector 334-32. Carrying five crew and five passengers. Requesting clearance to land.”

The radio replied, “Roger. Permission granted. C3825, you have clearance to land.”

The helicopter shook again. And following an even stronger bump, the helicopter jerked suddenly to the side. An abrupt howling erupted from under the helicopter. Jean Paul's Stomach knotted, like everyone other one of the people on board the helicopter. Lieutenant Alvin Tan raised his SAR-21 assault rifle up to his chin and took aim at the opened cabin hatch. The other two soldiers followed suit. The survivors huddled away from the hatch to the other side.

The helicopter jerked another violent time, and abruptly without any prior warning, the cockpit windscreens imploded. A zombie crashed into the cockpit, and forcefully struck at the two pilot's helmet visors upon entering the cockpit. Its claws broke through the visors and rendered the pilots dead. Before the three soldiers or anyone else could react, the zombie lunged itself into the cabin space and brought two soldiers down. The remaining soldier brought to bear his SAR-21 on the zombie. Hot lead pumped into the zombie's head. Blood splattered across the cabin, and the dead zombie slipped through the open helicopter hatch before plummeting down to the ground in a crunching rest. All happened in just five seconds, but in that five seconds, the pilot-less helicopter had plummeted all the way down to the ground.

A full ten seconds past, with the remaining soldier using his very last effort to pull the helicopter throttle back, and with Vanes screaming away at the back of the cabin. The helicopter slowed but gravity would not let go of it. The helicopter hit the ground forcefully, flattening its cockpit, then scrapping its battered nose across a road, rolling over to its side a few times before coming to a rest with highly volatile kerosene leaking out of its tanks.

Jean Paul fell into semi-consciousness. He could hear a faint relentless and hoarse yelping of agony somewhere in the cabin. He was numb all over. His eyelids were half-closed. He could not move a muscle and could hardly breathe. The yelping continued, but he decided to ignore it. Someone screamed in his face for his name, and then dragged him out of the battered helicopter wreckage. Broken bits of glass cut into his skin and his chin. Finally out of the wreckage, he could breathe. Strength returned to him, and so did the sense of touch. That brought consciousness and pain back into his mind. His left shoulder hurt terribly. Searing pain surged from the dislocated shoulder. Blood streamed down his cheek, mixing with the sticking sweat. He pushed himself off the hard ground, which he realized was in the middle of a deserted road. The crushed wreckage of the helicopter was some ten meters away from him. Inside still was the lieutenant, who might just be dead, especially since his head was no longer fixed on his neck. It had been severed by the impact of the crash, perhaps.

Zenda knelt beside him with a bloody wound on her knee and an obvious bruise on her head. He did not know what injuries he had sustained. Perhaps a few cuts and maybe a dislocated shoulder. The pain in his shoulder still hurt. It throbbed painfully. He was still in a daze, looking forlornly at the wreckage. Ahead, he could see a screaming Kisshan pulling himself out of the wreckage. A metal rod was pierced through his abdomen. Brandon was lying outside the helicopter wreckage, unconscious but obviously breathing. Vanes was probably still in the wreckage.

Jean Paul was in no mood to help Kisshan. He was in a daze. He looked around him with little understanding or comprehension of his surroundings. Ahead, a zombie had hopped onto the helicopter wreckage and screeched a war cry. It hopped down onto Kisshan who was fumbling at the ground for leverage to get himself of the ground or to get rid of the pain somehow. He continued screaming.

Zenda tugged at Jean Paul. She screamed into his ear, “Go. Let's go.”

The scream woke him up from his daze. He scanned the surroundings for any form of shelter that will protect them from zombies. His eyes fixed on a green pick-up truck at the side of the road, with its driver door opened. Pulling Zenda along, he sprinted to the pick-up, pushed Zenda in and closed the door, before locking it. The shelter would not last long against a zombie attack but it would do for the moment. The safe zones were at least three kilometers away, there was no chance of making it there on foot. With hope, maybe the pick-up might have the ignition keys somewhere in it.

Zenda read Jean Paul's mind and began searching. Outside back at the wreckage, Kisshan had stopped screaming. He was dead, with his head incapacitated.

“Found it!” Zenda said a loud with a a ring of keys in her hands.

“Which one?” Jean Paul yelled, exasperatedly.

“I don't know!”

Jean Paul snatched the key and tried to slam it into the ignition keyhole one by one, testing which key was the right key.

The zombie at the wreckage had now turned its attention on them. They did not have much time left. Around them, more zombies were appearing, approaching the pick-up truck swiftly. And then with a sudden howl from one of the zombies, they bounded rapidly towards the pick-up.

Soon, the zombies was all over the pick-up striking at the hull and the glass. The metal hull was dented and the glass was cracked.

“Come on! Come on! Come on!” Jean Paul tried to start the engine, repeatedly turning the ignition key. The engine finally roared to life and he stepped on the accelerator. The truck sped away with rough acceleration. The heavily guarded checkpoints of the safe zone beckoned. So close, but yet so far.

The pick-up accelerated forward, sending the zombies hanging on to the truck flying onto the road. Zombies rushed at the pick-up at all directions, and those rushing head-on with the pick-up were slammed by the bonnet of the pick-up. The zombies were crushed and some tumbled over the bonnet over the windscreen.

“Jean Paul! Have you driven before?” Zenda screamed, shock at Jean Paul's reckless driving. “I think I would have a higher chance of dying in this pick-up than dying due to the zombies.”

Jean Paul ignored her and stepped on the accelerator repeatedly as if he was releasing his tantrum on the accelerator. The repeated hitting of the zombies finally activated the airbags, which exploded in their faces. Jean Paul ignored the airbag and swore. He continued driving on, crashing through hordes of mindless zombies.

The windscreen could no longer take the crashing and shattered inwards. Jean Paul ignored it too, and continued stepping on the accelerator. The crashing stopped when they neared the checkpoint. Zombies were probably killed off long before they could reach near the gates of the checkpoint. And just then, the engine died. The pick-up slowed to a stop. Smoke bellowed out of the blood-stained bonnet.

“What do we do now?” Zenda asked, looking at the rear windows and saw a tsunami of zombies swarming forward.

“Run!” Jean Paul yelled, flinging the door open and made his last sprint for safety. Twenty meters to safety. Zenda tailed behind. The pair made their fastest ever shutter run, crashing into through the recently opened gates. The gates timely swung shut the moment they went through, blocking the zombies out. The machine guns in the watchtowers opened up on the zombies. Jean Paul slowed his rapid breathing down. Safety. He was in safety. They were in safety. Just two of them. Two of the forty 2A1 students. Jean Paul looked dully at his feet. They were in safety. He heaved a sigh of relief. Beside him, Zenda was absorbed in forlornness.

~~~

Day 5. 1.42 A.M.

The quarantine room was crammed but clean and comfortable. Jean Paul sipped slowly from a cup of water. The water rejuvenated him. It quenched his thirst, and his sadness. He could see through the small window in the locked door, the safety of civilization.

The door opened. A nurse walked inside and with a smile announced, “Congratulations, Jean Paul Wee and Zenda Tan. You both have tested negative for the Mentis Incognita virus. You are free to go.”

“Miss, are our parents alive or anyone from our school,” Zenda asked tentatively, unsure of what the answer would be.

The nurse looked at the clipboard in her hand and looked up again at them without her smile, “I am so sorry. None of you parents had registered themselves in the refugee camps. And from our registers, both of you are the only survivors from your school. We have not keyed in you names into the registers yet though. I'm very sorry.”

Zenda choked over on her words, “Thank you.”

Jean Paul's eyes were red, but it did not express sadness. He sighed and then said, “To hell with the registers, we survived.”

To be continued...
Remember to comment on the chat box!
All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 11

2010-05-22T09:00:00.001+08:00

Day 4. 7.32 P.M.

The dimming sunlight was swiftly sucked out of the classroom. Night had fallen, but the entire class was filled with excited anticipation. In about two hours time, the class would be off to the safe zones in a helicopter, flying high above the dangers of the zombies. Safety beckoned towards them. Most of the survivors were sitting restlessly hoping that time would pass faster.

At the moment, relative time was passing at the slowest speed ever, and most survivors were simply unable to take the boredom. The only survivor that did not seem excited or happy about the imminent helicopter pick-up was none other than Qiu Yuan. He sat with his back against the wall, with his face downcast in gloom. His sadness was further deepen by the loneliness the rest of the survivors left him in. Beside the wounded survivor, was an arm-long wooden rod with the tip wrapped in kerosene soaked clothes.

Jean Paul crawled over to Qiu Yuan with a hotdog bun in his hand. With concern in his voice, Jean Paul queried the fourth time, “Are you sure you want to stay behind?”

“Jean Paul. This is the fourth time you are asking me the question. What if I go with you guys anyway? It is quite a long run to the school field from here. With the bad condition of my leg, I don't think I can catch up with you all, and the zombies are getting faster. It would be better and a greater use of myself if I just stay behind.”

“Thank you so much. But Qiu Yuan, it just doesn't seem fair. You have done so much for us, and yet, now you have to sacrifice yourself. Why not let someone else like Alfred or Jia Yong, who have not done anything good at all to sacrifice themselves?”

“Jean Paul, if they do the lighting instead, I too will die, because I cannot run. So what is the use of letting go of two lives, when you can make do with just one?” Qiu Yuan explained with much animated actions.

Jean Paul looked into Qiu Yuan's eyes before nodding his head and mouthing two words: thank you.

Zenda screamed abruptly, “Zom zoms!”

Everyone's head swerved to the barricades. Outside, there was near to no light outside. The zombies swarming forward were stage 4, or higher, and that meant that the survivors would be under the threat of zombie attacks twenty-four hours by dawn, since they no longer were vulnerable to light. Stage 4 zombies would starve to death in less than two days or less. The virus-induced tumour in their brains would have consumed the remaining nutrients within the zombies body by the second day and the zombies would all just die out.

However, there were zombies of different stages all around them, as such, it would take at least seven more days before there were totally no more zombies. They swarmed forward in all directions

The barricades shuddered violently with heavy banging on the wood and metal. The zombies were howling, screeching like hawks screeching into loud speakers. The barricades were breaking apart and creaking to pieces, with chairs and tables being thrown off balance and falling onto the survivors trying to brace the barricades. It was useless. The wild zombies would eventually break through. The grim situation was only made worst with the fact that ammunition was absolutely scarce. Kanesh had used the majority of the reserved ammunition. Their infections were rather imminent. Jean Paul had a real bad feeling about it.

Behind the wall of of fledgling survivors trying desperately to brace the soon-to-be breached barricades was Alfred who was wildly trying to get through the door to the balcony, but he seemed to have some problem unlocking the door. Or perhaps, in his blind desperate haste to get out, he just did not seem to be able to control his cognitive and motor abilities, such to an extent where he could not unlock the balcony door.

He screamed at the top of his voice, emptying out his lungs, “I want out! I want out! Get me out of here! I want out!”

He banged on the door like a madman and then flailed his arms crazily around like some kind of pedal, all while continually screaming away in a total lost of control. After a prolonged moment of mad outburst, he finally curled up at the corner of the class with both of his hands wrapped round his knees tightly, rocking back and forth, while quietly mumbling words of possibly prayer. His eyes were of wide-eyed terror or even madness, and his expression betrayed all of his fears to the rest of the survivors. After curling up at the corner for a few minutes, sill absolutely oblivious to the relentless shaking and banging of the barricades, Alfred started screaming again in rhythmic burst.

Jean Paul shook his head in dismay, Alfred, like Kanesh had cracked up, and possibly thanks to the beating from Brandon. Speaking of Brandon, Jean Paul was worried that Brandon would abandon his bracing of the barricades and attempt to silence an unbearable Alfred; and that was exactly what he seemed to be about to do.

Jean Paul yelled above the din the combined banging of the barricades, howling of the zombies and screaming of Alfred, “Brandon! No! We need you here! We need every person! Ignore Alfred, he's not doing any harm yet!”

The terrible orchestra of noises drowned out Jean Paul's screaming. He started wonder if Brandon had heard him at all. Jean Paul tried again after seeing Brandon glare at Alfred even more sharply, “Brandon! Ignore Alfred. I... said... ignore Alfred!”

“Shut the fuck up! There's enough of noises already!” Brandon yelled in Jean Paul's face, much to his shock. And then Brandon yelled at Alfred, who obviously was in no capable state of understanding anything at all, “Alfred! You better shut up, or I'll kill you!”

Brandon still braced the barricades tightly. Jean Paul was thankful for that, but he did not know how much longer would Brandon brace it. In his heart, he wished fervently that Alfred would indeed shut up. And he would, after Brandon bashed him up with fiery might.

Brandon abandoned his side of the barricade and rushed forward at Alfred, fist first. With an effortless kick in the chin, he sent Alfred hurtling into the balcony door. The crunch of the impact made an indelible memory imprint in Jean Paul, that he was sure, would stay with him forever. Alfred slumped to the ground slightly dazed with his screaming stopped. However, that ceased screaming did not satisfy Brandon's burning anger and possibly insanity. He brought punches upon punches on Alfred's face in swift, successive strikes. Alfred just lay on the floor in semi-consciousness, letting his nose fracture and letting the fresh, choking blood flow outwards over his face with some of those streams going down his throat, bringing out gurgles of foam. Brandon finally stopped his payload and walked off. Blood of both his and Alfred's remained coated on his fist with some splats on his white uniform. The fact that there was cuts and bruises on Brandon's fist, meant that Alfred's face would be even more battered.

The survivors looked on in silent fear, while Brandon went back to bracing the barricades. Alfred remained on the ground with his limbs sprawled. Foam and blood still gurgling out his mouth and nostrils in sickly sounds. His face seemed out of shape and his features did not resemble a human's. From the look of blood, one could suspect that he was dead.

Zenda decided not to look at Alfred's disdain body and instead decided to think of what she would do, if she manages to some how escape from the class back to the safe zones, and how she would recover her screwed up life. Starting an ice-cream shop, marrying Jean Paul, go to the moon, give free hugs on Orchard Road, overcome lizard phobia, experience an orgasm, write stories about zombies and teens fighting them, take up charity work, create a theme park, become a fan of Star Wars and many more...

Oh well, life did not seem that screwed up after all, if she could somehow escape from the fucked up place...

~~~

Day 4. 9.23 P.M.

Jean Paul felt very exhausted. Sweat drenched his stinking shirt and frustration filled his veins. Time seemed to be going far too slow. However, he was grateful that they had somehow managed to survive the past two hours, bracing the barricades with all their muscles. And now, their muscles were slag. The zombies out there continued howling away menacingly, seemingly having unlimited strength. Alfred had thankfully stopped foaming and was now probably being rather happy in Valhalla, whatever was that. 37 more minutes to the helicopter pick up. Minutes passed really slowly as if some divine figure up in the air was sadistic enough to slow down time so that he/she could watch the batch of survivors suffer; but regardless of how retarded or illogical was that assumption, Jean Paul was beginning to believe it more and more. Damn Einstein for that theory on time and relativity, Jean Paul thought, but wait, even if he had not come up with the theory, they would still be suffering the really long minutes. Well, then damn the divine figure up in the air. Some shit we are suffering...

Finally, Jean Paul decided to let his mind wander, rather than stare at the moving clock hands. But something smashed through the glass shutters that separated the balcony from the class. It could not be...a zombie?

It was a zombie, stage 5 at the very least. And it had somehow managed to jump up or climb up to the balcony. The undead stood hunched by the wall, facing the direction of the survivors. It stayed were at was, as if waiting for some response. The survivors did not give any response, They were stricken stiff with fear, cowering back against the barricades, trying to put some distance between the intruding zombie and themselves. There was no extra distance.

And then, as if noting that the survivors had fully taken note of it, the zombie howled a thee top of its voice, screeching away a deafening screech. It bent down to take hold of a dead Alfred who happened to be in its path and forcefully flung him out through the balcony. Like a rag-doll, the zombie howled another time. It bounded forward but was met by resistance from Joel who keep striking down at the zombie with the butt of a dummy rifle. The rifle was useless, like a small hammer hitting a thick sheet of titanium.
The zombie swung its claws at Joel. The claws tore through Joel's neck. He fell on his knees, grabbing at his neck trying to stop the bleeding, or more of like coming to terms with the fact that the only thing linking his head with his body was a thin piece of intact bone fragment. Blood spurted out in thin sprays, until his head turned white, before he slumped head first onto the ground. The zombie let out a final ear-splitting screech, only to be brought down by a precise shot in the head by Brandon. The zombie regardless of his much muscle it had, was brought down by a tiny article known as the bullet. Even though the zombie was dead, Jean Paul was not feeling very good. His stomach knotted and his heart stopped. He had heard more howling from the direction of the balcony. The balcony had no barricades. It was open for attack. The only thing that might stop the zombies from coming from there was the terrible stench of urine and defecation at the furthest end of the balcony. However, Jean Paul was unsure whether the zombies could smell at all.

The next thing that Jean Paul heard however, changed his terrorized mood entirely. Despite the howling and screeching of zombies, and the shuddering of the barricades, he could still hear a faint rumble in a distance. It was getting louder and could only mean one thing: their helicopter was here. Lieutenant Alvin Tan was early. Jean Paul smiled slightly, but still kept vigilant. His hopes had brightened again. Soon, the rumble of the helicopter engine was sweeping over them. Glaring searchlights scanned across the school ground with the beam constantly sweeping into the classroom, filling the dark gloom with white light. Jean Paul squinted, like the rest of the survivors, but it was good assurance. The increasing sweeping of the searchlights into the classroom, meant that the helicopter had probably found their refuge and probably knew that thanks to the surge of zombies, the survivors they were to pick up could not get out.

The deafening sounds of the helicopter blades chopping through the air was drowned out suddenly by an even louder repetitive dat-dat-dat-dat-dat-dat-dat. Gunfire. The heavy calibre rounds ripped through the tide of zombies. They were ripped to bloody shreds and rendered neutralized. “Neutralized” was too light a word for the method of which they were killed off. The bullets chopped through them like a thousand needles through a sheet of toilet paper. Finally the ear-splitting roar of gunfire ceased, and Jean Paul's were ringing, exposed to too high decibels. Peering over the barricades, the survivors saw nothing but shreds of flesh and lumps of blood.

The helicopter sailed away from them to the school field to land and pick them up. Jean Paul yelled at the survivors, although wondering whether the ringing in their ears had hindered their hearing, “Let's go! Go, go, go!”

Taking only the loaded M-16s for their last sprint to safety, the survivors left the classroom for good. Classroom 13, was abandoned, drained of life, leaving only a dead Joeld and a killed zombie who used to be a student named Isabella. They were the last occupants of classroom 2A1...

~~~

Day 4. 9.54 P.M.

Qiu Yuan lit the wooden rod and flung it onto the pile of dead bodies. The lit rod fell a meter away from the targeted pile. It would take at least a few minutes before the fire could reach the pile of dead bodies.

He stumbled down the stairs, lagging behind the rest of the survivors who had completely forgotten about him. His leg hurt unbearably. He could not walk. He could only crawl on the floor, using his hands and his one good leg to thrust himself forward. The helicopter would not wait for him. He was doomed. A zombie howled behind him, and after a searing pain in his backside, Qiu Yuan started laughing uncontrollably...

The survivors sprinted across the parade square towards the awaiting helicopter in the school field. Jean Paul and Brandon fired around, trying to repel zombies who decided to tail them. The remaining survivors, Jean Paul, Kisshan, Zenda, Vanes, Brandon, Siew Ann, Joel and Jia Yong continued running across the Parade Square, fuelled by adrenalin. It was a feat that some of them never could achieve, sprinting swiftly for such a long distance, but when it was a matter of life and death, feats could be achieved. Siew Ann and Jia Yong lagged behind the survivors and could not be protected by Jean Paul and Brandon whose accuracy was hindered by running. The trailing zombies caught up with them and pounced on the two lagging survivors and they were lost to the virus.

Finally, they reached the entrance to the field. Shoving aside the gates, they scrambled for the helicopter. The personnel on-board beckoned for them. They continued sprinting, not caring about the burning sensation in their muscles and the tightness of their lungs. Jean Paul and Brandon ditched their rifles before crashing on board. When the survivors were all on board, the craft lifted off the ground. The zombies caught up with the survivors but were repelled by the defensive covering fire from the helicopter. The helicopter bounded away, and unbeknownst to the survivors, a zombie still clung on to the one of the helicopter's hooks...

~~~

Fire slowly ate up the pile of dead bodies, gathering speed and swiftly ate up the pile of dead bodies, turning it into an impromptu funeral pyre. The flames burned strongly, fuelled by kerosene and body fats. The fire burned, away into the night, away from the slowly softening rumble of helicopter blades... The flames grew, eating up the stairwell the funeral pyre was beside and soon raged through the first and second floor of the school. The flames burned, like a spider growing and absorbing the concrete and flesh. The abandoned classroom that used to house the class of 2A1 burned. Fire engulfed the classroom, fire spread across the barricades, eating up the materials. The remaining bodies left behind in it was lost to the flames while the notice board at the back of the class was burned. The soot-stained paper banner with the words “Majulah 2A1” or otherwise “Onward 2A1” was slowly engulfed by the flames. Orange, crackling flames ate up the banner which used to define the unique class, which was unfortunately disunited for all of its uniqueness. The banner shrivelled in the flames and soon, the words “2A1” on it faded into the flames that grew around it, lost to the flames of destruction...~

To be continued...
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All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 10

2010-05-15T09:00:00.000+08:00

Day 4. 3.04 P.M.

Flies whizzed past busily, only to swat by a furious Brandon. He looked furiously on the edge of exploding. Veins stood out vividly on his red-flushed face, while his eyes pierced menacingly at the “prisoners” who reeled back in fear at every increase in decibel of Brandon's yelling. Each time Brandon yelled at them in an furious outburst that embodied his inner frustrations, his hair that was clumped together in sweat shook wildly. The remaining prisoners, which consisted of only Joel, Alfred and Jia Yong. They posted no more danger to the rest of the survivors. Joel had already woken up to his common sense while Jia Yong was listless and went with the wind, now that he no longer had Kanesh to direct him on what to do. Alfred was just apathetic and reluctant in every he did, making sure that he got on the nerves of everyone.

Brandon was oblivious to their harmlessness, he continued on yelling at them, releasing his previously suppressed and long overdue payload on them. The rest of the survivors, or what was left of them, stood away from Brandon. Jean Paul seemed no longer in the reigns of the survivors. It was Brandon who was calling the shots.

Qiu Yuan sat on a chair with both of his hands clenched tightly around his bandaged thigh. The white bandage was drenched in red blood. The bodies of Jing Wei, Stephanie, Wee-Lin and Kanesh were heartlessly dumped out of the class onto the pile of slain zombies Brandon and Kanesh had formed a few days ago. There was no body bag to keep the dead survivors in, neither was there any funeral to honour the dead. There was only a solemn silence that fell over the remaining survivors, consisting of Jean Paul, Zenda, Kisshan, Vanes, Siew Ann and Qiu Yuan. Brandon on the other hand was still shouting away, apparently repeated statements that the “prisoners” were to blamed for their plight.

Zenda wiped off her tears and finally managed to gather her jittery self together. She plodded off the the transponder radio. Jean Paul followed her, trying to be rid of his listless boredom. The stifling classroom had already taken a dreadful toll on Jean Paul. He did not like it all. He wanted desperately to get out of the place but the only possible outcome of getting out of the class was infection.

The rays of the sun was progressively weaker and the stages of the infection in the zombies were progressively getting higher. Any moment now, a upper stage zombie would appear and start attacking the class. It was only four in the afternoon but such an outlook was plausible.

“You know how to work this thing?” Zenda asked in a soft choking voice, still recovering from her crying. She turned the two different dials on the radio face repeatedly. It did not respond. The radio was probably dead.

“You see this lever here,” Jean Paul pointed at a red lever on hinges at the top of the radio. “I think it is a dynamo. Meaning that you have to keep pumping the lever to supply the electricity to the radio.”

“That sucks. It means that we'll have to keep pumping the radio,” Vanes pointed out.

Kisshan retorted, “It's a good thing actually. It means that we do not need to rely on batteries or electric supply.”

Zenda wasted no time. She started pumping the lever up and down. The radio whirred to live. Jean Paul took over her, relieving her from the energy-taxing pumping. Jean Paul pumped the lever at a faster speed. Instantly, there was sounds drifting through the ageing speakers on the radio, with brighter light display. With more fine tuning on the dials by Zenda, the radio transmitted a clear transmission from the 98.7 FM radio station:

...an hourly message from the Singapore Armed Forces: All residents still trapped in the quarantine zones, please evacuate yourselves to the save zones immediately. If you are unable to do so, you may contact the quarantine-evac portal at 1800-1638-EVAC or if you have an available transponder radio, tune to THX 11-38 FM for assistance...

Zenda did as told. With the dial, she turned the dial and the arrow on the display pointed squarely at THX 11-38 FM. A clear beeping signal was emitted every three seconds and between those three seconds, static blurred the airwaves.

Behind the interested survivors, Brandon was still yelling away at the remaining prisoners. His voice had already turned hoarse, but he was still shouting. Siew Ann was not present in the class. She had gone out into the balcony, which now smelt terribly of urine, for a toilet break. Vanes took over the pumping of the lever, while Jean Paul took the mouthpiece.

“Hello? Hello? Is this the emergency channel?” Jean Paul asked tentatively into the mouthpiece. There was only static, which was made worst by the ceaseless shouting of Brandon.

Zenda shouted, “Shut up Brandon! We're trying to do something here.”

Brandon ignored her and continued shouting away with an increasingly hoarse voice. Jean Paul irritably threw down the mouthpiece and marched towards Brandon. He pinned Brandon against the wall, slapping him once in the face. Then in his face, Jean Paul frustratedly shouted, “I said shut up.”

Silence fell. Jean Paul released Brandon from his grip and returned the the radio.

“Hailing the emergency channel. Can anyone hear me? We are a group of ten survivors trapped in a classroom in Clementi Town Secondary. Can someone please answer?” Jean Paul's calm tone turned into a distraught plea.

There was nothing but beeping and static. Finally after a full three seconds of waiting, a static-filled voice replied, “Who is this? Can you please state you intentions?”

“I am Jean Paul Wee. Me, along with nine other people, are trapped in a classroom in Clementi Town Secondary. Can you please rescue us. I beg you please.”

There was only static. The radio suddenly powered down.

Vanes excused herself, “It's tiring pumping the radio? How did you do it, Jean Paul?”

Kisshan immediately took over the pumping. The radio came back to life. Jean Paul ignored Vanes's question, which was duly answered by a laughing Zenda, “Well, guys wank and we don't wank. So they actually train they're arm muscles.”

Jean Paul defensively retorted, “No! I do not masturbate!”

Zenda and Vanes smiled suggestively, but their moment of teasing was interrupted by a reply through the radio, “Paul, this is Lieutenant Alvin Tan, please describe the conditions of the survivors... under you care? Are you the leader?”

“I am Jean Paul, not Paul. And yes, I can be considered their leader. We have a total of ten survivors. Two girls and eight boys. We are Secondary Twos for you information, erm, one is shot in the leg. We have applied pressure to the wound. We have barricaded ourselves in the second floor classroom for four days already.”

“Wait, how did the guy sustain the bullet wound?” the lieutenant asked. Jean Paul explained the entire summarised sequence of events. Throughout the entire explanation, the dynamo pumper had to be changed thrice. Obviously, Kisshan did not masturbate, or perhaps he was just weak.

“Alright. Jean Paul, you tell the rest of the survivors that we will have a helicopter team to pick all of you up at 2230 hours at your school field, ” the lieutenant continued, with a little disbelief that the survivors managed to obtain the M-16s. “Please tune in to the radio if possible. We may change the location of the pick-up if the field is not big enough. It should big enough. We are currently analysing the satellite maps.”

“Wait. Why at night? The zombies are most active then.”

“We will have to evacuate you out ASAP. Anyway, it does not make any matter whether it's night or day for the infected can mostly roam in both night and day soon. Another thing, if possible, try to create a big bonfire in the opposite direction of the field to attract the infected away. Light it only fifteen minutes before the pick-up.”

“Okay. We do as told. Thank you so much.”

“Affirmative.” The radio reverted back to beeping and static.

Jean Paul faced the survivors, “You heard him. Let's make a bonfire.”

Joel spoke out at last with commendable logic, “Jean Paul, the zombies out there might be stage 5 or 6 at the most. We cannot risk going out even in the day.”

Brandon shot him a menacing glare. Zenda stood to Joel's defence, “I agree. It is not logical to go out there just to create a bonfire. After all, where do we even get the wood from?”

“There are many small logs of wood below the staircase near the canteen toilets,” Kisshan quipped.

Vanes objected, “It is quite a far walk to there from the class you know. And it will take quite long to place all the wood down to make a camp fire.”

“You guys forgot the pile of dead zombies and dead survivors,” Jean Paul said. “We just need a few logs to pile around the pile and some kerosene or oil.”

The survivors looked at him blankly.

“So you intend to burn Jing Wei and the rest,” Zenda repined with a tone of apprehension.

“We will be giving them a dignified funeral by burning them, rather than letting decompose along with the dead zombies,” Joel said.

Zenda looked at the boys with a worried frown. “Guys, I am not taking part in this. You guys can go ahead, I just do not want to use my classmates as fuel.”

“Alright, then we'll go,” Joel said.

Brandon said firmly with adamant objection, “the prisoners stay.”

“They are prisoners, no longer,” Jean Paul retorted.

“I said the prisoners stay!” He yelled.

“And why?” Alfred asked with growing anger.

“Because you prisoners cannot be trusted. And because one of you is smelly.” Brandon jabbed at Alfred, using “smelly”, the disliked nickname of Alfred. Alfred took no more of the discrimination. He launched himself at Brandon, pinning on the ground. Alfred let out a screeching war cry, before letting off a series of punches at Brandon's face. Small droplets of blood splattered away on Alfred's face. Brandon pushed the petite-sized Alfred away. Alfred was thrown onto the floor. His black-rimmed spectacles bounced off his face while he lay on the ground, grimacing in pain.

Brandon was relentless in his attack. He leaped forward to the weak Alfred, pulling him up by the collar and then hurling him forcefully into the whiteboard hanging on the wall. Alfred smashed into the whiteboard, denting the sparkling white surface, before slumping onto the ground with blood dripping down from his nose.

“You fucking piece of shit. You can't even injure me,” Brandon taunted with contempt in his voice. Alfred took the insult personal. He pushed himself off the ground and charged towards Brandon. He slammed into Brandon with his hands continually burying itself into Brandon's abdomen. Brandon yelped for a moment before regaining his high point. Brandon grabbed Alfred by the hair and punched in the face, before hurling him, like a rag-doll, straight into the whiteboard again.

Upon impact, the whiteboard broke free from the wall and collapsed onto the ground with a deafening thud. It narrowly missed Alfred who now lay on the ground wiping his tears and blood while grimacing over the pain of his internal injuries and the pain of his lost pride.

“I know you're jealous of my abs. Go work on yours instead of trying to punch mine,” Brandon taunted again with a smug smile. Much to the relief of the rest of the survivors, Alfred did not fight back this time. Brandon plodded away, analysing his shredded school uniform.

“Alright then, me, Joel and Kisshan shall get the wood and kerosene,” Jean Paul said finally after the tensed situation calmed down. He wanted desperately to get out of the place. It was stifling and killing him with boredom.

With affirming nods, the trio left with two loaded M-16s.

~~~

Day 4. 3.28 P.M.

“Why was Brandon picking on us so much?” Joel finally asked, after the pressing question had gnawed at him relentless.

“I really don't know. I gotta a feeling he is cracking up like Kanesh,” Jean Paul guessed.

Kisshan chipped in, “Then, we better get rid off him before he starts shooting all of us.”

“That won't be necessary. The helicopter's coming tonight. What can possibly happen in that time before it comes?” Jean Paul said positively. They stacked the thin logs of wood against the rotting small hill of dead infected. Flies circled round the decomposing pile while maggots crawled among the sickly blackish fluids the flesh had become. The entire hill was sickly. The stench of decomposition was simply terrible. None of the trio wanted to get close to the decomposing hill. Jean Paul gingerly placed five logs against the pile of dead corpses before reeling back away from the pile to vomit.

It was revolting. The sight of the dead corpses made their stomachs churn. It made all of them want to vomit. Jean Paul was sure that he would get nightmares for the rest of his days. Nonetheless, they had to light the pile up in fire, and for that to happen, they needed to place wood on it.

Holding their breaths, they instead resorted to throwing the logs at the towering pile of corpses. It was not exactly accurate but it would serve its purpose nonetheless. After a long sickly moment of throwing the wood at the dead body, the trio proceeded on to dressing the small hill with kerosene.

The less pungent odour of kerosene was a much needed relief. The kerosene was hurled out of the canisters at the hill. Systematically, they dressed the hill with kerosene, pouring it over and around the hill. The highly flammable liquid soaked the hill. Maggots squirmed in their nestings while flies whizzed about frantically, as if sensing their imminent demise in either a thick watery grave or a burning hill. The kerosene canisters were emptied at last. At last, their job was done. Throwing the empty canister aside, they returned to their classroom, smelling of kerosene. All it would take was a small little flame to turn the decomposing hill of dead bodies into a blazing funeral pyre.

~~~

Day 4. 4.02 A.M.

“Guys, we need someone to stay behind to light the fire,” Jean Paul announced to the class, holding up an arm-long log of wood with the tip wrapped in kerosene soaked clothes. No one volunteered. Everyone intended to stay alive. Jean Paul scanned the classroom for promising individuals. There were none. They were just selfish self-serving bastards. Damn all of them. But Jean Paul had to admit that he too was unwilling to volunteer to sacrifice himself. Only someone like Jordan would that, but at the moment, Jordan was infected already and there was no one like Jordan. Jean Paul slumped dishearteningly on the ground, muttering, “Fuck all of you.”

Our effort has gone to waste, Jean Paul thought, no one wants to light the fire, and all of us will probably die. Fuck them all. Fuck all of them.

A crackling voice said, amidst the silence, “I'll do it.”~
To be continued...
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All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 9

2010-05-08T09:00:00.001+08:00

Day 4. 11.57 A.M.

Alfred Low felt a growing elation in his heart that he could hardly contained. Each time Qiu Yuan turned his head back to look at the “prisoners”, Alfred had to contain his smile. Concealed among the “prison” walls that was a makeshift pile of desk and chairs was an M-16 he had managed to secretly obtain amid the confusion of the zombie attack last night. The irregular pattern of which the tables and chairs were stacked provided an excellent concealment hold for the rifle.

A rifle in the hands of the prisoners would make splendid possibilities that could very well boost them back into power again. Alfred slowly lifted one of the chairs to check on the rifle. He was still in mild-disbelief that he had the rifle, it was too much a surprise for him and his actions he took to steal the rifle was too quick for him to register.

He was waiting for the perfect time to unveil his secret weapon, but it was not time yet and the bad thing was that he could hardly keep his excitement down.

Alfred was an enthusiastic NCC member, and like Jordan, he could work the M-16 pretty well and was fully capable of having better marksmanship than any of the other survivors around, which included Jing Wei. Alfred was just ready to wrap his hands around Jing Wei's neck and beat the life out of him for his betrayal. Alfred was intending to settle the score, and he wanted to do it soon.

However, he kept the knowledge that he had the M-16 rifle in his possession to himself. It would do no good telling Joel or the rest. They would all make a lot noise trying to be the one in charge of the rifle, or otherwise wanting their decisions on how to seize back control of the class to be not only heard but carried out. After all, every one in the prison were selfish opportunist looking for all ways and means to obtain more honour, glory, attention, fame, power or money. Over the past few hours of confinement to the makeshift cell, Alfred had grown to dislike everyone else in the cell, and was sure that his sentiments was equally felt by everyone else in the cell. But if they had the opportunity to seize back control of the class, Alfred was rather sure that the dislikes would instantly disappear.

He waited a few more unbearable moments, until main figure heads of the survivors, Kisshan, Brandon, Vanes and Siew Ann had left the class to gather more supplies, leaving only two guards, Jing Wei and Qiu Yuan; with an injured Jean Paul tended by Zenda; and also the rest of the insignificant survivors which now were only girls: Stephanie and Magena.

After a final few more moments of intense contemplation in his mind, Alfred decided to carry on. Alfred stood, brandishing the rifle in his hands. Immediately, Jing Wei and Qiu Yuan were horrified with the realization of their imminent deaths daunting upon them. They reeled back in suppressed gasps and instinctively let go of their dummy rifles, while lifting their hands up to signal their conformity.

A few more intense moments passed where everyone was quiet. Even the rest of the prisoners were quiet, confused by what was happening. The only person that seemed in control was of course Alfred. Jean Paul woke and in a hasty and desperate tone pleaded, “Alfred. Do not shoot. Relax. We want no one to get hurt. We will do as you say, just do not shoot.”

Jean Paul was firmly sure that Alfred did not have the guts to kill anyone, let alone shoot anyone. He was not afraid of Joel or Jia Yong either; he was instead, afraid of Kanesh...

Alfred looked unimpressed. His lips were tight-lipped and his eyebrows furrowed down to a look of either anger or mental contemplation. His expression was blank with a tinge of a non-yielding attitude; his expressions betrayed nothing.

Qiu Yuan was not sure whether Alfred was too afraid to shoot anyone, or whether he was just delaying to execution to play on the feelings of the survivors. Qiu Yuan read Alfred's expression as nervousness. He seized his chance.

With his fist, the over-sized Qiu Yuan knocked Alfred away. The small-bodied Alfred, like rag-doll on the hands of a giant was pushed aside with little effort. Alfred fell forcefully onto the prison and the M-16 fell straight into the open palms of Kanesh who stood immediately and fired off a shot into Qiu Yuan's right thigh.

The bullet exited the gun barrel in a deafening roar that jerked everyone back. The bullet made its entrance into the thigh, embedding itself in the thigh bone. Qiu Yuan howled, before slipping onto the ground, grasping his thigh in pain.

Everyone was stunned and dumb-founded. Jean Paul said nothing, Zenda covered her mouth and Stephanie screamed a sharp but short scream.

Jing Wei reacted immediately, yelling unformed words too quick to be comprehensible. Kanesh turned to face Jing Wei with the tip of the gun pointed at him. Jing Wei looked down the barrel with dismay, hoping that he would be given the same mercy of just being shot in the leg. Jing Wei's hopes were not fulfilled.

A quick successive burst of ear-splitting rounds blasted right through the Jing Wei's forehead. He was thrown backwards onto the ground with a gaping hole in his head, sprouting out lumps of flesh and fresh blood. The lifeless form of Jing Wei remained motionlessly on the ground his unseeing eyes wide-open.

Stephanie screamed a prolonged, high-pitch scream. Zenda looked away with her heart pounding furiously. Jean Paul stiffly looked dismayingly at the dead body, not knowing what to do. Qiu Yuan continued howling away at the searing, unbearable pain on his thigh. Joel was stricken-stiff by the unexpected, sudden murder of his close friend while Alfred looked on in dumb-foundedness, blown by the severity of Kanesh's insane actions. Everyone including the prisoners were terror-stricken by the brutality and violence. Silence crept along the class, with dreadful anticipation of what may happen next.

Everyone but Kanesh was stricken-stiff by the bloody death. Kanesh did no more than give an eerie smile with piercing bloodshot eyes, which could only describe one thing: insanity.

~~~

Day 4. 12.14 P.M.

Everyone jumped instinctively upon hearing the distant reverberating gunshots. Gunshots could mean a few things, one of which gnawed relentless at the hearts of the raiding party: one of Joel's company had obtained a gun and was now insane enough to massacre the other survivors in the class.

Piercing shrieks of agony from the classroom of 2A1 only further strengthened their assumption. The raiding party looked at each other, unsure of what to do. They were currently ransacking the staff room and found car keys that could be of much help. Brandon tightened his grip on his chunky M-16 and decided to break the silence, “Go back.”

They slipped the keys into their pockets and left the staff room, running towards the sound of muffled gunshots.

~~~

Day 4. 12.15 A.M

Zenda's blood ran cold. She was afraid, not for herself but for Jean Paul. Since Jean Paul was the elected leader, the first thing Kanesh would probably do was kill him. However, Zenda could not be sure. Kanesh seemed insane from his expression, and it was obvious that he was insane. His eyes were bloodshot and wide-opened with fury while veins stood vividly out from his forehead. Sweat dripped down his forehead, streaming into his smiling mouth.

From Zenda's perspective, it seemed as if Kanesh was trapped in between sadistic insanity and just pure furious insanity. Insane people never do the expected, which meant that a whole lot of other killings may just be imminent.

Silence continued to reign, broken only by the sharp screaming of a delirious Stephanie, confined in the pain of her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks while she knelt on the floor in a pathetic, broken figure.

Kanesh glared at her before muttering, “Shut up.”

She did not heed Kanesh's words or even notice that Kanesh was mentally unstable.

Kanesh repeated in a louder tone, “Shut up.”

Stephanie was oblivious to the calls. Kanesh had enough. He raised the rifle to his head and aimed for Stephanie. With a pull on the trigger, a short burst of deafening gunfire shook the room, resounding off the walls and echoing down the corridors.

A burst of bullets exploded through Stephanie's head, ripping fist-sized holes in her skull, before exiting out the head in an explosion of blood that spatted onto the floor. Stephanie slumped to the ground with blood gushing out the gaping hole, emptying out from her lifeless shell.

The second death jerked everyone, before sinking them into stunned dazedness. The other survivors including the prisoners had their eyes fixed on the dead body, unwilling to do anything. No sound was made; none except from Magena, who was trying desperately to muffle her sobbing. She bit her fingers, trying to suppress the scream that would empty out of her lungs. She could suppress it no longer and let the scream. The scream dragged and escalated into a shriek, but was cut off by another burst from Kanesh's rifle.

Bloodied shreds of clothing threads were circled around the bullet wounds on Magena's chest. She lay on the ground lifelessly with her eyes closed, beneath her thick glasses.

Kanesh scanned the class, acquiring his next target. His smile grew wider and wider. Zenda looked on with suppressed fear. She did not feel like screaming or crying. She just felt rooted to the ground in a daze. She took moments to register what was happening and felt that seconds that were passing by were like minutes. Time slowed to a stop and her head spinned. She was tired of the blood and sicked to her stomach.

She looked around her for support and found the an M-16 on the floor. Her dizziness ceased entirely. She now had a mission which she was intending to fulfil. It would take less than a second to pick the rifle up, another two more seconds to take aim, ten more seconds for last minute contemplation of whether to take a life, and a final split second to pull the trigger. That was thirteen and a half seconds. It was too long, and by the time she picked up the rifle, she would realize that there were bullets in her body.

Zenda needed a distraction and fast, before any other person was killed. She looked around gingerly. Her eyes landed on Jean Paul. He did not meet her gaze, instead he continued lying on the floor with his eyes closed, trying to sleep. He had obviously given up the will to live and the will to fight on. He would be of no help to me, Zenda thought. She had to do it herself.

A tensed moment of silence passed. They were only a few targets left: Zenda, Jean Paul, Qiu Yuan or the prisoners. It was easy picking, especially when the rest were unarmed. Zenda was unsure who Kanesh would kill next, or what he will do at all. Insane people were unpredictable. Kanesh continued to scan the room until his eyes stopped. His bloodshot eyes were gazing blankly at Zenda. Zenda saw it. Kanesh raised his rifle to his head, ready for his next kill. Zenda gulped, it did not look good.

“Kanesh! Drop the rifle!” A frantic voice ordered from outside the class. It was Brandon Kee. He had his M-16 pointing inside the class through the barricades. Zenda considered taking her chance but she considered against it. Kanesh was still pointing his rifle at her.

“Kanesh! I said drop it! Drop it, or I will shoot!” Brandon yelled tightening his grip. Kanesh fired at Brandon inaccurately. Gunfire erupted and bullets ricocheted off the barricades, forcing Brandon to duck. Zenda seized her chance. She leaped forward and grabbed the rifle before her, before landing on her heels with the aperture of the rifle trained onto Kanesh's head.

Kanesh took a blank glance back at Zenda, as if testing her, to see if she will really shoot. Zenda paused for a moment, unsure of what to do, trapped in a dilemma. She made her decision quick before Kanesh could react. A single bullet pumped forward, catching Kanesh in his forehead. Kanesh was thrown backwards into the “prison”, landing in a heap with blood sprouting out of a little hole in his head.

Zenda was stiff. She could not move any of her muscles. Her eyes could not look away from the lifeless body whom she had snatched its life from. She retreated backwards, letting the M-16 in her hands slip away. It fell to the floor in thud. Zenda retreated more steps back, into the outstretched arm of Jean Paul who had apparently recovered from his apathy.

He hugged her, and brought his face close to hers, whispering, “It's alright. Zenda, you did well.”

The raiding party filed through the door, looking dismayed at the sight of the bodies. Jean Paul continued to wrap his arms around her, spreading his warmth and support to her. He only loosen his grip after she started breathing normally again.

She looked back at Jean Paul with a white face, “Jean Paul, I...I...killed Kanesh. I killed a person. I killed a person... I killed a...person...”

Jean Paul hugged her tightly, softly reassuring Zenda, “You killed one person and saved three lives.”

Zenda would not bulge. Her guilty conscience was eating her up. 'I killed a person, Jean Paul. I killed a person.”

Jean Paul hugged her still, gently kissing her on her neck. “It's alright, Zenda. Don't think about it.” ~

To be continued...
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All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 8

2010-05-01T09:00:00.001+08:00

Day 4. 05.32 A.M.

The barricades were moving backwards, despite the large volume of assorted benches and tables stacked against it to hold it in place. There were highly agile Stage 5 zombies outside, possessing near-super human strength. The metal legs of the chairs were dented and bent from the repeated striking on either sides. Zombies swarmed forward from outside the class, pushing themselves against the barricades, trying to reach inside to grab for something, anything. They mindless struck their arms against the barricades, without any other goal than to get inside the class and infect the survivors. It was a predatory instinct, that would inevitably lead to the possible infections of the survivors inside.

The survivors inside were desperate. The fledging barricades were rocking backwards and the defenders were unwilling to spent their scarce ammunition. The only thing left to do was to strike at the zombies with the tip of the dummy rifles or prod them back with the butt of the dummy rifles. But the attempts were largely useless; all it did was repel zombies backwards.

Everyone, except for the “prisoners” and the “prison” guards were heavily involved in the effort to repel the zombie siege. The boys and some girls were forcefully swinging the dummy rifles at the zombies and the others were simply bracing the barricades, trying to lever out their strength with the strength the zombies were using to break through the barricades. Outside the class was a sea of zombies, and the sea of zombies no longer consisted of infected students and teachers of the school, it was infected people from outside the school in the neighbouring housing blocks and transportation hubs. The classroom of 2A1 was the centre-point whereby the zombies from across the heartland of Clementi were attracted to.

The situation looked dire. Any time now, the barricades would be breached and zombies would come swarming in, infecting everything in its path with the Mentis Incognito virus. There were too many zombies outside to hold against. The siege would soon bear fruits.

Jean Paul did not like the look of things. He also disliked the blood stains on the butt of the dummy rifle he was wielding and on his shirt that was soaked with sweat and blood. He had to wash it soon.

Looking away from the horrific sight of swarming zombies, he faced the empty holds of the classroom. The “prisoners” were huddled together at one corner of the class while all the other survivors were crowded at the barricades. Dummy rifles were littered all around the floor along with some M-16 rifles. One was missing, Jean Paul thought, looking down and counting at the M-16s. Or maybe perhaps he just did not see it properly. The dummy rifles could not be differentiated from M-16s in the deep darkness of the early morning.

Jean Paul brought his attention back to fighting the zombies. The barricades were shuddering wildly, threatening to break apart and tumble down. And that was exactly what would be happening if no more man-power could be found. The shuddering grew wilder and more violent. The zombies outside growled like threatened hyenas, striking against the barricade in relentless torrents.

Jean Paul called to the “prisoners” for help. They readily came, grateful that they no longer needed to squat achingly in the tiny cell. But their timely arrival did no more than delay the breach. Two long and tedious minutes later, one column of barricades came crashing down. The sturdy canteen benches tipped over, landing in a deafening roar. Jean Paul was caught under one and was soon losing his consciousness. Blood leaked out from the front of his head. His hands were scratched and its skin was ripped. He felt numb but also felt the searing pain. All around him was frantic screaming, followed by growling.

A rope of flames came whooshing past above him, meeting the intruding zombies. Some zombies fell back but the others continued on, unrelenting to the flames that ate into them. Dummy rifles struck at the zombies repeatedly. The barricades were hastily put back up and repaired but before they could be secured, it fell back down again due to the merciless wave of advancing zombies. Gunshots rang out all around, desperately trying to push the zombies back.

Jean Paul could hardly move any of his muscles. His breathing was slow and his heart was calm. He knew he was in no immediate danger. He felt exhaustion overwhelming him, pulling him into a sleep, but he tried to fight back. He tried to call out for help, while the world spinned around him in uncontrolled chaos. In his small range of vision, he saw a screaming Roy being pulled out of the class by zombies and Zenda calling for Jean Paul. He gave in to his exhaustion and fell immediately into a deep sleep.

~~~

Day 4. 5. 47 A.M.

The zombies swarmed in like bees, aiming for the survivors. Zenda stood her ground and let off a gust of fire from her makeshift “flame-thrower”. She had to protect Jean Paul and she would do so with her life. The zombies were deterred from advancing but not for long.

The deodorant spray canister in Zenda's hand quickly emptied out its last drop. The fire died down to a trickle before stopping entirely. Some of the barricades were smouldering with small flames that quickly died out. The zombies advanced now only to be struck back by dummy rifles. The zombies quickly broke out of the confines held by the dummy rifles and lunged for the survivors.

Roy was first to be struck. A claw tore through him like how a razor would, through tissue paper. He slumped to the ground in convulsions and unconsciousness, and was pulled out by the zombies. The survivors were screaming wildly, with fear pouring out through their mouths from their heart. Wee-lin was also pulled out next, screaming away with fear. Her clique of friends screamed for her but did nothing at all to help. They just looked on with wide-eyed terror while huddling, rooted to the ground.

Zenda noticed that Jean Paul had fallen unconscious and was now in danger of being infected by the rampaging zombies. She would not allow that to happen. Around her, the survivors including the boys were screaming and scampering away from the breach, letting the zombies flow in without obstacles.

Zenda stood her ground, unwilling to leave her eyes of Jean Paul. She raised an M-16 she picked from the ground and fired away. The bullets tore threw the zombies, which were no more than an inch from her face. The zombies were hurled backwards by the ferocity of her wrath. Bullets ripped through dead flesh, exiting on the back with an explosion of blood. Gradually and steadily, Zenda pushed the zombies back out the classroom, burst by burst of gunfire.

The rest of the survivors regained their composure and joined in the fight too, expelling the last of the zombies out before securing the barricades back in place. It took much effort to secure it but finally after much back-breaking and teeth-crunching effort, the barricades were secured.

Hastily, Zenda bounded forward and lifted the benches of Jean Paul. Fresh blood was coated across his face while his button-up shirt was soaked in zombie blood. He was unconscious and clearly injured. His eyes were pristinely closed.

Zenda tried to keep calm but could not hold back the thought that she may lost Jean Paul. She clung on to him with her arms wrapped around his unconscious body, placing her face on his shoulders, crying out his name repeatedly.

~~~

Day 4. 9.24 A.M.

Jean Paul opened his eyes lazily. Jean Paul lay on his back on the cold concrete floor with a clean sports t-shirt over his body. Zenda sat just a small distance away from him, ready to fed him with water. Zenda had cleaned him up and changed him into a set of clean clothes.

Before his eyes was the ceiling of the classroom, illuminated by the bright sunlight of the late morning. It was the fourth day.

Jean Paul pushed himself of the floor. His muscles were aching and left arm felt numb. But he felt fresh and clean nonetheless. Zenda approached him with cup of water, “How are you feeling?”

“I'm alright,” Jean Paul replied back in a metallic tone while he gulped down the water to moisten his dry throat.

“Roy and Wee-lin were infected this morning. The boys are now cleaning up the mess,” Zenda reported in a soft whisper, careful not to hurt his ears, still sensitive from sleep.

“I'll better help them.”

Zenda immediately objected, “No. You stay here and rest. You had a deep cut on your forehead and I think you sprained you left elbow.”

Upon seeing the dismayed look on Jean Paul's face, Zenda added, “Don't worry about them. They'll try to get more supplies later. Anyway, let me fix you a meal.”

Zenda went away and came back with two sealed packet hotdog buns and two milo drink packet. She sat down beside him and passed him a hotdog bun and a milo packet before heartily eating her breakfast, quietly. She seemed to have left the passing of Isabella at the back of her mind and she did not seem let the sadness control her emotions. If she had any sadness, she did not show it. It was something that Jean Paul marvelled at, while looking at her.

~~~

Dear Dairy,

I have survived day three. It is saddening to know that the zombies are growing increasingly powerful. Thankfully, Joel's group has not really caused much trouble and I'm even more thankful that Isabella is dead and gone. I injured myself pretty badly yesterday, sustained a deep cut on my forehead and sprained my elbow. Sigh, I seriously miss my family. I don't know whether they are still alive. I am keeping up my hopes that they are alive. Perhaps they already made it past into the safe areas.

The number of survivors is now down to thirteen and I am convinced it will drop even more. Today, I will try to contact the safe areas for help with the transponder radio Jordan found just before he got infected. I am not certain that we can get a good communication link but we will try nonetheless. We have to escape soon. Our ammunition is running very low and might be zero by tonight.

Diary, although I feel sad and lonely, I am satisfied that I have Zenda with me. I just hope that help can come soon.

Jean Paul Wee

27^th March 2010, Saturday

~~~

Day 4. 12.12 A.M.

The class was quiet, some, including the “prisoners”, were dosing off, others were eating their unappetizing lunches. Stephanie was still moaning away with the pain in her knees spreading upwards; she was still deliberately ignored by everyone else except for Magena who tried desperately to console her friend, though she herself was distraught by the infection of Wee-Lin in the early morning. Brandon, Kisshan, Vanes and Siew Ann set off to gather more food and barricades, while also possibly trying to search for more ammunition.

Zenda stayed behind to look after a dosing Jean Paul. Jing Wei and Qiu Yuan guarded the “prison” with their trusty dummy rifles while chatting about in soft free tones.

The early afternoon light was blazing in with burning intensity and the bad thing was that the electricity supply was down and the lights and fans could no longer function. Mrs. Cheong's laptop also could not hold up much longer, now that the charger, that was permanently plugged in throughout the entire siege, was no longer transmitting any power. That meant that there was no more connection to the outside world. But they still had a transponder radio they could use.

The classroom stank of sweat and body odour, much to the disappointment of Zenda who tried to find some cloth to filter the stench from the air she breathed in. She sat on the floor with her legs outstretched, while checking Jean Paul's bandage from time to time. It had been more than three days of confined living with about twenty other students, while under constant pressure from zombies outside. It would be unsurprising that some of the students would crack, like how Isabella, Roy and Stephanie did. Brandon also did too, but only for a short moment while firing off at the zombies. Zenda was strongly convinced she would not crack. For Jean Paul and for herself, she would not let her sanity die.

However, it was hard to keep her sanity, especially with the biting boredom that nibbled at her. She was bored, with nothing else to do but daydream about the past or how she would express her love for Jean Paul. All that went through her mind, was just wishful imaginations that sprung from boredom, nothing more. She needed something significant to do.

Zenda looked around the classroom, trying to spot something which she could dedicate herself to and create some value. After scanning the classroom from side to side, her eyes fell on a little black metal box sitting humbly at the far right corner of the classroom. She ambled across the room and picked up the black box. It was the size of two MacDonald's Happy Meal boxes with a dull black coating of paint. A few turn nobs were allocated across the front of the box with a frequency screen at the top. It was a radio, but not just any normal radio playing songs from radio stations across the island. It was a transponder radio, one powered by a hand-driven dynamo and could let the user communicate to others with similar radios.

That would mean that they could effectively communicate with the military forces outside the safe areas and they could probably be rescued. Zenda smiled. The radio would mean that the current survivors now, would have a chance of surviving the zombie onslaught. Zenda's smile grew wider, covering her entire face.

She turned around joyfully to announce to the class her discovery, but a harrowing sight stopped her. An M-16 was in the hands of a “prisoner” and the loaded gun was pointed straight at her from across the classroom. ~

To be continued...

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All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 7

2010-04-24T09:00:00.002+08:00

Under Siege

Day 3. 9.37 A.M.

Zombies swarmed like agitated flies. They struck on the barricades with increasing might. Jean Paul, Brandon and Kisshan fired away with restrain between the burst of bullets. The zombies laboured on listlessly with only one goal in mind: to break through those barricades. And as of now, they seemed very much capable of doing so.

The stage four zombies were strong. The metal cabinet had continuously rocked backwards as the infected students heaved at it. The defenders pushed the cabinet back in place and held the barricade tight together. A few other girls had joined in, swinging the dummy rifles at the arms of zombies that managed to reach through the makeshift barricades. That extra help actually was helpful indeed. The pressure to keep the zombies out of the barricades was lessen. Nonetheless, they still swarmed outside the classroom, trying to get in. The entire classroom was filled with the unpleasant orchestra of repeated banging and shuddering of materials, the loud groaning of zombies, the cracking of bones when the dummy rifle swung and loudest of all: the deafening roar of the assault rifles.

Jordan had been infected a few minutes ago and the scene was still vivid in the minds of the survivors. It just kept replaying as if his death was haunting the survivors. Brandon looked dissatisfied and frustrated with the zombies. He made unappreciated yells at the zombies, hurling derogatory insults and expletives at the infected, although he knew they could understand what he was screaming.

Brandon looked at the swarming zombies and then screamed at them with a small spark of mischief in his eyes, “Come here you mudafuckers! I'm gonna chao you down with my fury!”

He fired on with unrestrained anger. It looked more like insanity. Jean Paul glanced time to time at Brandon, worried that sometime in the near future, the rifle in Brandon's hands would turn on the survivors. The screaming defender looked mentally unstable. Perhaps he was already turning crazy due to the unfortunate series of events that have been barraging the survivors frequently.

Jean Paul gulped down his saliva. The situation did not look good. It was supposed to be one of the brightest part of the day but it was dark as the early evening sky. Heavy rain continued to pour down in relentless torrent. According to the weather forecast, the dark skies would last till evening. It would mean then, that there would be no breaks for the survivors. The zombie onslaught would continue through the entire day, right into the night and finally ceasing the next morning. The attacks were intensifying and Jean Paul was convinced that there was insufficient ammunition to tide them over to the next day. The grim outlook filled Jean Paul's heart with fear, but glancing over his shoulders to Zenda, who stood on guard to swing a dummy rifle at any zombie, kept his spirits high. There was no hope, only a fool's hope.

~~~

Day 3. 9.46 A.M.

Roy sat uncomfortably within the “prison” with four other friends of his. He wanted food and he wanted the deafening noise to stop. It was so unlike the comfort and luxury of his home where every need of his was settled by a domestic helper. He hated the place. He hated the stink. Every person around him seemed to be coated in a thick layer of sweat and blanketed in an ocean of body odour. It was stiffening.

His stomach was groaning. There seemed to be a hole in the abdomen where food should have been in. All the other survivors were taking part in saving the class. It would be in favour of Roy, since they were toying for his safety. Furthermore, he only needed to forego some meals and some space in exchange for a great relaxing time, cracking jokes with the other “inmates”. He did not need to brace the barricades, he did not need to carry dummy rifles. He just needed to sit down and keep his voices low. It would be the greatest and easiest thing to do among the other survivors. Roy was grateful and glad for that. The only thing that he was angry about, was that he was not being fed sufficient food.

Roy was hungry, in fact he was, all the time. He sat upright and looked over the short wall of plastic desk piled sideways around the “inmates” to keep them in. Qiu Yuan and Jing Wei were guarding the “prison”, armed only with dummy rifles. Their barricade defence shift would start in about an hours time and their guard shift would be taken by Jean Paul and Kisshan. If Roy wanted to beg the guards for food, the best chance would be now. He looked back at the other “inmates”. They were quietly dosing off, trying to get the deafening roar of gunshots out of their head.

Roy seized his chance. In a soft whisper, which he projected loud enough for only Jing Wei to hear, he whispered, “Hey. Jing Wei! I am hungry. Can you get me some food?”

Jing Wei peered at Roy for a moment before consulting Qiu Yuan on what to do. Qiu Yuan took over, asking, “Fine. What do you want?”

“I want some rice. Wait, no. I want noodles with cheese hotdogs.”

“Do I look like a waiter to you?” Qiu Yuan queried with a frown.

Jing Wei cut in, immediately objecting to Roy, “Go and die. Those food are reserved for later. It's not even lunch yet. We'll give you food when it's lunch time.”

The conversation woke Joel up. He had overheard the last few sentences and gave a snide remark, “Wow. Jing Wei is now one of the elite. How traitorous. I always thought a friend would stand by me rather than follow the wind.”

“At least I do not pursue childish dreams,” Jing Wei replied with slight anger in his voice.

“Meh. I do not consider fighting for my rights as childish dreams. Speaking of my rights, I want some food. I'm hungry.”

Qiu Yuan replied with growing frustration in his tone, “We will give you food at noon. That's final.”

“I want my food now,” Joel raised his voice while kicking his foot on the “prison” wall. The kick woke the rest of the “inmates” and they too yelled for more food. And before long, frustrated with the rejections of the guards, they stood and tried to push the walls away.

With militaristic discipline in his actions, Jing Wei slammed his dummy rifle on the desks. The loud sound momentarily stunned the “inmates”. Jing Wei yelled into their faces, “Sit down.”

They did not. Instead, they grew wilder, unabashed by Jing Wei's threats. They desperately pushed the walls apart. The makeshift prison walls were breaking apart. The two guards were insufficient to keep the revolters back in. With the butt of the dummy rifle, Qiu Yuan smashed the should blade of Kanesh, bringing the stronger revolter down. The rest ignored the display of brute counterattacks. They continued on pushing. With the tip of the dummy rifles, the two guards prodded the revolters backwards. The metal tip was hard enough to push them back, but not strong enough to stop them forever. Kanesh was down on the floor, whimpering. The searing, unbearable pain was surging through his should blade. The rest of the inmates ignored him, but realized they could not break through so they screamed and yelled, trying to get their demands heard in a rowdy and uncivilised way.

Survivors outside the prison looked at the revolters with disgust. But the revolters were satisfied, their demands were being noticed and might just be acceded. However, things did not exactly turn out their way.

A bullet shot past Joel's ear, just half an inch from grazing it. The lead projectile was embedded in the concrete wall behind them. The accurate trajectory was traced to Jean Paul who was glaring at them with a frown. “Silence. Sit down. Any more sound from you guys and I'll fire another shot, and I will not miss.”

The near brush with death silenced the inmates. They squatted down again in silence, trying to keep the deafening gunshots out of their mind.

~~~

Day 3. 12.12 A.M.

It was lunch time. Jean Paul was hungry. The defenders had long since stop their firing. It was wasting too much bullets. Instead, they prodded the zombies forcefully with the butt or the tip of the dummy rifles to push them back. It would not kill them, but it would hurt them. It was less tedious and far more serene. Only at times, did Jean Paul fire one shot, one kill hits on the zombies. His accuracy was increasingly better. But he guessed that it would stay at his current standard, since he was not firing any more.

The girls had taken over the defending so as to give the exhausted males time to rest and to eat. It would not be a tedious job for them as they only needed to prod. It was like a game in fact, where you slam a hammer down on moles that appeared from holes in the ground. Jean Pau could not care less about the situation of the barricades. He was exhausted from head to toe. His muscles ached and his head was bursting with a massive headache. His eyelids constantly drooped down but he dare not to sleep for he feared that he might not be available when Joel's group escapes. It might not happen, but it was possible.

Beside him, Brandon was already soundly asleep with his soiled uniform unbuttoned, exposing white, untanned skin that never seemed to have been exposed to the sun before. Kisshan sipped from a cup of sweetened water slowly, taking in the sweetness of the water. It filled his lungs with joy. Jean Paul looked around him. Everyone was taking a deserving break from the fighting. It was only rightful that he took a break too. He had been working too hard and if he worked any harder, he might just collapse from exhaustion.

Jean Paul curled up on the hard concrete floor and closed his eyes. Thoughts raged on in his mind, racing through. He was unwilling to surrender to his tiredness but soon fell into a deep, welcomed sleep.

~~~

Day 3. 8.47 P.M.

Dreams had been flitting through Jean Paul's slumber for the past few hours. Some were sweet, others were more like nightmares. One such woke him up. In the deepness of his nightmarish slumber, zombies were cornering him. The images were blurry as if it were a distant memory or imagination. But they seemed true nonetheless. It was hard to discern between reality and the dream world when the sleepers were unconscious.

Jean Paul was scared. He was not sure exactly what was happening. All he knew was that zombies were around him and all he had was an empty rifle. He was trying to protect something. Oh, it was Zenda. The zombies continued to swarm around him until they finally shoved him aside, and dived straight for a screaming Zenda.

Jean Paul woke from the dream with a jerk. Unable to discern between reality and the dream world momentarily, he crawled unstably around, calling softly for Zenda, until he realized it was just a dream. He fell on the ground, feeling his rapid breathing slowly resume its normal pace. But a sudden loud thud sent his heart racing again.

He pushed himself off the ground and tried to grab for anything that could be a weapon. There was nothing. Jean Paul looked to the direction of the sound.

The metal cabinet used as the main barricade had fallen off the tables and now, zombies were trying to swarm into the class. But there were too many of them, as such, they were stuck at the frame of the windows. Quickly, Jean Paul sprinted forward and with the help of the other defenders, heaved the bulky and heavy cabinet up onto the table again. It took much effort and his muscles seared with strain. But the cabinet finally settled on the table and blocked the zombies out. Swiftly, the desks, chairs and canteen benches were piled up against the cabinet to reinforce it. But while doing so, the front door of the classroom was breached. Zombies pushed against the remaining last bit of hastily put up stockade of chairs. A possible stage six zombie brought the entire barricade down with a mighty swipe of its hand. It loped into the class and emptied out its lungs in a massive screeching roar.

Two bullets were placed into its head before it could do any more damage. The highly agile zombie hurtled backwards before slumping onto the ground. Less agile zombies lurched into the room without much significant speed. They were beaten relentless by the defenders with dummy rifles, but without much result. Quek Wan Lin, one of the female survivors, was caught by zombie overhaul. She was muscled out by their claws. She screeched with pain written over her face. She clawed at the bloody ground, trying to get a hold to heave herself out of the horde of invading zombies. A few other female survivors rushed to her to pull her away. But she was already lost to the zombies.

Claws had made deep incisions in her left leg. Her other limb was flailing around trying to shake away the pain, but to no avail. She was now like a rope in a game of tug-of-war. The survivors pulled at her hands while the zombies pulled at her limb, threatening to pull her to pieces. And that was what happened. Her limb dislodged from the knee with a crunching sound and was lost into the sea of zombies. Wan Lin screamed hysterically. Blood splattered across the entire place. She continued screaming. The girls screamed too at the sight of the gore and dismembering. They let go of Wan Lin and she too was lost entirely into the sea of zombies.

The zombies ploughed forward trying to get past the unrelenting, swinging dummy rifles. Zenda stood in the middle, before the sea of zombies. In her outstretched right hand was a blue canister of deodorant, and in her other left hand was a lit match that was placed a small distance from the canister's opening. She advanced towards the sea of zombies cautiously.

Jean Paul noticed Zenda and asked with a detached fear in his voice, “Zenda! What are you doing?”

She did not reply. Instead, she pushed her index finger down on the deodorant spray's trigger. A sweet smelling string of vapour was pushed through the nozzle, before meeting the open flame and much to the horror of Jean Paul and the shock of everyone else.

A whooshing rope of flame shot forward to the zombies, propelled by the compressed gas in the deodorant canister. The survivors reeled backwards to avoid the flames.

Zenda's top priority was to create enough leeway for the other survivors to put the barricades back in place. She continued to press down on the trigger, letting the rope of flames torch the zombies that fell back. Whoosh! The flames pourd onwards. When they were far away enough, she lifted the finger and the rope of flames disappeared into nothingness.

The barricades were back in place just before the zombies renewed their attack. Everyone settled back, heaving a sigh of relief.

Jean Paul looked with a new found respect in his eyes, and commented, “Nice flame-thrower, you got there. ” ~

To be continued...

Remember to comment on the chat box!

All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 6

2010-04-17T09:00:00.000+08:00

Day 3. 6.23 A.M.

The furious advancement of the zombies continued. Jean Paul hardly had any sleep. His shoulder blades and his entire right arm was now numb and sore. He could hardly keep track of time. A few hours ago, or had it been minutes, his arm was twitching with a furious cramp. But he continued his shooting nonetheless.

Outside, the attacking was waning gradually. A pile of dead zombies were left outside. Blood splats stayed on the barricades; Jean Paul was careful not to touch them. Tiredness seemed to engulf him, trying relentlessly to bring him to a fitful sleep, but Jean Paul never relented. His shift was ending in just another quarter hour's time. Jordan would take over him but Jean Paul was sure that by then, the sun would up and bright.

Jean Paul reflected that a two hour shift would be too tedious. One and a half hours or even one hour would be much easily accomplished. After all, the zombies were not exactly dangerous to the barricades. The shooting was just meant to keep their numbers at the barricades down. Ammunition was down to half of what is was. Food and water was still high. Jean Paul decided that Joel's group would not be offered any food, and only water. They did not do any thing that helped the survivors. They would only cause trouble. And it would be even better if they were weak with starvation. It would lower their chances of creating trouble. However, Jean Paul kept that insight to himself. Zenda, with her ever righteous and unbiased stance would immediately oppose his idea.

Around Jean Paul was a shallow sea of empty and smoking bullet cartridges and magazines. It was all wasted on zombies. The dead zombies piled up outside the classroom, creating a bloody but helpful additional barricade. Jean Paul did not want it there. It was far too bloody. It would stink, as it was right now and it would attract flies. Furthermore, the survivors would just die of diseases sooner or later. It had to be cleared as soon as possible. Jean Paul knew he could only clear it during the day. Dawn was approaching and it was coming fast.

But regardless of what speed it was coming, Jean Paul felt like vomiting, by just looking at the revolting sight of the bloody piles. His stomach churned. He felt bloated. He felt no appetite. But he continued on his shooting. Periodic shooting. It would be a great waste of bullets if he shot continuously. Sweat dripped down his back. It drenched him in a stiffening coat of stench. He liked sweat. He loved it in fact. Jean Paul smiled, musing over the sight of females frowning, upon smelling body odour. He looked back at Zenda. She was soundly asleep in a curled up position. She was like an angel, pure and virtuous in the chaos of society, where everyone but her seemed to be sucked into the vortex of unhappiness. Zenda brought hope to Jean Paul, she filled his soul with a high spirit.

For a moment, Jean Paul was mesmerized by the pureness and beauty of Zenda. He looked at her, temporarily oblivious to the zombies outside, until the striking on the barricades grew louder. He turned back to the doom-bringers. Bloody and wrinkled hands stretched out into the classroom. The nails were elongated and stained with fluid. The hands reached for Jean Paul.

With anger sprouting from inside him, Jean Paul fired away. The hands disappeared, while the bodies slumped to the ground, behind the barricades. Through the openings in the barricades, Jean Paul could see rays of light drifting from the East. It was early morning light, enough to chase away Stage Two to Three zombies. The striking on the barricades slowly waned. Zombies reeled backwards to where they had taken refuge in, the previous day. Some with higher tolerance to light stayed on, but they would leave rather soon.

Finally, after a long moment of anticipation, the rays of the sun grew stronger, blaring lazily into the classroom, filling it with radiance. The last of the zombies were gone, leaving behind bloody trails and piles upon piles of dead zombies.

They were gone. It was over for now. Jean Paul let the heavy assault rifle fall to the ground. He collapsed after the rifle, letting the tiredness he had been suppressing overrun him. He was exhausted and nothing more. He was unscathed, except for some cuts he had gotten after continual rubbing on the rough surfaces of the barricades.

He closed his eyes and dosed his dry lips with foul smelling saliva.

~~~

Dear Diary,

Yesterday was a terrible day. It was a long and stifling day. It was fucked-up. Isabella when berserk when she realized no one liked her. It was about time that she left the class. She got turned into a zombie anyway. We have managed to get food and water. Joel's group had been imprisoned by us all, after they tried to take over the class. Thankfully, Jing Wei was not one of them. He had warned me of what Joel was planning to do before we left to get rifles. And yes, we have rifles. Good rifles. However, there is little ammo, so we can't really do much with them.

Such terrible circumstances really make people go crazy. Isabella when crazy. I am sure that if it was a normal day that the same argument happened, she would not have gone crazy. I am not sure when I will go crazy. I am quite sure a lot of survivors will go crazy. I almost did yesterday night while fighting the zombies. Their faces were familiar. I knew some of those zombies. I saw Afif, I saw Haolie, I saw Joshua. They were my friends. It took really hard guts to shoot them. I did anyway.

It's because of these guts that I survived till today. Today is day three of the survival. I am convinced that it is not just survival of the fittest. It the fittest of those will compassion and common sense. I am worried. Somehow, one of Joel's group members will escape. They will do it. They are crazy people after all. I am not worried if they kill me. I have a higher chance of being killed by them, than by those zombies. I am not afraid to die. I want to die. It is a crazy place. I am just angry that people like Zenda have to undergo such suffering. She is great person. A person with values. I treasure her. I love her. She does not deserve to die. She does not. She does not.

Jean Paul Wee

26^th March 2010 Friday

~~~

Day 3. 8.23 A.M.

With a metal bar used to lock the metal cabinet, Brandon Kee pried the dead zombies away from each other, careful not to let the blood touch him, but just the bar. Luckily he had a face towel tied over his nose. The smell was just revolting. He was surprised he had not vomited yet.

Helping him was Kanesh who was allowed out of the “prison”.

Steadily, they dumped the bodies off the parapet. The bodies piled up on the ground level, in the form of a small hill. It was a grass patch with a few young trees poking out of the surface. Now the grass was flooded with blood and fluids. A few more moments later, the classroom was cleared, leaving only blood stains and shreds of clothing on the ground.

More reinforcements were being searched for, while they had worked. Jordan and Kisshan brought back five more canteen benches and three canteen tables. Effectively, the entire right wall of the classroom had been turned into a hastily put up stockade of chairs and tables. The legs of the chairs and tables poked outwards at awkward and irregular patterns. The barricades piled up to the ceiling. It would be enough.

The rest of the survivors were dully having their breakfast, made up mostly of hotdog buns and hot milo found at the snack stall in the canteen. They sat within their own circle of friends, eating and mingling softly. Stephanie continued her groaning, much to the annoyance of everyone.

The prisoners were given a puny portion of bread and water, much to the annoyance and complaints of Alfred and Roy, who were always the first ones to devour finish their food. However, Jean Paul was in no mood to accede to their greedy demands. They were to be ignored.

Thankfully, Joel had been silent the entire morning. Jean Paul was not sure why, but he could speculate that Joel felt defeated or he just did not want to lose any more pride. Whatever it was, Jean Paul did not care and did not want to provoke Joel. It would only cause more trouble, as Isabella had constantly done. Oh, and yes, Jean Paul was even more thankful that Isabella was gone. At least he did not have to put up with her self-righteousness. At times, Jean Paul felt that Isabella was more irritating than Joel. Perhaps, given their similar characters, Joel and Isabella would have made a lovely couple, too bad Joel was too short. Jean Paul laughed, while slowly sipping from his cup of milo. The hot beverage slowly filled his soul with relaxation. It soothed his muscles and made his mind awake. Perhaps he should try coffee next time, it would be much more effective.

Jean Paul placed his cup down and stood up. Facing his closer ring of friends, he said, “Come, let's go find some more ammo.”

“There's no more ammo in the armoury. Just dummy rifles,” Jordan objected.

“We'll go try it out anyway.”

Jean Paul unlocked the door and before he walked out, he instructed Qiu Yuan to take care of the class. Slowly, Jordan, Brandon, Kisshan and Zenda filed out of the class. Only Jordan and Jean Paul brought their rifles. It would be too much of a burden.

Upon seeing the key figures walk out of the class, Joel stood, ready to seize his chance for redemption. A cold voice stopped him.

“Sit,” Qiu Yuan commanded, pointing the rifle at Joel. With an offensive gesture of his middle finger, Joel sat. The rest of the class did not care about them.

~~~

Day 3. 9.03 A.M.

Jean Paul looked up at the sky above. It was shrouded in ever increasing dark clouds. He had checked the weather forecast on Mrs. Cheong's laptop. It was going to be a heavy downpour today. He did not like it. It would probably mean less time for the survivors to move around and more time for zombies to roam. They had to be quick in getting more supplies before the skies were completely covered with clouds.

“Guys, we better hurry up,” Jean Paul said aloud, pointing up at the skies.

With that, the scavenging party hurried on, unlocking the armoury doors and ransacking the cupboards. The cupboards were pried open if they were locked and the insides were dumped out. There was nothing except for dummy rifles and some more M-16s. Just five more M-16s...

Taking up a load of dummy rifles, Jordan said, “We can use this as batons to hit zombies if they come close.”

Jean Paul looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm serious. The dummy rifle is pretty heavy.”

Wooden dummy rifles coated a thin layer of rubber lay strewn across the floor. Quickly, heeding Jordan's advice, they took up the dummy rifles. And locked the armoury up.

“Wait. We can use the armoury as a shelter. Like it is well protected and has no windows,” Zenda proposed.

“But it is too small,” Kisshan pointed out.

“I know. But it can house up to three people nonetheless plus the other supplies.”

“It is a good idea, but at the moment, there are no spare supplies that we can put here,” Jordan pointed another point out.

“We can find a portable stove, some pots and cutlery, two containers of water and maybe some food,” Jean Paul showed his support for Zenda. “And this place requires no additional reinforcements.”

“Alright. We'll do that. But I assure you, your efforts will go to waste,” Jordan said with much reluctance. The survivors slowly split into pairs and went off in search of the items. Jean Paul paired up with Zenda while the other three boys when on their own. It was better that way. One rifle per group. With a set time to meet up again, the groups left.

Jean Paul clambered away with Zenda tagging along behind. Silence fell between them. Neither of them wanted to speak. To Jean Paul, it seemed as if Zenda was trying to hide some feelings for him. He was not sure whether that feelings of hers were particularly good or bad. He had to try it out himself.

Trying to start up a conversation to end the awkward silence, Jean Paul stammered, “So...How do you feel about the survivors?”

“Don't remind me about them. They are annoying people. I am glad that I tagged along with you... guys,” Zenda replied, but realizing that she was deliberately adding in the rest of scavenging party, although only Jean Paul was present with her at the moment.

Jean Paul saw the point immediately: she liked him and she was trying not to show it. Jean Paul played along with the not-knowing character with a growing elation in his heart. She likes me, he smiled.

“What are you smiling at?” Zenda asked with a suggestive laugh, knowing quite well why he was smiling.

Sudden a call from the second floor interrupted their session of growing intimacy, followed by gunshots.

~~~

Day 3. 9.12 A.M.

Jordan, Brandon and Kisshan were chatting in hush tones among themselves, trying to keep their voices down for fear that sleeping zombies might be awakened. They were now passing along the corridor by the leftside of the hall, closest to the classroom block. Brandon had found a communications radio while on the way up to the second floor. It would be of great help to them. But the problem now was getting pass sleeping zombies. The dark clouds were omnimous and slowly gathering to suck the light out of the skies. They had to return to the class quick.

The hall had a lingering stench of decaying bodies. And they realized that the hall was the place of refuge that the zombies took during the day. Unable to suppress his curiosity, Brandon slowly pushed open the door to the hall. A small crack of weak light lazily drifted in. Immediately came the growl of awakened zombies. Overhead, the clouds were gathering fast. So fast, that the skies were rapidly dimming as if the sun was setting in fast motion.

Kisshan ran to the parapet and shouted down to where Jean Paul was, “Jean Paul run!”

Also, the trio ran. But not fast enough. The door swung open and a stage four zombie lumbered out. With a forceful swing of its arm, its nails dug deep into Jordan. Jordan fell backwards onto the linkway between the canteen block and the classroom block. Pain shot through his chest and soon engulfed him. With his fist clenched he continually hit the the floor, trying, uselessly, to get rid of the pain. The front on his shirt was torn, and drenched with fresh blood. His chest had deep incisions across it with blood gushing through. Swiftly, Brandon and Kisshan fell back to carry Jordan up to his feet but Jordan fought them away.

“I'm infected! Move! Go!” Jordan yelled into their faces, embodying the militaristic discipline he learnt in NCC. He was utilizing it, facing the reality of the truth. Brandon and Kisshan were dumbfounded, unable to function, unable to think clearly. Only after a second exasperated shout from Jordan did they fall all the way back to the classroom.

Jordan crawled backwards towards the classroom. The zombie that had attacked him stayed under the shelter, but it would not for long. The skies were dimming rapidly. Too rapidly. Behind him, Jean Paul and Zenda called out. They had managed to return.

Turning around, Jordan yelled again with frustration, “Go! I'm infected!”

A split second past and the sun was completely blocked out. Jordan lay on the ground on his back, propping himself up with his elbows while holding up his M-16 on his right hand. He waited. The zombies bounded forward with enhanced agility. With a deafening burst of gunfire from Jordan, they fell back. Jordan yelled a war cry, emptying every inch of air from his lungs.

The magazine clip emptied out in burst of hot lead repetitively, before it fell silent. Out of ammunition. Oh shit. The zombies scampered forward, its elongated nails thrusting towards the wounded survivor. Jordan reeled back in controlled fear. His heartbeat quicken but in that split-second, he had come to terms with his imminent death. He waited patiently for his death to come, it would not take long. The horde of zombies swarmed over him, crushing him with their weight, slashing him with their claws. Jordan let out a short-lived yell of one final desperate show of defiance. But his cries were futile. He disappeared into the bloodied mass; Jordan was one of them now.

Zenda screamed. The survivors, behind their barricades reeled backwards in wide-eyed terror. The skies overhead dimmed into total darkness, as if it was night. The omnimous dark clouds then rained down torrents upon torrents of relentless rain. Forks of lightning flashed in a distance, with deafening roars of thunder sounding. The zombies swarmed forward towards the class, groaning and shoving at the barricades. Stage four zombies, they were. ~

To be continued...

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All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 5

2010-04-10T09:00:00.000+08:00

Happiness after Death

Day 2. 3.56 P.M.

Like a raging bull, Jean Paul crashed through the door, pushing aside the makeshift barricades. In his hands was a loaded M-16 pointed at Joel's group, but particularly at Joel. Immediately, with white terror spread out across their faces, they put their hands up high, held they breath and gestured that they were harmless and should not be harmed.

Jean Paul continued staring at the group, his eyes of fury never shifted or ceased burning, it just stayed there. His breathing, though, resumed its normal pace. Around the raiding party that just returned from getting first aid for Stephanie, survivors gaped at the weapons, not knowing what catastrophe would happen next. They held their breath tentatively, careful not the make any noise.

No one moved. No one made a sound. Everyone just stared motionlessly at Jean Paul with a look of frozen shock on their faces. Jean Paul continued to hold the cocked rifle up at Joel, his index finger no more than a centimetre from pulling the trigger. There was total silence and a long dreaded wait for a gunshot. Then slowly, with a prolonged sigh, he lowered the heavy weapon, pointing it to the ground.

Everyone started breathing again. Quietly, the rest of the raiding party filed through the door. Each carried a loaded rifle in their hands with a bag holding another two more rifles. Right at the back, Jing Wei pushed a trolley containing the ammunition into the class. Everyone stared at the weapons and ammunition, curious to know where it had came from.

Isabella stood. A smug smile on her face. She was happy that Jean Paul was back. She could renew her bid for leadership, now that a leverage had been created. She knew it would be an inappropriate moment but she still spoke, “Joel Yew. I think we should hold another election now that all the survivors are here.”

Looking around the classroom for support, Joel found none, either than his own group of people, Jing Wei excluded. With a heavy reluctance, he nodded.

Isabella smiled with a deep and brimming smile that Joel found extreme disgust at. She's just living in denial. She thinks she can win me. Oh, she can't, Joel thought to himself.

Seizing the moment, Isabella stood in the middle of the classroom. With a projected and annoyingly bitchy voice, she announced, “Who votes for Joel, please raise your hands.”

The usual group of supporters raised their hands in support for Joel. They did so with silence and a feeling of dread this time. Isabella laughed in a flirtatious manner, for the puny support of Joel and also to attract more survivors to her.

Here goes the landslide victory, she thought to herself. “Who votes for me, raise your hand.”

No one, but Zenda and Vanes rose their hands. No one except for them. Not even Jean Paul, whom she thought would root support for her. Jean Paul just looked on at her with disgust. She was dumbfounded.

After taking a moment to comprehend the situation, Joel laughed heartily, hardly able to conceal his joy. “I guess that means that I win. I have the majority on my side!”

“No! It is not possible. It is not possible! Joel, what have you done to them? You brainwashed them all! It's all because of you! You have doomed this class!” Isabella screamed exasperatedly, unable to take to defeat.

“Come on Isabella! You can't just go on living denial. How am I responsible for your demise? You caused it yourself. You are just an arrogant and ignorant and spoilt bitch who does not know any fucking hardship until now. You deserve this!” Joel yelled furiously, hurtling unheard insults at a screaming Isabella. She just screamed.

Then suddenly, with burning fury in her eyes she screamed at the rest of the survivors, “Is this how you treat me, after all that I have done? I helped unite this class! I help you guys get a class t-shirt! I helped you guys won the gold medals in the Sports Carnival! Its all me! It should be me who gets credited! Without me, do you think you guys could have won the gold medal? Do you think you guys could have gotten a class t-shirt? Do you think you guys could have been united? It should be me that becomes your leader! It should be me! Me! Not some asshole! Why do you want to support an asshole rather than me? Why? Is it because you hate me? Is that so?”

Zenda and Vanes stared at their close friend with disbelief. They had never thought how insane Isabella could be, not in their wildest dreams. She was just engulfing herself with torn ego and illusions of herself. Her own narcissism was killing her.

Jing Wei spoke up calmly, “We support neither of you. Neither of you are fit to be our leader.”

Joel glared at Jing Wei and without any other hesitation, Joel brought upon Jing Wei a string of expletives and insults, which Jing Wei was quick to respond with raging fury. Then, everyone was sucked into the whirlpool of arguments. Everyone was angry with everyone. Everyone was using their disgruntlements and frustration as fuel to their arguments. The class was once again thrown into the chaos of arguments. Jean Paul could take it no longer and joined into the argument, pulling people away, trying to shut everybody up, but it could not work. They just joined back with more fury and rage.

Looking away from the chaos, Zenda sobbed. It was happening again. She hated the class. She hated the place. She hated them all. Why? Why were they so immature? Why must Isabella and Joel fight over a petty position of power? Why?

A sudden roar that emptied out of Jordan's lungs silenced everyone. Everyone ceased their arguments and looked at Jordan. Jordan knew that if he did not say anything, the ceasefire would just resume, so he spoke, “Whoever votes for Jean Paul raise your hands!”

Everyone was dumbfounded. Some did not hear what was say, some were just dumbfounded by how easily were their problems solved. Jean Paul stared at Jordan with more shock than surprise.

Seeing no response, Jordan repeated himself slowly, “Whoever votes for Jean Paul, raise your hands!”

There was a immediate response. Nearly the whole class raised their hands with nods. Everyone, except Joel's supporters, which still excluded Jing Wei.

Isabella glared at Zenda and Vanes who had their arms raised. Tears drenched her cheeks. Zenda mouthed a word to Isabella, “Sorry.”

“Then Jean Paul is our leader than!” Jordan avouched in a matter-of-factly tone. The class was silent, no one dared to speak or propose anything. All eyes were trained not on their new leader, but at both Joel and Isabella.

Joel had a jealous expression with a frown and a tight lip. Isabella was just simply devastated with an expression of a mentally-unstable madwoman. She screamed gibberish out loud. She screamed and screamed and screamed. Stopping only to take a breath.

Zenda shied her eyes away, not wanting to see her friend, not wanting to feel any more guilt. Isabella screamed again. She screamed, this time, understandable words, “So this is what you people want! You want Jean Paul. You do not want me! Fine! You guys do not appreciate any of my efforts. Fine! Go to hell all of you! Go to hell!”

Isabella continued her screechy ranting, “I hate all of you! I hate all of you! I hate all of you! And I hate you most, Zenda! I hate you!”

The words tore through Zenda's heart like a spear. She never thought such an insane reaction would occur. She was just following her intuition. She could hardly breathe or feel her legs. She was horrified. Tears welled inside her eyes.

Isabella continued, absolutely unaware that she had hurt a friend so deeply. All she cared for, was herself; herself only. “I hate all of you! I'm leaving the class! I'm leaving since none of you want me! I'm leaving!”

With a childish grunt of annoyance, she stomped off to the door and stomped out, slamming the door shut behind her. Joel yelled back at her, “Go ahead! We don't want you here anyway!”

An exasperated scream was heard, coming from outside. Then smiles from inside the class. As if on cue, Qiu Yuan locked the door shut. The class was quiet after that, quiet, except for Zenda's relentless sobbing. She slowly and painfully slumped to the ground, before hugging her legs, and sobbing.

Jean Paul sat down beside Zenda, with sympathy flowing out his heart. He said nothing, for he knew that speaking to her now, would do anything but help or ease her pain. He just sat close to her, letting her know that someone did care. The rest of the survivors seemed indifferent and apathetic. They just muled listlessly with their own business, if there was any anyway.

Zenda continued her sobbing, before letting herself to Jean Paul. She rested her head gently on his manly shoulder. She cried continually, letting the tears flow. She tried to silence the sobbing but could do no more than soften it. Jean Paul slowly and tenderly stroked her shoulders and whispered softly into her ears, “It's all right. Do not cry, Zenda. Do not cry.”

She swallowed her tears and sat upright, wiping the tears of her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself. Jean Paul looked her in the eyes. Her eyes were red and swollen. Unable to control his emotions, he hugged the fragile frame.

~~~

Day 2. 5.23 P.M.

Away into the western horizon, the sun was setting. The barricades were reinforced and the door to the balcony on the opposite side of the corridors was finally unlocked and opened with the keys found in the general office. Essential items like food and ammunition was piled in the sheltered balcony and the shutters that separated between the balcony and the classroom was reinforced too with barricades. The balcony would be the back-up place should the classroom be broken into.

Joel's group, excluding Jing Wei were “jailed” at the far corner of the class with tables stacked around them. It was a precautionary safeguard just in case they tried to seize control of the class again. Jordan and Jing Wei gave a brief tuition on operating the M-16 rifle to Jean Paul, Brandon Kee, Kisshan and Qiu Yuan, using their NCC knowledge. There were enough rifles to go around. Some girls too were trying out the rifles but quickly put them down. The rifles, at six kilograms, was too heavy for most teenagers.

Dinner had been simple. It was just a moderate bowl of rice with some chicken strands and boiled canned sausages. Despite its simplicity, it was nonetheless looked forward to and appetizing. The unwashed bowls were outside in the balcony. Water was far too precious to be used to wash the bowls. Already, two pails had already been used. Roy had inconsiderately used half a pail for cleaning his face, hands and legs, much to the annoyance of Jean Paul who was now thankful that Roy was now “imprisoned”.

Jean Paul squatted by the make-shift barricades with the barrel of the chunky M-16 rifle clasped tightly in his hands. Beads of sweat stayed firmly on his face, unwilling to drip down. It was going to be a bloody night. His dull gaze now clung startlingly at Zenda. She has since stopped crying and was now sitting quietly at the side of the wall, unwilling to consume her food. Jean Paul felt sorry for the dejected girl, and for some reason that he knew was untrue, he felt guilty and responsible for her suffering. He heaved a slow sigh and looked out of the shattered windows. The sun was drooping down below the Western horizon. Darkness would far soon, or even earlier.

Abruptly, the front door of the class shuddered under the heavy knocking on the wood. A hoarse and desperate voice screamed for help, “Let me in! Let me in!”

Upon hearing the calls for help, the survivors reeled away from the door in concealed fear. Jordan approached the door cautiously with his rifle held up high at the door. “Who is it?”

The voice replied in a pleading tone that escalated into a cry, “It's Isabella. Open the door. Please! Open it!”

“No! Do not open the door. She turned her back on us, it is now our turn to do so,” Joel proclaimed with a smug smile. The “imprisoned” boys laughed raucously with him.

“Shut up, Joel!” Zenda yelled and then impatiently, she called to Jordan. “Open the door. Quick, open it!”

Jordan hesitated. He did not want to undergo another heated argument. He did not want any more hysterical screaming. He did not want any more selfish ego-maniacs. And most of all, he did not want an infected rampaging around the classroom. “She might be infected.”

And it was true. A deep scratch mark was spotted across her cheek. Her blouse was stained with blackish blood and her skin was turning dark and flaking off. She was infected.

Zenda replied with indignation, “I don't care. Just let her in! If you don't, I'm doing it myself.”

She marched towards to door but Jordan turned around and pointed the rifle at Zenda. “Please Zenda, do not do it.”

She paused. Silence and frustration was spelt out across her face. Outside, the crying had turned into laughter and then intensified into uncontrollable laughter, much like Jia Hui's one. It was obvious she was infected. It was absolutely obvious. Realization dawned on Zenda. She returned back in slowed footsteps. A tear rolled down her cheek. In a hushed voice, she whispered more to herself than anyone, “Good-bye Isabella.”

A hurried voice broke the tense moment, “Guys, ready your weapons. I see zom-zoms coming.”

The school was in semi-darkness. The only light came from the two fluorescents lights that were switched on in the classroom. Right ahead on the curved bridge that linked the classroom block with the canteen block was an advancing wave of slowly staggering zombies. Some of them were familiar faces, now distorted into something of a nightmare. Their clothes were ragged and torn, waving in shreds. Blood stained the decomposing zombies. Their skin was wrinkled and torn. Loud labourous groans resounded from them, and then, from all around the classroom. They were everywhere, and now converging on the class, attracted to the heat given out by the living bodies inside.

“A final note guys, to save ammo, remember to only shoot once at the head. Your guns are put on semi-auto, so, its one pull, one shot,” Jordan reminded the row of gun-bearers, that lined the barricades with the barrels pointing out through the many palm-sized holes.

Without any notice, the school was immersed in an ugly orchestra of gunshots that echoed of the walls and lingered, slowly dying down, only to be replaced a split second later by more gunshots. The pumping of hot lead flying out the barrels was thunderous and ear-splitting. Wave after wave of undead were pushed back with many slumping onto the ground with a gushing bullet hole on their heads. Their actions were almost comical. They were so slow, they seemed harmless.

Jean Paul held the M-16 gingerly in his hands. He rested the front part on the barricade, while holding the trigger handles with his right hand, which acted as a fulcrum. The bullets pumped out of the barrel with a deafening roar, while sending a forceful recoil into his shoulder blade. It was aching work. After less than ten shots, he shoulders ached. It was unsurprising that Jing Wei and Jordan were firing precise shots with much ease, as if the rifle was an extension of their natural bodies. They were NCC members after all.

Jean Paul's bullets were flying into the ranks of approaching zombies. There were so many of them. They were everywhere. They approached from either sides of the corridors, from the bridge and from up and down the stairwell right in front of the class. They swarmed forward, not fearful of death, or perhaps, they were already dead. They swarmed forward in staggered motion. Closer and closer, until Jean Paul could have touched them from where he was. When in range of the barricades, the zombies started their routine of striking the barricades with their outstretched hands, only to be picked off by precise hits on their head. They were relentless and they were everywhere. Everytime one was picked off, another three came staggering in to replace the fallen one. There were too many, far too many.

Jean Paul continued firing with accuracy, but after a few dozen shots, he found he could not fire anything else, before realizing he was out of bullets. With a click of a button, gravity took hold of the bullet magazine, pulling it to the floor, just in time for Jean Paul to shaft in another loaded one. They swarming on the barricades, repelled back only by the powerful bullets.

Behind the row of defenders, Roy screamed. His ears covered with his hands and his lungs continually being emptied. He was afraid of the noise. He was afraid of the zombies. He was afraid of everything.

The rest of the survivors squatted as far away from the barricades as they could. They were quiet. They were scared. The deafening gunshots continued through to night. No relief could be found in sleep. No sweet dreams could be dreamt. For sleep could not even come regardless of exhaustion. The deafening and repeating gunshots was far too loud, far too loud. ~

To be continued...

Remember to comment on the chat box!

All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 4

2010-04-03T09:00:00.000+08:00

Cracks in Unity

Day 2. 3.17 P.M.

Outside the class, the afternoon sun hung up in the air, bathing the school in unbearable and balmy warmth. Jean Paul was thankful that the electricity supply to the fans was still running and also similarly grateful that the argument between Joel and Isabella had stopped. Everybody was dosing, or at least most of the survivors. Joel's group that now included Roy, sat together, speaking in hush voices as if planning a conspiracy. And planning a conspiracy was exactly what Jean Paul had suspected them to be doing.

Jean Paul sat against the wall restlessly. Zenda, Kisshan and Brandon were asleep, curled up. Jean Paul noticed too that Jordan, despite lying down was not asleep. Jordan was staring out through the window in deep thought. Stephanie was moaning. Her knees were killing her with the pain.

She got off the floor with agonizing pain and then in a delirious and soft voice she called for a salvation to her pain, “It hurts! It hurts! Oh my god1 It hurts!”

Joel's group looked at her for a moment before resuming their inner circle discussion. Stephanie also remained silent. A moment later, she succumbed to an outburst of pain and with that she groaned loudly and painfully like a tormented beast. Jean Paul could take the screaming no more and walked up to the curled up figure of Stephanie. With his hand, Jean Paul woke her from her delirium. Her cheeks were puffy and drenched with tears. The muscles on her calf were cramped up and it obviously hurt. From her grimace, Jean Paul knew it was pain that could kill her.

“I'm getting some painkillers for you,” Jean Paul said then plodded away to Jordan, waking him up. Throughout the entire process, Joel's group eyed Jean Paul from a distance. Jean Paul hurriedly walked up to them and requested a follower to help get first aid. At first they stared at him, unwilling to speak, as if Jean Paul had just interrupted an important secret meeting. After a moment of awkward silence, Jing Wei volunteered to follow.

The three swiftly woke Kisshan and Brandon up, before leaving the classroom. The moment five of them left, Joel's group stood up and scattered themselves around the classroom.

“Wake up everybody! Wake up!” Kanesh yelled crudely. Sleepily and annoyingly, the survivors stirred from their nap and rose to see what was going on.

Joel took centre stage and addressed the class professionally like a political candidate running for president and appealing to rally, “Students of 2A1, I, Joel Yew, will be the unanimous leader of this class right now. Since there is no head figure, I shall attain this position to coordinate our efforts to survive.”

Immediately, his announcement was met with furious opposition. Isabella shouted out, “What right do you have?”

“I have the recommendation of five classmates,” Joel said smugly.

“Well. I have the recommendation of everyone!” Isabella retorted with a hastily put up front. “Who are you to compete against me for leadership?”

“Fine. We shall put it to a vote,” Joel said with a smile, as if knowing the outcome of everything and everything that was transpiring was simply part of his previously planned plans. “People, would you rather vote for someone with ideals, some one who knows how to lead you all to safety, who listens to his followers and treats himself as an equal with them; or a bitch who only knows how to brag, who only knows how to complain and only knows how to serve herself and will never listen to her followers, if she has any in fact,” Joel made his stake, while flinging a personal attack at Isabella, with a permanent smug smile.

“Whatever Joel. I think the bitch you are referring to is yourself,” Isabella retorted with anger seething through her teeth. She stood with hands in akimbo and her eyebrows frowned.

“We shall see about that,” Joel replied coolly. If he had any anger or inclination to fight back, he showed none of it, carefully placing his foot down on sturdy stones. “Shall we go on to a vote?”

“Yes! Of course we should!” Isabella retorted back, with more rashness and foolishness than wisdom. Joel smiled. “Whoever wins this poll will be the final leader of the survivors. Joel, be prepared to be beaten.”

Joel just laughed. Zenda shook her head, as if knowing that Isabella had made the worst decision of her life.

“Whoever votes for me, raise your hands.”

Obviously on cue, Joel's group consisting of Alfred, Kanesh, Jia Yong and Roy pushed their fist up into the air and rhythmically chanted Joel's name. Isabella was about to protest but her voice was drowned out by their relentless chanting. Slowly and reluctantly, hands rose in favour of Joel. They were all boys, for a simple fact that they would rather trust a person of similar gender rather than an opposite gender who they also similarly dislike.

The girls stood out of the voting. Just seven of them. They looked forlornly at Isabella, their only front. A front that neither of them actually rooted for. They just wanted something else entirely. From there onwards, it was obvious that the winner for the “elections” was Joel. Zenda looked on with a blank and disgruntled look. But no matter how unsatisfied she may be, she will not voice it, for she knew the moment she voiced her opposition, she would bombarded ten-fold. It was hopeless; in fact, had Isabella not joined into the “election”, had she not volunteered to take part in the voting process, it would have been a different outcome altogether. Zenda shook her head ever more, wishing that Jean Paul or Jordan were here to help out.

“Whoever votes for Isabella, raise your hands,” Joel scorned with an iota of a chuckle.

No hands rose. Only after a moment of hopelessly looking on did Zenda and Vanes raise their hands. They already tasted the bitterness of defeat. And they were willing to admit it, no matter how unfair it had been.

“Joel! This is unfair! This is unfair! Like, hello? There are so many boys and only eight girls!” Isabella ranted and berated on, oblivious to the disgusted stares of almost everyone.

Joel replied calmly and with ill-intended advice, and as he progressed onto his statement, a feeling of contempt and disgust aroused, “Isabella, do you know what you look like to us all? You look like a sore-loser who has never tasted defeat because you are spoilt child!”

Isabella's immediate response was an expected one: she exploded with personal insults being hurled across at almost everyone with much of her statements unformed and rashly put up. Obviously she was desperate.

Alfred cut in, “Face it! You lost! You already said yourself that the vote will be final. And you lost! You lost!”

Isabella stared at the apprehensive glares that everyone else gave her. They seemed to form a circle around her, ready to show their lack of support to her. She backed out of the circle, feeling a growing sense of defeat and lost of pride that was quick to replace her disbelief. Finally, she let her anger show and stormed off to a corner of a class, and plopped down to the floor, burying her head in her arms. She cried out loud, expecting Zenda and Vanes to give her some attention. But they gave none. All that was given to her, was contempt-filled jeering. She could not take it any more. She burst out with tears rolling down her puffy cheeks, and her clenched fist banging off the floor as if she was a distraught baby whose toy was forcefully taken away.

She was defeated, and she knew it. Most of the boys were laughing at her while the girls just stayed away from both camps with raised eyebrows directed at Isabella.

Zenda stood out of the chaos, feeling guilty that she was deserting a friend, but also feeling a conflicting thought that she tried to suppress: Isabella deserved it. Finally, she could not cushion the sparks of guilt blaring out of her heart and approached Isabella with a tissue in her hand.

Her tissue was pushed forcefully aside, and in another unexpected push, Isabella had shoved Zenda away. Zenda was appalled. What was wrong with Isabella? She was just so coped up with herself that she did not care about her friend any more? Feeling irritated, Zenda walked away to sit by Vanes.

The boys paraded around the class, chanting cries of victory, and making sure that those cries were particularly heard by Isabella. Her fall from grace was not exactly very pleasant...

~~~

Day 2. 3.30 P.M.

The school was deserted. A sense of death and eeriness had blanketed every nook and cranny. The only life seemed to come from the pigeons that frequently fluted across the sky. Lazy rays of the afternoon sun drifted inwards. The shelter of the school protected its distraught occupants from a direct blazing heat.

Nothing was found throughout the school. Nothing of use could be found. The only place left was the General Office. For the entire duration of their search, they had avoided all dark places, which could house the nesting zombies, but now, desperation had pushed to them to the extremes. Jean Paul was sure that the General Office had a first aid kit. He was going to make their raid there worthwhile by gathering whatever they could get.

The raiders had brought along empty schoolbags to store scavenged items. Jean Paul proceeded on to the glass doors of the General Office and smelled the faint smell of lingering air-conditioning vapour. He wiped the smelly sweat off his forehead and on the count of three, had entered the office. After waiting for a moment, confirming that nothing was rushing at them, the raiders went inside and quickly and systematically rounded up useful objects. Hanging on the wall by the clerk's desk was a glass cabinet storing all the keys in the school. With a swipe of his hand, Jing Wei brought all the keys down into his bag. Jordan stopped in his tracks, “Wait, Jing Wei! Three of those keys. They are different!”

Jing Wei searched them out and placed them on the table. “Yeah. So what about them?”

“Which part of this school requires three different locks?”

“Erm...The art room? You know the crazy Mr. Tan, he has so many furniture and household goods in there, if anyone breaks in, he will lose more money than entire house would have.”

Jordan laughed but quickly avouched his excitement, “The armoury has three locks. And there are M-16s in there.”

“Our school has an armoury?” Brandon asked sceptically and with a giggle.

“Yeah. It’s where the NCC and NPCC store their dummy rifles. But, as it was just Speech Day, a truckload of M-16s was transported from the NCC HQ at Ang Mo Kio. But because there are real M-16s, they actually included another two more locks,” Jordan replied.

“M-16s huh?” Jean Paul thought to himself with a spark in his eyes.

~~~

Day 2. 3.37 P.M.

The last two keys were found in the Principal's office and in a pad-locked drawer in the General Office (which was broken open by Jean Paul). With quick turns of the locks, the heavy padlocks fell to the ground and with a clank; Jordan pushed open the heavy metal doors. The room was unlit and had a lingering dust cloud inside.

Opaque cabinets filled the left side of the room while newer looking cabinets where on the right side. Jordan voiced his opinion, “I think the M-16s are in the right-hand side cabinets.”

With that, they broke the pad locks apart, revealing rows upon rows of second-hand but extremely useful M-16 rifles. In three other cabinets were three cardboard cartons of ammunition.

“Ho ho ho! Let's kick some zombie ass,” Jean Paul said with a laugh.

“Please. We don't have much ammo. We're just gonna use the guns for defence,” Jordan said. “Before we do anything, let me show you how to work this rifle.”

He took up an unloaded rifle. “Place the butt of the rifle on this hollow part of your shoulder. When you fire, it would not hurt that much.”

“How do you know that?” Jean Paul asked sceptically.

“'Cause we are NCC members,” Jing Wei said.

“Oh,” Jean Paul uttered, with a dismayed look. Without any more hesitation, they quickly loaded the M-16s into their bags. After which, they loaded the three ammunition boxes onto a trolley. Jordan reached into the ammunition box and took out forty bullets, which he loaded into two magazine clips.

The rest watched his swift and professional actions with awe. Jordan loaded one magazine into the bullet feeder and cocked the gun.

“Shall we move?”

~~~

Day 2. 3.52 P.M.

“When Jean Paul returns, do not let him in,” Joel whispered with a tone of urgency.

“But then the girls will let him in,” Roy said with worry.

“We can say that he is infected already,” Alfred chipped in.

With a last look at each other, they nodded their heads in unison. Then, there was furious knocking at the door. Everyone in the class swerved their heads towards the direction of the sound with a lingering sense of either dread or curiosity.

“Who is it?” Joel asked with a inconspicuously-pretentious voice.

“It’s Jean Paul and company. Open up,” a voice called from behind the door.

“Oh, I don’t think so. What if you are already infected?”

“What do you mean, Joel? Let us in.”

“No. I am in charge here and I will not let you in,” Joel replied with a raise of excitement in his heart. He had power and authority now and he was savouring the taste of it.

“Stop it, Joel! Let us in. I don’t think anyone in the right mind will root for your leadership,” Jean Paul exclaimed in disbelief, with a growing frustration in his voice.

“Apparently, they did,” Joel rebutted Jean Paul with a smug smile. Joel turned his around to smile at Alfred, Roy, Kanesh and Jia Yong. They smiled back with brimming joy.

“Whatever Joel. If you do not open up, we will shoot our way in.”

“Shoot your way in? Shoot with what? Your dick? No?” Joel asked with a grating laugh. His supporters laughed too.

“We’d warned you!” Jean Paul shouted with his frustration breaking into pure rage. “Jordan, fire.”

Joel’s smile disappeared upon hearing the deafening roar of a gun. ~

To be continued...

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All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 3

2010-03-27T09:00:00.003+08:00

Food for Thought

Dear Diary,

The world seems to be infected by some virus that was verified by CNA to be contained in only the Western part of Singapore. I am afraid and filled with a certain kind of dread that I am unable to explain. The prospect of surviving just seems grim and depressing. The class is not united at all. There was a heated argument between Joel and Isabella; and their friends. I support neither of them, they are just hypocrites to me. I don't know why but Zenda seems to feel more safe and comfortable with me around. And instead of talking to Isabella, she is talking me and Jordan and Kee. Sigh...We know that the “zombies” cannot attack us in the day, so tomorrow morning, we are going out to get food, water and maybe more stuff that can help us. Also things like cupboards or benches to brace the doors and windows. I'm very, very scared in actual fact. I just don't want to show it. Sometimes, I just simply want to cry at the grimness of the situation. I think I am doomed...we all are doomed... It is inevitable, but I do not know when I will fall. I just know that I will fight on for survival.

Jean Paul Wee

24 February 2010, Wednesday

~~~

Day 2. 7.27 a.m.

The clock that hung on the cream wall of the classroom denoted half an hour to eight in the morning. The morning sun had risen and rays of hope-filled light drifted lazily into the quiet and sleeping class. Jean Paul was awake, sitting against the wall with his legs spread out and his eyes gazing steadily and sleepily at the sleeping Zenda.

A yawn from an awake Jordan woke him from his deep thought. Jordan looked around the classroom with a grim frown. And then saw Jean Paul.

“Good morning,” Jordan greeted Jean Paul. “We're going food hunting, aren't we?”

“Yeah. We'll just wait for more people to wake up.”

Kanesh Pillai and Joshua Janwar stirred in their curled up sleeping positions, before finally getting up without any mood to say anything. After a few more minutes of waiting, Jordan stood and called out softly but loud enough to wake everyone up. “Rise and shine, people. Wake up.”

“Hey, shut the fuck up. I'm trying to get some sleep,” Alfred Low, a short but strong and irritable boy replied.

“Alfred, I'm hungry and I'm thirsty. I bet most of us are. So we are going out to get food and water,” Jean Paul replied, irritated. By then, most of the people had already woken up, stretching arms, rubbing empty stomachs.

Jean Paul finally announced when everyone was up, “Okay 2A1. We will organize a party to go down to get some food, another to get water and another to look for equipment like cupboards or benches to reinforce our barricades. We also need a party to take care of the classroom when we are gone.”

Immediately, the announcement had gained resistance. Joel yelled out, much to the annoyance of the survivors, “I'm not going down. It's too dangerous. Why don't we just get out of school and head East? What? You're scared.”

Jean Paul just looked at Joel with a raised eyebrow. Isabella was already retorting, “Wasn't that what I suggested yesterday? And then you marked me down. What the hell do you want?”

“Exactly! Joel, you are not fit to argue,” Joshua chipped in his support.

And then a row of arguments and intense statements were spelt out, “Shut up Isabella!”; “Joel stop trying to be funny.”; “Hey shut up both of you.” and so on. In fact, everyone was in the argument now. Zenda was again sobbing, Jordan was shouting for silence, in vain. Jean Paul stood out of the violence and went to the door. In two twist, he unlocked the lock and opened the door wide. And then at a blaring yell, “Joel!”

Everyone was silent while swerving their heads to Jean Paul. “You said you wanted to get out the school and head East. Well, the door is open. Go!”

Joel saw the wide-opened door and gulped. He kept silent, at a lost of what to say.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go!”

Joel hesitated and stayed where he was. More students jeered at him. Isabella smiled smugly. Mustering his courage to protect his pride, Joel said, “Fine. I will prove it to you.”

He walked out of the class with a countering smug smile. “Whoever that believes in what I believe, follow me.”

Kanesh, Alfred and Jing Wei left the room. After a while of hesitation, another boy named Jia Yong left too. In a few more minutes time, they are disappeared from sight. Jean paul turned around, “Do not let them back in if they return.”

Jordan stood. “I'll lead the water party.”

“I'll get the equipment,” Brandon volunteered.

“And I'll get the food,” Jean Paul said. “Qiu Yuan, can you be in charge of taking care of the class?”

“Alright,” he said.

Jean Paul continued, “We need as many people as possible to follow each party.”

The students shifted around. Under Jean Paul's party, was Kisshan Pyar, and Indian student who had quite a lot of strength; Zenda; and Isabella. Under Jordan's was Yu Siew Ann, a quiet but helpful girl; Joshua Janwar; and a close clique of three girls: Choo Wee-lin, Stephanie Wei and Magena Yeo. Two girls: Vanes Tay and Quek Wan Lin followed Brandon. Roy Tay opted to stay behind with Qiu Yuan, giving an excuse of keeping the class caretaker company. Jean Paul knew there was a ulterior motive which was harmless at the moment.

“Alright then. Let's set off.”

~~~

Day 2. 8.15 a.m.

With a fire extinguisher, Jean Paul broke opened the shut roller shutters of one canteen store. The lock broke to pieces and he pushed the rollers up. He leaped over the counter of the stall and beckoned the rest of his party to follow. After a perimeter check, he confirmed that there were no zombies in the canteen's large pantry that consisted of eight stalls, two staff toilets and one wash area. With a trolley, they had piled up a stack of edibles from packets of noodles, to can meat, fish and sausages. It was enough food to feed half the school. They unplugged two portable heat coil stoves from the electric sockets and loaded them onto the trolley too.

“Guys, if possible, we'll take a fridge up also,” Zenda said jokingly.

“Eh, that's a good idea. Then we can also bring chicken meat and fruits up,” Jean Paul said seriously, in contrast to the rest who were laughing their heads off. “Seriously. We can bring it up later.”

Outside the canteen pantry, Brandon's party were scouting around for equipment. With them, they took a set of four benches and two tables, more than enough to reinforce the classroom barricades.

Isabella stared at Jean Paul for a prolonged moment then said, “I still think we should set out for the checkpoints as soon as possible.”

“Yep. Same sentiments. The earlier we reach the checkpoints, the less people will die,” Zenda gave her advice.

“No. Look into their eyes, they are scared,” Kisshan added his share.

Jean Paul was silent and then sighed, “Most of us all starving. We would not last more than an hour without food or water. With our situation we can hardly make a journey to the Singapore Polytechnic, not to mention the nearest checkpoint. And the people with us too, like Roy. He did not want to leave the class because he was scared. I saw him yesterday begging Joel's group to protect him or something like that. I just don't trust that guy.”

“Who knows? Maybe he is just scared, like the rest of us,” Zenda continued on her usual unbiased outlook.

“Whatever. We should get back to class anyway,” Jean Paul replied, plodding away with the trolley in hand.

There was a sudden scream from the second floor. They are swerved their heads upwards to the direction of the screams...

~~~

Day 2. 8.16 A.M.

“We'll take water from the toilet then,” Joshua said, seeing the blood stain on the metal water cooler. The blood most probably had the virus. He walked towards the adjacent toilet and pushed open the wooden door.

“Wait!” Jordan said but it was too late. The toilet lights had not been switched on and as such, zombies had taken refuge from the daylight in the dark toilet. Immediately when Joshua pushed open the door, there was a loud groan from inside and claws had tugged at Joshua's lower legs pulling him inside. Joshua fell flat on the floor and screamed. Desperately, like a a zebra tryingt o pry its way out of a lion's paw, he clawed on the floor, trying to pull himself away. But his efforts were in vain, with every inch that he managed to pull out, he was pulled back in by two more inches. He screamed hysterically. The nails of the infected students tore into his leg, exposing the flesh beneath the tanned skin. The zombies then proceeded to clawing the entrapped prey. The nails dug deep into his torso and ripped out bloody lumps of flesh. Blood splattered across the walls. He continued screaming. The girls were screaming too with their eyes popping out. Stunned by blood, everyone stood rooted on the ground before Jordan regained his composure and yelled, “Run!”

The party bounded away, leaving a bloodied and screaming Joshua, desperately crawling out of the toilet but repeatedly pulled back in. He emptied his lungs in fear. Terror was spread out over his pale face. With one final pull, he disappeared into the darkness of the toilet and on the floor was the bloody imprints of his fingers.

The water party led by Jordan crashed into the classroom, landing on all fours and panting heavily with sweat drenching their clothes. They were too stunned to talk. Only after a while did Jordan reply to Qiu Yuan's and Roy's pestering questions.

~~~

Day 2. 11.17 A.M.

Everyone but Jordan's party were eating heartily. Wee-lin had sustained deep scratches when she fell on the glass shards of the broken windows, when she crashed into the classroom; Stephanie had her knees impacted heavily on the floor and now could hardly move them. She complained while crying that the pain was killing her.

Everyone but Magena ignored her cries and continued eating. Boiled noodles with boiled meat. Chopped watermelon and a much appreciated cup of water. Pots, cutlery and utensils were taken from the Home Economics room were taken and used. Six pails of fresh water were covered to prevent evaporation, stood beside a filled fridge. Jean Paul's party also took the initiative to cover for Jordan's party and managed to bring back a huge lot of packet tea and packet milo.

“The rice is ready!” A joyous Qiu Yuan exclaimed, looking at the electric rice pot. The class had never eaten together as one. Although the occasion was without more than half of the class, it could still count as the others were dead or missing. With a ladle, he scoped out bowls of rice and distributed them all to those who wanted it, before settling down to eat his share. Roy had settled down beside him and placed on his left side was four empty bowls that previously had a little mountain of rice or noodles.

“Thanks for the food Qiu Yuan,” Roy toasted with a packet of green tea.

Qiu Yuan ignored the toast and asked coldly, “Is that your first packet?”

“No, its my third,” Roy replied with a laugh.

“Seriously? Is that your third?”

“Yes. It is my third.”

Qiu Yuan stood up and walked off to sit in Jean Paul's circle of friends. And then he reported to the survivors sitting in the circle, “Roy is freaking terrible. He ate four bowls of rice and noodles then drank three packets of green tea.”

“How many packets of green tea do we have?” Isabella asked with a little anger in her voice.

“Less than ten I guess,” Kisshan recalled.

“I'm going to confront him.”

Zenda immediately voiced her objections, “No Isabella. Just let him be. We don't want any more arguments.”

“Zenda...He's living off our hardwork! What did he do? Nothing!” Isabella would not listen to Zenda's objections and stalked off to Roy.

Peering down at Roy with a deep-setted frown, she confronted him, “Roy. Do you know that you're an asshole. You drank three packets of green tea when we have less than ten. And you ate four bowls of food.”

Defiantly and self-righteously he replied, “I don't see what's wrong with that? Who are you to call me an asshole?”

With that he stood and walked away, leaving Isabella to brag on, on her ideologies of equality. How ironic, thought Jean Paul. And then, there was a furious knocking on the door with yells, “Let us in! Please let us in!”

Qiu Yuan went to door and peered out through the half boarded little window on the door. He looked and Jean Paul and said, “It's Joel's group. Should we let them in?”

Jean Paul glanced at the faces of the survivors, as if looking for a overall response then said to Qiu Yuan, “Let them in.”

The group of five boys scattered inside, unwilling to look up at anyone's face. There was silence, everyone had stopped eating and now looked at the group, waiting for some report or answers. Isabella broke the silence, mocking them, “Oh. From the look of their faces, they're expedition must be a success.”

Jean Paul shot Isabella an accusatory glance while Joel shot her a furious glare. Jean Paul asked shortly, “What happened?”

Jing Wei answered, “The school gate was shut so we spent some time climbing over then we came across an opened car so we checked the radio. It said that the checkpoints have been pushed further East to Queenstown. And that some zombies are already capable of roaming in the light as they have a higher metabolism. It now takes more than ten hours to reach the nearest checkpoint strong daylight last only around ten hours. So we came back. And we are also starving.”

“Alright, sit down and have a bow of rice,” Zenda said to them mercifully. Almost reluctantly and hesitantly, the group sat down and picked up a bowl of rice before nibbling away in silence. They still did not dare look up. The rest of the survivors resumed their lively chatter.

Isabella let out a loud grunt of disgust and skepticism before saying cockily, “I thought someone was so sure they were going to find salvation.”

“Isabella shut up,” Jean Paul said softly but loudly and coldly enough for Isabella to hear.

“Why should I? They are such arrogant people.”

Joel placed his bowl down and stood. The rest of the class also stopped eating and looked up at the imminent arguers with forlorn glumness. “Look who's talking.”

And with that, the pair of mortal enemies proceeded to a heated and petty argument again, trading personal attacks and insults. Vanes stood and tried to keep the peace, but making a mistake by consolidating too much on Isabella's side and was shot up by Joel's unfeeling remarks.

She backed away from the scene with red eyes and sat down beside Brandon Kee. Zenda resumed eating, caring no more than to roll her eyes at Isabella when she looked at her for support in the argument. And she realized too that Jing Wei was doing the same thing to Joel. ~

To be continued...
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All comments will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 2

2010-03-20T09:00:00.001+08:00

Trapped

Day 1. 10.23 P.M.
The night dragged on. The entire school was completely dark. Jean Paul was thankful that at least there was still a flow of electricity supplying the classroom with light. And for that matter, the only light seemed to come from the classroom. Even the buildings around the school were completely dark and devoid of light. Slow-moving figures had been roaming the entire place even at the adjacent highway the entire night. A few cars with headlights switched on were left stationery on the highway, as if the drivers and passengers had went out of the car.

Joel Yew was surfing the internet on Mrs. Cheong's laptop. Along with him was Chew Jing Wei and Brandon Teo, both checking the progress of what Joel was searching. Then, on Joel's command, Brandon went to pull down the projector screen while Joel switched a video on.

The entire class was silent. Everyone had mostly gotten over their moment of stunned disbelieved and trauma. Most of them now were either sobbing or looking forlornly and listlessly at the floor. Ryan continued to sleep despite his hand being swollen. Jean Paul was sure he had heard some groaning from Ryan. Nonetheless, he did not care at the moment. He continued to sit on the hard floor or at times restlessly trying to get some sleep while lying on the hard concrete floor. Other times, he tried to struck up conversations with either Jordan or Zenda, but all of the conversations were awkward, with neither parties in the mood to talk. His shirt had been drenched with sweat but now it was dry with a lingering smell of pungent body odour. His water bottle was almost empty and his stomach was growling with hunger. The last meal or snack he had was a sandwich he was saving for tea time which he had eaten at eight in the evening with little appetite. The banging on the doors and the metal cabinet had stopped but a few zombies were still present outside.

Everyone tried to get some sleep with very few making any noise. Almost everyone had tried to make phone calls to their love ones which was not picked up. Perhaps their parents were also already killed. Some sobbed quietly in their sleep. Jean Paul preferred to confide with himself and hold whatever hope he had left. He convinced himself that his parents were not dead yet until it was confirmed. The entire mood of the class was depressing.

Joel made an announcement, “Everybody, we had just gone online to check what had happened and this is what we have found. We found a news report on the Channel News Asia website. It should explain almost everything, I hope.”

Upon hearing the announcement, everybody sat up and looked at the projector screen. The speakers were switched on and the front lights were turned off, leaving the classroom in darkness except for illumination from the projector screen. When everyone seemed to pay attention, Joel started the news video.

A familiar crisply dressed anchor was seated in the video. Instead of the usual everyday make-up and too-wide smile on his face, he carried a make-up-less and grim expression. From the look of his face, the students already knew the situation was terrible. He started, “Good evening, this is Alvin Ng of Channel News Asia Singapore. This is an emergency news report. There is a currently an island-wide lock down and curfew. Everyone except authorised personnel are advised to stay indoors if you are not in the West part of Singapore. Residence currently in the Western parts of Singapore, starting from Pasir Panjang, Buona Vista, Bukit Timah, Bukit Panjang, Choa Chu Kang and Woodlands are strongly advised to evacuate the area immediately and report at the newly-set up safe perimeters in your specific districts. The has been a outbreak of a little known virus called Mentis Incognita, a rabies-like virus that takes over the nervous system of a human. All mammals are susceptible to the virus. So far, the Singaporean Civil Defence Force and the Armed Forces have quarantined the Western part of Singapore to contain the spread of the epidemic. The virus is transmitted through digestion, exposure to the bodily fluids of an infected person.

“The authorities have also advised that all wounds should be covered. The virus has been researched by over thirty governments with available infrastructure for over 30 years, although the general public has no knowledge of it until its outbreak in Singapore, for fear that the knowledge might endanger society due to terrorism. The virus can only be transmitted through exposure to the bodily fluids of an infected person. Currently, it is estimated that over forty thousand Singaporeans have been infected by the virus. Unfortunately, the vaccine for the virus can only be transported to Singapore from Japan in three days time. The cure for the virus is as of now, still undiscovered. Our correspondent, Conrad Raj is currently on the scene of one of the military check points that separate the safe areas from the quarantined areas. Conrad, please,” the video screen transited over the a “live” video of an Indian reporter wielding a microphone with the Channel News Asia logo on it.

“Hello Alvin, this is Conrad. I am currently on the scene of one of the military check points in Woodlands. As you can see behind me, a set of two fences have been erected. Both fences have a huge voltage of electricity running through them. Further up in the heavily defended gate into the quarantine area, a motorcade of armoured vehicles are now passing through the gate.” In the background, there was a crowd of armed military personnel, including paramedics, soldiers, bio-hazardous containment team members and many others. Behind the fence was a watchtower with machine guns. Across the fences, on the quarantined area side, throngs of slow-walking infected zombies were now approaching the fence. A military officer with a loud hailer called out to them, “Stop where you are or we will shoot!”

His calls were obviously unheard and unheeded. The throngs of infected people grew and approached the fences. The machine guns on the watchtower opened up on the infected people.

“As you can see, there are a lot of infected people that are now approaching the fence. And the military is now shooting them down. I regret to say this but this is the standard measure which is taken. The military has no other choice and I assure you, according to experts, the infected people actually are not in control of their actions or speech and can actually already be considered deceased. As such, the infected can be considered living dead. Much like the zombies in film, but this is no joke at all. These are real zombies and they attack all warm blooded creatures, and during that process, infect the creature or human being too.”

The video screen beamed back to Alvin who clearly looked stressed. “Thank you Conrad. To our viewers again, the government of Singapore has repeatedly warned that all residents remain indoors or if are experiencing symptoms of the virus, surrender themselves to the neighbourhood quarantine centres. I shall now pass the time over to an MOH spokesperson who will tell us about the symptoms.”

Again the video screen turned towards a spokesperson who stood on a podium with a scripts in his hands and numerous microphones of different news agencies pointed at him. “The virus is transmitted mainly though open wounds. There are mainly six stages to the virus. At stage one, which is 5 to 10 minutes after the infection, the infected person will experience delirium, uncontrolled laughter or crying, high fevers of 40 degrees Celsius, Hallucinations, rapid breathing, severe runny nose, and profuse sweating. This stage was last for about four hours, but the symptom and its periods of incubation or transition between stages varies from person to person.

“At stage 2, roughly four hours after infection, the infected person is unable to move joints or muscles, experiences blindness, high fever, rapid breathing, sever runny nose, the skin tone darkens, inability to speak and only able to groan or growl, the skin shrinks and tears, dehydration, blood is thick and blackish.

“At stage 3, roughly twelve hours after infection, the infected will more or less turn into a zombie. He is able to crawl and possibly stand. His voice becomes hoarse and extremely loud. But he can only growl. The mucus now covers his entire face and flows into his mouth. When bitten by an infected, the mucus will enter your blood flow and infect you. The fingers recede, while the nails grow, as such, the skin tears, and blood will stain the nails; so similarly, being clawed by and infected too, will infect you too. Infected is effectively dead already. The person loses his identity and has absolutely no memories left. He experiences rigor mortis, the stiffening of muscles upon death. And is susceptible to light and can only roam about during the day. The infected is attracted to heat but cannot stand light. The skin is torn and wrinkled, and is black with decay. Stage 3 onwards, the infected is increasingly dangerous. Although infected are unable to move much at all and usually limp to walk, and move very slowly with weak stamina, they can possess enough strength to shatter glass in ten strikes or more, but that strength last for only up to five seconds before it needs to recharge again for about two hours. Unfortunately, the infected will get increasingly stronger and possess greater stamina when the virus slowly gains control of the brain in the form of a tumour. Stage 3 would last for about 60 hours. Infected cannot be killed by damaging the usual body organs. The only organ that can be damaged to kill an infected is the brain, as the brain is possessed by the tumour and only by killing the tumour can you kill an infected.

“From stage 4 onwards, the infected can slowly stand light but not strong light. Its strength keeps increasing and so dos the stamina. It is able to walk fast and can possibly move more joints and does not need to limp. The tumour seizes control of the body increasingly and by the end of stage 4, the infected can roam around at times before and after noon, when the sunlight is not as strong as noon time. Stage 4 last for about two days or 48 hours.

“From stage 5 onwards, infected can stand strong sunlight, possesses greater stamina and strength than average human beings. Its joints are fully usable but it can still only growl and groan. It has super human strength, strong enough to dent hard metals and break through walls. It is at stage 5 where the infected is most potent and most dangerous. It last only for about four hours.

“Stage 6 is a declining state where within two hours, the infected slowly dies due to severe dehydration, starvation and the muscles are already dead. The tumour is now the size of coconut but will also wither away. The tumour is like a parasite feeding off the body, as such, when all nutrients of the body is consumed, the tumour dies and thus so will the infected.

Joel switched off the video. “I guess that's all that we need to know. The problem is, they most probably think that there are no survivors in Clementi and as such, no one will come to save us.”

Jean Paul stood up to his full height, “All right, most of our doubts and disbelief has been cleared. I really do not know how we can survive this for a full 10 days.”

“Its actually 11.6,” Joshua Janwar said, pointing at his calculator.

“All right, 11.6. We now know that the zombies will stop their attack in the day, so I propose that we go out during the day to forage for supplies and food. And maybe, find an escape plan before most of the zombies are in Stage 5. As such I suggest that we escape from here to the safe areas in 5 days or less,” Jean Paul said fluently, with his hands flowing about to express his ideas.

Most of the people nodded their heads in agreement. But Zenda raised a point, “Jean Paul, maybe some were already infected days before, as such some could already be in Stage 3 or 4 right now. We do not have much time.”

“Agreed! I think we should escape the next day,” Isabella suggested enthusiastically. A few boys who had always detested her, looked at the girl disgustedly.

“No one asked for you opinion Isabella! And furthermore, you know how long it takes to walk from here to the nearest checkpoint? It is going to take more than a day with slow people walking with us,” Brandon Teo exclaimed, totally against her.

Jing Wei chipped in before Isabella could retort, “Exactly. Do not say things without thinking through with it.”

Joel and other boys in his ring started pouring it insults at her. And Isabella retorted in her usual domineering and defensive tone, “Hey! All I did was make a suggestion. You do not have to be such a judgemental person.”

“Yah, yah. We are very judgemental people!” Joel said sarcastically, much to the joy and raucous laughter of Joel's closer company. “If we are judgemental, what are you?”

“I am not judgemental. Oh my god, what is your problem Joel?”

And there, a back and forth exchange of insults and statements. Zenda and a few other girls supported Isabella, not really because they felt she was correct, but of out of obligation. And soon enough, everyone in the class was pulled into the heated argument. The noisy and usual spirit of the class resumed, with the debaters oblivious to their plight. Students were shouting at the top of their voices with frustration. “Joel, can you shut up! You are making no sense at all!” “Isabella, keep quiet lar! Your brain is the size of a pea.” “People, just shut up! Can't you see the situation we are in now?”

Jean Paul and Jordan stood outside the argument. They felt despaired at the disunited spirit. Even at such a time of peril, the entire class was still taking up grudges on petty arguments. Both of them neither liked Joel nor Isabella, but both decided not to take part in the arguments. Zenda was sobbing with frustration and unhappiness. She left the argument scene and sat on the floor sobbing quietly. She was disgruntled and tired of the petty arguments. She was tired of always trying to make peace when everyone wanted war. She was tired of restraining her friends from taking part in the argument. She was just simply fed up with the class. Jean Paul went up and sat beside her. Both watched the stalemate argument in silence, before Jean Paul asked, “Are you okay?”

She nodded with a saddening smile. Jordan who continued to stay outside the argument could take it no longer. He had one of the loudest voice in the class and he was intending to use it. “Shut up!”

There was complete silence and everyone looked at his direction. He continued at a lower voice, “Why are all of you bickering over this nonsense?”

Immediately, replies and complains filled the air. Jordan silenced them all with another loud order. “Stop it! Stop it all! We are already in this shit hole. Why make it more shit-filled by pulling out petty arguments?”

The class was silent again. Joel looked angrily at Isabella, and then jealously at Jean Paul. He would be quiet, but in his heart, the argument was not over. He will get back at Isabella some other time. Isabella plodded off with an arrogant roll of her eyes. She sat down beside Zenda and then with compassion she asked nicely why she was crying, not knowing at all that she was one of the reasons.

At a corner of the class, Ryan still sleep, his skin was turning dark and his hair was dropping. Jean Paul finally took the sign seriously. He said quietly and dreadfully to Jordan, “Ryan's infected.”

The entire class heard him and everyone was stunned and silent with lumps in their throat. With a gesture, Jean Paul beckoned Brandon Kee and Jordan to follow. And swiftly, they unlocked the doors and dumped Ryan outside before locking the doors back again before any zombies could come. They returned to their position, with a daze and expressionless feeling in their spine.

The class continued to stare at them, shocked that they had been so close to being infected. Everyone was hungry, everyone was thirsty. Food could only come the next morning at first light.

Looking back at the class, Jean Paul asked in an annoyed manner, “What? Stop staring at me.”

He sat down again beside Zenda, patting his hands gently and warmly on her back. “I'm so sorry about the class.”

“It's okay,” She replied softly and tenderly, looking back at his eyes lovingly.~

To be continued...

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Chapter 1

2010-03-13T09:00:00.002+08:00

A Predicament

Day 1. 5.13 P.M.

Mrs. Cheong sat on the plastic chair, facing the her not-responding laptop, which rested gently on the teacher's table. Her red translucent spectacle frame framed a pair of clear lens that seemed to make her eyes bigger. She tried to work the laptop again but it was not responding to her request. Frustrated, she called for the class's IT rep, “Kai Yan! How do I sign in? I can't type out anything.”

A medium height male student came to the front of the class while tucking in his shirt. He wore thin black framed glasses and his face was peppered with red pimples. Without any hassle, Ngau Kai Yan typed in a set of commands which unlocked the computer. “All right. It's done!”

With that, he walked back to his seat at the far left of the classroom, right next to the shutter windows that with the waist high wall under the window, separated the class from the corridor.

Classroom 13, situated on the second floor of the classroom block, right beside the linkway to the canteen block and the middle staircase, housed the class of 2A1. 2A1 was a notorious batch of rowdy students, infamous for their noise and disunity. Teachers that were to teach their class was always warned by previous teachers of their infamous deeds and capabilities, but in the eyes of the students themselves, they were just a fun batch of like-able students.

Unfortunately, on that very unfortunate Wednesday, the class in general was not exactly liked by the relief maths teacher, Mrs. Cheong who had taught the class the previous year in Secondary One. She was clearly not impressed by their behaviour in the maths period she was relieving for their absent Maths teacher, as such, she had made them stay back as a class. The time now was just fifteen minutes past five and it was just another forty-five minutes before they could be released from their class “detention”. However, if it was a detention of any form, it did not seem like one. Crushed paper balls were thrown all around and students were running around the class. Tables were overturned and even the best of the students were taking part in random and deliberately loud chatting.

The teacher was more than just furious, she was red-hot and fed up. Her mood would seem more complete had smoke been rising up from her head. She had given up lecturing the class as after five minutes after each lecture, they would return to their usual crazy state of complete anarchy. She could not care less now. They were not responding to her just as her laptop was not responding to her. With another press of a button, the laptop again failed her. That was the last straw. She could not take it any more. She said to herself about the laptop, “Let it rest.”

She stood up and walked to the centre of the class. A few running students nearly knocked into her as she walked to the front of the class. Seeing her fuming expression as the teacher stood in front, the class quieten down with all of the students shuffling back to their seats and then sitting up straight with their hands folded on the greenish-blue table tops. The class was silent, except for a girl named Tan Jia Hui. She was tan so much that she was brownish. And for some unknown reason, she was laughter uncontrollably and loudly, sometimes only quietening down when trying to catch her breathe but still laughing away at the same time. Her peculiar actions was rather unusual but at the moment was making the teacher fume ever more. She seemed ignorant of the situation and continued her unrestrained laughter. Students around her stared disgustedly at her, some even trying to stop their giggling.

The teacher had none of it. Raising her voice to a screech, she ordered, “Tan Jia Hui! Get out of the class!”

The usual response was usually immediate silence from the pupil and also either immediately following the order or begging for mercy; but all she did was just laugh. Her laughter continued on to a silent gagging and then to wailing. The students around her backed away, fearing a sudden violent response from either the teacher or the mentally-unstable pupil. Mrs. Cheong did the expected. She rushed up at the student, screaming unformed words of anger. She pulled violently at the sleeve of Jia Hui, tugging out of the classroom. Jia Hui's left leg was swollen up, and she had a few claw-like scratches on her shin, which could have only come from some cat. Her skin was darker than normal and she seemed to be sweating profusely while at the same time laughing her head away. Her entire being seemed entirely insane. The class watched in silent horror at the insane student and the furious teacher. The pair seemed to have jumped right out of some intense scene of a television series.

Zenda Tan felt unsure of everything that particular Wednesday. She was a tall girl and commanded some respect in her ring of female friends and was generally well-liked and accepted in the class. She wore a pair of aluminium rim spectacles that looked rather cute on her clean and fair face. In her hands, she toyed with a light blue G2 pilot pen and she felt that something was terribly wrong that day. Everything was wrong in fact. It was a CCA day and the school was supposed to be bustling with students taking part in activities in their various CCAs but the entire school seemed to be void of sound and activity. There should be Uniformed Group cadets marching in the Quadrangle beside the classroom block, there should be musical instruments being played by the band members on the fourth floor, there should be sounds of cheering in the Indoor Sports Hall for the volleyball team playing against another school. The school was supposed to be bustling with activity and sound at this hour, but the only sound and activity came from the class of 2A1 right now. It was eerily silent and she was sure she was not the only one that felt this creepiness.

Sitting diagonally behind her, a strong-built volleyball member, Jean Paul Wee had also been restless the entire afternoon. He had repeatedly said that something was not right. In fact, he had not been his usual chatty self, he had remained quiet most of the afternoon while the rest of his classmates went round their usual routine of madness and anarchy.

“You feel it?” He asked tentatively, similarly sensing that Zenda was feeling the same feeling as he was.

“Feel what? The creepiness of the school right now?” Zenda returned his queries with a question.

“Yah. Something of that sort. And I have a bad feeling that Jia Hui is somehow linked to this.” Jean Paul added, feeling absolutely suspicious of Jia Hui. Ho had noticed too that his ring of friends were also similarly feeling a sense of restlessness and forlornness. Zenda laughed at his reply, turning back to face the spectacle of Mrs. Cheong in a row with the still laughing Jia Hui. She had finally managed to banish Jia Hui out of the class. And now, she had disappeared, walking off. A fat and short classmate by the name of Joel Yew had been making fun of the entire show with his similarly immature counterparts, Alfred Low, Brandon Teo and Ngau Kai Yan. The teacher was clearly distressed. She announced to the class, “Go for your toilet break. Be back at 5.30!”

Upon hearing the announcement, two thirds of the class left for the toilets. Jean Paul and Zenda remained behind, along with Jean Paul's closer friends, Brandon Kee and Jordan Lim. Another girl sitting directly beside Zenda, called Isabella Goh, a close friend of Zenda's, asked, “Zenda, are you going to the toilet?”

Zenda rejected. And Isabella when ahead with an Indian girl called Shereen. They bounded out of the class swiftly and jovially, totally oblivious to the creepiness that had taken hold of Zenda and Jean Paul. Three classrooms down, they turned to their right towards the ladies where they saw Jia Hui convulsing on the floor. They were stunned. Her eyes were rolled back and her skin had tears all around that now bleed with thick blackish blood. Her face was covered in mucus and she still sweated profusely. Her nails seemed to have grown longer but in fact it was her fingers that shrunk. Blood from her torn finger skin now stained her nails. The two girls stood four feet away from the convulsing girl. They were too stunned to move, too shocked to scream for help. The convulsing stopped, replaced only by a low and soft growling from Jia Hui as if she was an animal. Her hair had dropped off and her skin was completely dark. She stood up and plodded towards the fear-stricken girls. Her knees did not seemed to be moving, only her thighs. Shereen and Isabella retreated a few steps, struck with absolute fear. Shereen called out softly, almost on the verge of tears, “Jia Hui...are you all right?”

Jia Hui swung her left arm at Shereen. Her nails, dripping with blood, slashed through Shereen's abdomen. Blood splattered around. Shereen fell to the ground, immediately shivering and screaming with pain and disbelief. Isabella screamed crazily, unable to move her feet. A few boys already in the men's toilet rushed out, and were immediately stricken silent by the sight of gore and blood.

Isabella woke to her senses and sped off while she screamed. She dared not to look back. Her mind had only a single minded goal, and that was to return to the supposed safety of the classroom. She tumbled inside the class. Falling flat on her knees, sobbing with terror and fright. Everyone inside stood, frozen in time, mind-bogglingly curious of what had happened. More frantic screams where heard outside. Jean Paul dashed out of the class only to see Alfred Low, a short and skinny student known for his mindless jokes; and Chew Jing Wei, an easily-provoked male who possessed quite a lot of strength, rushing back into the classroom. Their faces were completely white with terror. Alfred yelled at the top of his voice, “Lock the doors! Lock the doors! Lock the fucking doors!”

Jean Paul was still outside, hoping to get a glimpse of the terror. And he was reeled with terror. In front of him, or in fact at both ends of the corridor were approaching students and teachers. Their clothes torn and tattered, blood and mucus dripped from their faces. They limped towards the class in a great mass, at a snail's pace. Their eyes were bloodshot. And their chest heaved up and down rapidly. Sweat soaked their clothes and their skin was completely wrinkled and torn at some parts. Jean Paul backed away. He backed away even more. He was stunned and frightened. It was not believable. The entire scene was just not believable, as if it came out of some movie. His heart pounded against his chest. Every alarm in his body was ringing. He knew he had to get back into the classroom but his legs were not responding. They were jelly. The zombie-like students closed up the gap between them and him. They were growling crazily and hoarsely. A frantic voice, called from behind, “Get in! Jean Paul! Get in!”

He retreated inside. Kai Yan and Tommy shut the door just as Jean Paul got in. Mrs. Cheong who was outside in the corridor the whole time tried to get in, but Kai Yan and Tommy were too frightened to open it. The teacher yelled desperately, while banging her fist against the door, “Open it!”

They finally opened the door and she fell inside. The zombie-like students were already in range of the door and abruptly, they broke into a mad rush for the door. They elongated nails punched at the half ajar door, other zombies grabbed madly inside the ajar part for anything. And that anything was the teacher. They grabbed at her, pulling her outside. She screamed throughout the ordeal. And finally, they pulled her out. More zombies came, banging madly at the door. The multitude of banging, finally broke the small window at the door. The glass shards littered the floor. Tommy and Kai Yan continued to brace the doors. But the weight of two boys was insufficient to brace the weight of nearly twenty others. The door gave way. And the zombie-like students leaked in. The distraught students in the class were screaming and yelling in terror. Tommy and Kai Yan fell in the attack. And were pulled out. Just in time, Jordan rushed forward at the students with a metal bar used for locking the metal cabinet in his hands. He swung forcefully at the zombie-like students. Strike after strike, he pushed them back. Jean Paul and Kanesh Pillai, an Indian student who was a member of the soccer team, joined in with broomsticks and a bulky but useful fire extinguisher. They managed to repel the invading students but they returned in full force, slamming themselves against the door repeatedly. At last, Tan Qiu Yuan, a fat but strong student rushed a the door, pinning his entire weight against it. He pushed the door back into place, and quickly, Vanes Tay, a girl who happened to be by the door reached out for the lock and locked the door. The double lock fell into place and the door was secure. But now, the zombie-like students outside were reaching their hands through the shutter windows. Some banging against the windows repeatedly until they shattered. The classroom was filled with frantic screaming. Students all retreated to the furthest end with only a few brave ones fighting to repel the zombies. Justin Chan, a studious student, tried to close the shutters. He managed to methodically shut them all up till the last one which was already broken through. Zombies grabbed for him and pulled him out though the window. He screamed hysterically and in utter pain.

Blood splattered all around the class. Justin tried to stay in the class, desperately holding on the grill but he lost his hold and was lost on the crowd of zombies now edging to the windows and doors. The last unbroken shutters were closed but would quickly break under the force of the impacts. The banging of the glass like the drumming of drums was coupled with the loud mad growling and growling of the zombies. Ng Yu Jie, a generally despised outcast by the class was stranded outside the class. He banged on the window panes, unable to sqeeze his way in at all. The zombies were around him everywhere and they were devouring him with countless strikes. He screamed at the top of his voice, emptying the last air out of his lungs. The claw-like hands of the zombies mauled through his torso, gashing out lumps of flesh, splattering his inerds across the shut window panes. He continued screaming until one last strike mauled him at the head. The students in the classroom were appalled. There was simply too much blood. They shrieked in a piercing cry of terror and fearfulness.
The zombies now directed their attention to getting into the classroom. More shutters shattered and the students inside the class screamed ever more. Jean Paul and Jordan managed to quickly shift a few desk against the wall and then with the help of a few other boys, they lifted the heavy metal cabinet onto the desks and let it slip to its side, thus creating a metal wall against the window panes. Just in time, before all of the shutters were smashed and shattered. The sound of the banging was now of metal drums as the zombies directed their attacks on the sturdy metal cabinet. It would hold for now. Their hastily put up barricades would hold. Jean Paul slumped to the ground in exhaustion. His breathing slowed to a normal beat and his heartbeat too decreased. The piercing screaming and cries had stopped. Everyone was silent. Everyone was dazed. No one had any idea of what exactly had just happened. It seemed like a nightmare, a nightmare that everyone wanted to wake up from and get over with. But at the moment, they were not going to wake up from any nightmare. It was just going to get worse.

Desk and chairs lay on their sides. Bags and stationery littered the floor. At the other side of the class, furthest from the attacking zombies, the students had taken refuge. They huddled together against the wall. Some lay on the ground others sat with their hands hugging their legs. They were silent and motionless. No one moved at all. Everyone held their breath. Everyone stared solemnly at something. Everyone's face was completely white, white as snow. They were too frightened to cry, too frightened to despair, but just to remain silent and motionless. No one could make no sense of what was happening. They had just witness four classmates being killed by the zombies. And what the hell were those zombies?

Zombies outside continued to bang against the metal cabinets but their intensity soon died down. Jean Paul finally broke the stunned silence, “2A1, I have not idea what the fuck just happened...but I think we will have to...find a way out of here or possibly find out what had happened.”

Jean Paul sat down again, beside Jordan.

“What the hell just happened?” Jean Paul exclaimed more to himself than actually to anyone. There was just about twenty students left in the class. The other twenty had most probably been killed by the zombies in the toilets or outside in the packed corridor. All of them were dazed. Ryan Lau, a small little boy who always kept to himself lay on his side, with a scratch down his hand. He started to laugh hysterically and uncontrollably...~

To be continued...

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The class of 2A1 in peril.

Broken windows.

Prologue

2010-03-01T15:38:00.001+08:00

The hijack-proof van drove leisurely down the largely deserted road. It was early dawn, just after midnight, and almost all of the vehicles were nesting in their car parks. A jittery male, donning a white coat was driving the van. He was a virologist by profession and one of the most sort after in the field of viruses. At the moment, however, he was feeling immense pressure and responsibility. In the back of a truck was an airtight container filled with concentrated nitrogen, the only known neutralizing element that could kill off the largely unknown mentis incognita virus in a less than ten seconds. Four canisters of the virus was now stored in the nitrogen filled container, and should either of the canisters be breached, the lethal and potent virus would be contained easily. Each canister was tagged with a tracking beacon and could easily tracked if stolen or lost. The government's secret service bureau had restricted the transport of the experimental virus to only Western parts of Singapore. Knowledge of the virus had only been disclosed to the governments of Class One United Nations nations. And the personnel who know about the virus and its detailed effects and limited to less than five thousand professionals, scientist and politicians. He was one of them.

The van travelled hurriedly now, closing towards the Buona Vista research centre from his current location in Clementi. Then, he braked hard. A cat had strayed into the path of the van. The unmaintained brakes failed and in a evasive manoeuvre, he swerved the van to the pavement of the quiet road, slamming into a concrete wall. The van was compressed by the impact, and the blast-proof metal hull ripped apart, and bouts of nitrogen was released instantly from the back of the van. The windscreen imploded, leaving the virologist sprayed with tiny shards of glass. The bonnet of the van was now steaming with streaks of smoke. He stumbled out of the crumpled van in a daze. His top priority now was checking the status of the virus canisters. The van was dumped onto its left side. The roof torn wide open and the airtight nitrogen container was breached. The canisters had rolled out and one was just on the verge of bursting with a cracking hull. The virologist whipped out his phone and dialled the hotline. But as he did, the cracked hull gave way. A cloud of translucent purple smog appeared around him and lingered there. The lethal microscopic virus flowed into his airways, choking him and immediately subdued him in a allergic reaction. He convulsed on the ground with the overwhelming multitude of virus cells already circulating in his blood flow. The cloud of virus that did not manage to get into him in time had already dissolved and was neutralized by nitrogen in the air. Nonetheless, the excessive amounts of virus cells that had entered him was taking a toll on his bodily functions. His skin turned black and he remained on the ground, shivering without control and convulsing with his eyes rolled back into his sockets. He coughed repeatedly. He screamed repeatedly like a mad man. The stray cat that had strayed into the path of the van approached him cautiously and purred worriedly at the convulsing man. The virologist manage to raise his hand amid all the convulsing. He was in obvious pain. His hand dropped but as it did, his blood stained nails that had scratched himself repeatedly made an incision in the cat. The cat leaped away into the bushes in fear.

Suddenly, all the convulsing and screaming stopped. His heart had stopped and so did the nerve transmissions to his brain. White foam had leaked out of his mouth and nostrils. His unseeing eyes remained open. He laid on the ground on his side, dead. The over excessive amounts of virus that had infected was so much that he had died immediately, too immediate for the incubation infection stages to take place. The viral cells within him had also withered and died already.

His mobile phone now lied not far from his motionless body. A caller now called his name desperately through the mouth piece, without any reply...

The cat plodded through the small plot of forested land. Its fur was dropping out and its eyes was bloodshot. The scratch wound on its torso was swollen and clogged with thick and drying blood. The cat was increasingly exhausted, its muscles ached and its head was heavy. It finally collapsed on the ground and sped into unconsciousness. Two other cats approached him, purring continuously, but soon fell prey to the half-conscious and wounded cat's claws. They sped off from the now unconscious cat.

Away into the night, sirens of ambulances and police cars filled the air. Along with the procession of emergency vehicles was a bulky hazard-containment truck...~

To be continued...

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