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Old June 4th, 2007, 09:39 PM  
Melchi0r
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Join Date: February 22, 2006
Location: Pennsylvania
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Default Zombie fiction. I was bored and started writing this.

“I hate finals,” Kody muttered under his breath as he put his #2 pencil to paper. It was the second to last day of school, and of course they were being tortured with tests. The class was Algebra; Kody sported a 70% average in the class, and that was his highest grade in algebra all year.
Mr. Brooks was typing something in his email. Probably hitting on Sra. Davis in the foreign language department. Tsk tsk. Kody sighed and marked an answer on his answer sheet, which was probably wrong.
“You’ve got mail!” Mr. Brooks’ computer chimed. His shoulders dropped as if he was being interrupted. Mr. Brooks was only about twenty-nine and had short, black hair and always wore cartoon character ties. Kody wondered if this was his attempt of being “hip” and “in with the youth.”
At his desk, Jonathan Brooks was just finishing his email to Sue Davis when a notice popped up. It was from the vice principal, Mr. Gavin. No one liked Gavin but he refused to recognize how big of an idiot he was. However, the message in the message wasn’t “Impromptu Faculty Meeting” or “Who spilled my coffee?” It was, “Intruder. Lockdown.” Brooks froze, his fingers poised over the keyboard. He knew what to do, but didn’t imagine he’d ever have to.
Running over the procedure in his head, Brooks went to the door, glanced through the window, not seeing anyone. That was a slight relief. He went on to lock the door and turn off the lights.
The class murmured in confusion. “It’s a lockdown, everyone get into the corner.” Some kids looked amused, like they were waiting for the day in excitement that the intruder situation would become real. Some were generally frightened or worried. Kody was simply amused.
Mr. Brooks went and shut the blinds before directing everyone into their hiding spot. Each room was very spacious and could fit roughly thirty five desks. As some students nestled into the corner out of the view of the door, they moved some desks for more room. Brooks made sure that everyone was moving away from the door, and he sat down.
Kody was nestling in when he accidentally sat on someone’s feet. He looked around and it was Blake Stefan. The class gay kid. Oh, of course he was trying to insert his feet into my butt, Kody thought disdainfully and scooted away pointedly so Blake would move his feet.
“What’s going on?” Alexa Molina whispered in the corner. Mr. Blake looked at her and briefly said “Someone came in and is just walking around. We’re on lock down so the police can check it out.”
It didn’t seem to be good enough for Alexa. She looked like she was going to cry, but she didn’t say anything more.
Kody didn’t know how much longer they’d have to sit there. They already heard official-sounding voices in the hallway. The police must have been here for a while. “How long has it been?” Kody whispered. He didn’t want to admit it to himself but he was a little worried.
“About twenty minutes,” Blake whispered behind him, putting his watch on glow-in-the-dark. Kody didn’t reply to him. Then someone knocked on the door.
Everyone froze and glanced to their right, where the door was. Another gentle knock came. Mr. Brooks felt all eyes on him. “We’re not supposed to open the door if someone knocks on it,” he explained shakily.
The person outside kept knocking. On the sixth knock they grunted and jiggled the doorknob. “Oh my God, it’s them,” Alexa hissed.
“Freeze!” a muffled shout came. Two grunts came, one from a large man, and one that was hoarse and could have belonged to a man, or a woman if she smoked too much. The people outside were struggling, wrestling. The normal-sounding man yelped and let out a groan. A female voice now rang out.
“Damn it!” it said. Appropriateness for a hall of education hardly mattered right now. Outside, Sergeant Trish McNeal punched the intruder in the face. He hardly showed pain at the blow. Pushing the bitten Lt. Owen out of the way, she stood and placed her foot on the intruder’s chest, pinning him down. He looked at her with cold, lifeless eyes. They were bloodshot and the pupils had dilated too a weirdly large size. Blood trickled from his nose, but he just kept struggling, looking up at her every other second. It was if he wanted to get her.
Trish just didn’t understand; this man was in work clothes: khaki slacks and leather shoes. A white dress shirt and a loose tie. There was some dried, brown blood on the dress shirt though. “Resisting arrest can get you another twenty years, sir,” Trish grunted, keeping her boot planted on the man’s chest. Owen coughed a few feet away from her. Trish looked over, and there was his blood all over the ground. It came out of his mouth when he coughed. Owen lay next to it, writhing.
“Shit,” Trish hissed. Rookie James Porter rounded the corner in a sprint. He winced at Owen.
“What’s wrong with him?” Porter asked naively.
“I don’t know, just get him out of here,” Trish ordered. Porter stooped over and held Owen in a dragging position by his armpits, and he stiffed up to Porter’s touch. Porter dropped him, surprised.
“I… is Owen…” the rookie stuttered.
“Don’t know, but come here and help me cuff this man,” Trish snapped. She released him from underneath her foot, and as soon as he was free he tried to get up. Porter kicked him onto his stomach somewhat over-enthusiastically. His superior knelt down and held the arrestee’s hands behind his back firmly. Finally they had him cuffed. He wiggled around, snapping at their feet, but with his arms held behind his back he couldn’t get up.
A hoarse sigh came from behind them. Owen was standing, but Trish knew something wasn’t right. He looked as if he was having a terrible seizure; there would be no way he could be fit already. He staggered forward, his arms reaching towards Porter, who backed into a locker with fear. Trish watched helplessly not knowing how to react. Owen shoved the rookie into the locker hard, his hands clamped on his shoulders tightly. He lurched forward and sank his teeth into Porter’s neck.

[There's more to come. Tell me what you think.]

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