Becoming Them: A Zombie Novel

Eighteen

     Chairs littered the floor, tables were turned over, and blood stained the walls. A constant dripping sound came to my ears, and I looked up and focused my torch on the ceiling, not being able to see any leakages.

     I walked on, attempting to keep an eye on everything around me. A creak. The noise coming from somewhere behind me. I twisted around and pointed my flash light toward the sound, but all I saw was the door, seemingly untouched.

     Did anybody else stay here?

     I turned back around slowly and kept my eyes open and aware at all times.

     My palms were sweating now. My head and heart were pounding rhythmically. Let's just find a way out and get out of this horrid place.

     My strides became faster as I glanced this way and that way for an escape route.

     Scratching could be heard. Coming from the stairs.

     "I-is anybody there?" I quietly called.

     No reply. I didn't really expect it.

     The stairs crept up to nothing but engulfing darkness, waiting for me. The ground was scattered with rolled up papers which emitted an agonisingly noisy rustling sound that made me flinch. I breathed. Maybe it was just a cat or something. Yeah. No need for me to think the worst. 

     When was the last time I even saw a cat?

     Shaking the thought from my head, I focused on the mission: Find a way out.

     I advanced up the steps, willingly entering myself into the impending shadows, the dim light my flash light filtered out being little reassurance to the bubble of anxiety growing in my stomach.

     A monotoned scraping now. What the hell was happening up there? It sounded like a chair was scraping against the floor.

     The faint image of a door up ahead caught my eye. A small rectangular window was on it, and once I reached the top of the stairs, I looked through it, eagerness to find out what made the noise eating away at me.

     Well, that's weird. There was nothing there, but more papers, chairs, tables. Lockers stood against the walls, some of them open. A bag hid under one of the tables. Everything seemed like it hadn't been touched in a long while. 

     I pulled down the handle and pushed the door gently. The only noise I made was the small click of the door alongside the floors creaking that was committed after each of my footsteps.

     The scraping started again, louder now, coming from my right. Curiosity got the better of me and I found myself following the sound. The noise stopped, but I carried on walking.

     Up ahead was another door, and looking closely, I realised it was a classroom. I peered through the window, then pushed open the door.

     A cold wind swept through me as I entered the empty room. The door creaked closed behind me. I turned around to find a knife thrust against my throat, held by an arm that belonged to Joe.

     "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked bitterly.

     Her face was a mess. Her white skin now covered with layers of blood and dirt. Her hair a blonde mass of short curls, frequenting every which way. Her clothes were in tatters. It seemed like she'd been through hell, and came out spitting blood, still able to fight.

     Ignoring her question, I asked in disbelief, "What happened to you?"

     She was taken aback at the look of concern on my face. The knife shook against my skin, and I feared she'd pierce it. However, before it could slice me open, she pulled back and hurriedly tucked the knife away.