The Feeders

3 - When It's Bad

I'm sitting in Calculus class when I hear a shout outside. These days, a shout could mean something very grave. Naturally, the entire class start ogling the window, making sure they're still safe enough to remain calm and watching the drama unfold.

"Sir, get down!"

The words--harshly spoken in a deep, bass-like male voice--fly through the darkness and into my ears from right outside my window. The growl of a Sick One follows the words and my heart drops.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Wynn, our calculus teacher groaned. And I recognize the Sick One.

     It's the science teacher, Mr. Gordon, but he doesn't look exactly like Mr. Gordon used to look. Instead of kind green eyes that crinkle in the corners, they're wide and foggy as if all the color had draining from his irises. His face is scratched up and his mouth is hanging wide.

The Sick Ones won't listen. Once they give into the sick, they only care about one thing. Infecting more people. Biting and chewing them. My stomach churns and my eyes start to water. I know what they're going to do. It's what they do with all non-compliant Sick Ones.

The gun blast is as loud as a cannon. A bullet flies right into Mr. Gordon's brain and he topples over. He just stops moving completely. Mr. Gordon is dead for good now. I sink back into my chair with fresh horrors on my troubled mind.

I imagine my dad being in Mr. Gordon's place. Cold hard dead on the ground. A tear slides down my cheek.

That's why I can't let them know about my parents.

Everyone is silent as they return to their seats with grave looks. A few people are stark white. All the blood has drained from their faces at the sight of this firsthand look at this virus.

Tracey Brown raises her trembling hand.

"Yes, Tracey?" Mrs. Wynn says, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

Tracey seems to search for words. "Since Mr. Gordon had the virus, does that mean it's at the school?"

"He called in sick a few days ago. I suppose the virus took hold and he went on auto pilot, coming into work like usual." She sniffles, wipes her eyes some more, then replaces her pink rimmed glasses.

"But did he get in? What if he touched something?" Wendell Shaw asks without raising his hand.

"You know the virus isn't spread by touch. It's blood and bite only," she says. "It's really not easy to contract."

I look around at all the empty seats of absent students. Could it really be that difficult to catch? I know the government wants to keep us calm, but could that actually be putting more people in danger?

"But how do you know? I mean, it's still pretty new, right? I mean, shouldn't we all stay inside until this blows over?" A boy from the back of class shouts.

"Scientists have done studies, and are continuing to do so. The government feels there's no need to stop normal every day life, and that includes school. Now, let's focus on the problem on the board, shall we?" Mrs. Wynn says sternly and she turns to the board, but as she points at the numbers, her fingers are shaking. She's as afraid to be here as some of the students.

I look out the window where Mr. Gordon lays. An officer is standing above Mr. Gordon's head spreading a sheet over him. The people standing all around, will they accidentally touch his blood? Will they be next? Will I?

---

     The hallway is a sea of unsmiling faces. None of the usual chatter and laughter is present. Just a forlorn sense of doom. The stress of bad grades and Friday's without a date have been replaced with illness and death. Every day, less and less lockers slam in the hallways, because their occupants are sick with the virus. Those unlucky people...

     "Hey, Janis," Zachary Stewart says.

I jump because I'm so easily startled these days.

"Sorry," he says with an awkward grin. It used to make my heart melt, but now all it does is confuse me. How can he hold any expression besides stoic or sad?

"Just, I was just wondering if you wanted to, you know, go out or something?"

I stare at him.

"Well I mean, there's not very many people at the cinema these days and I know how much you like the classics, I figured we could bribe my brother into playing a few for us."

I admit, it sounds nice. If there's one good thing about there being less people it's got to be going to the cinema without having popcorn thrown at the screen or people talking loudly through the good parts. I'm probably a horrible person for thinking that. I nod.

"Sure, I mean, I'm not doing anything else," I say. I don't add, except trying to hide my sick parents.