Briar Rose:
"Well, obviously it's fake news. Zombies, really? I bet it's something the Democrats and their friends in the Deep State are making up to try and make Trump look bad."
"Wow, you'll just buy anything they put on Fox News. Oh sure, the videos on YouTube have to be fake, but they're obviously being put up by Russian troll accounts so Trump can have an excuse to shut down the investigations. But if there are zombies, I'm sure he can tweet them to death."
Natalee and Terrance, children of Senators, one from each party. They simply loved to argue about politics. When they weren't snogging each other, that is. Briar Rose hugged the corridor wall, hoping to slip past them unnoticed. Just a few more steps, and she'd be able to interpose a slender, fluted granite column between them and her--
"Oh look, it's the little Chadbury girl," Terrence said with a sneer in his voice. "I bet you believe the zombies are actually real. Do they give you nightmares?" he said, his words dripping with fake pity. Natalee giggled. Briar rose tried to ignore him and scurry past; with a little luck, their vociferous argument would return and they'd lose interest. "Where are you going? Better not be alone, the zombies'll get you!" he said, sidestepping to put himself in her path.
"Well, do you?" Natalee said, stepping into position beside him. Both teenagers towered over her.
"'Belief' is epistemically problematic..." Briar rose muttered. Terrance scoffed, and Natalee rolled her eyes.
"Is that supposed to sound smart? You're only babbling 'cause you do believe in them, don't you?" Natalee said.
I'm seven years younger than you, and I get better grades, Briar Rose thought, but she didn't dare utter the words. She scrambled for something to say that would get them to leave her alone. Her mental gears seemed to freeze up; instead of 'sounding smart,' her brain produced an output she immediately regretted: "Jamie Peterson, Miriam Rosenberg and Thomas Carroll."
"What?" Natalee said.
"The kids who left yesterday? What do they have to do with anything?" Terrance said. Briar Rose ground her teeth. Now she would have to explain.
"Jamie's mother works for the NSA. Miriam's father is a Google executive, and Thomas' father is a general in the Marine Corps." As much as Briar Rose tried to have nothing to do with the pervasive status competition that filled the school like the ocean filled the Marianas Trench, there was really no avoiding it, including the bragging contests to determine just whose parents were the most important.
"So?" the two teenagers said in unison.
"So...their parents would be among the first to know if there was a national crisis..."
"I knew it! You do believe in zombies!" Natalee said. She and Terrence shared a laugh. "Omigod, what a moron!" Briar Rose shook her head. "Oh come on, you can't deny it now!"
"Locate the hypothesis...doesn't have to be zombies...lots of people can get their hands on CRISPR technology...make a weaponized rabies virus...or maybe somebody was trying to develop medical nanotechnology, but it went wrong and now it got loose. Or if the videos are fake, it could be a really powerful new version of Deepfake, and it's spreading online. What if it's so good nobody can trust anything in a video anymore? If they can make 'zombies,' they can make any politician say anything they want, and who'd know what's real? There's...probably lots of ways the videos could be the start of a real crisis without it being...the Walking Dead," Briar Rose stammered.
The cruel smiles on the teens' faces faltered, and they glanced nervously at each other.
---
As the days passed, more students were pulled from the school, first a trickle, then a flood. 'Zombie' videos continued to multiply, until the wall of media denial crumbled. It was replaced by confident pronouncements from the President, generals, and politicians. Everything was under control; the outbreak was contained, a cure would be found soon. That didn't last long either. Whole swaths of the country were going dark, the global economy came unraveled, and countless millions of refugees were on the move.
Ironically, the looming Apocalypse was almost a relief to Briar Rose. The student body had all but evaporated, save for a handful of stragglers. It was much easier now, to get from class to class without being ridiculed, tripped from behind, or shoved upside-down into a garbage can. Except that teachers and staff were starting to melt away too. Still, Briar Rose could fantasize that maybe everyone would leave, and the school could become her castle. It was a sturdy Gothic edifice, with an enormous library, science labs, and an Industrial Design workshop equipped with the latest computer-controlled machine tools. What better place to begin to rebuild civilization?
"Briar Rose, you still haven't heard from your parents?" The student counselor's voice pulled her from her thoughts. Without looking up to meet the woman's eyes, Briar Rose shook her head. "Don't worry, I'm sure they're fine..." Briar Rose shrugged.
"Father built a survival bunker in New Zealand," she said softly. "In case things went bad with climate change or economic collapse. He's probably there by now." And if her mother wanted to go there with him, she'd have had to keep her mouth shut about her illegitimate daughter. "I can stay here, can't I?"
"Well...we're going to have to close the school. The military has set up a Regional Safe Zone in Springfield, and they're organizing a convoy--"
Screams.
"Wait here." The Counselor grabbed a baseball bat and cautiously stepped out. Before she could close the door behind her, she was back in the office, slamming the door shut and fumbling to lock the door with shaking fingers. There was a loud crash as something--several somethings--slammed into the door. Briar Rose let out a yelp of fear as she jumped out of her seat. Her head snapped left and right, looking for anything that could help--a weapon, a way out. Hands smashed through the glass that took up most of the top half of the door, flailing at the Counselor as she flinched back to avoid their reach.
No exits--the fireplace! Briar Rose ran to it, grabbed the heavy rack inside, leaned back and heaved to drag it out. A quick eyeball-estimate said the rack could be used to block the opening if it was rotated ninety degrees, then pulled up so its uppermost rails could catch on the sloping sides of the fireplace's arch. She grabbed one end and dragged it into position, checking the fireplace interior. Enough space inside--
Briar Rose turned her attention to the Counselor, who was swinging wildly at the grasping hands. The door jamb was already pulling loose as the mass of flesh outside pressed against the door. "Ma'am!" Briar Rose called out, clambering into the fireplace. On impulse, she reached out and grabbed the antique poker that waited in an ornate brass stand with a matching broom and ash shovel. The Counselor looked her way, and she waved her over. But before she could move, a hand seized her bat and yanked her toward the door. Another hand caught her wrist, and Briar Rose could only watch in helpless terror as the Counselor was dragged screaming into the snapping teeth of many mouths. Then there was a loud crack, and the door gave way.
Briar Rose let out a high-pitched shriek. She almost shrank back into the fireplace, but some last element of rationality remembered her plan. She dropped the poker beside her, then put her feet on the end of the log rack, leaned forward and seized one of the further rungs, then pulled back with all her might like a rower, raising the rack into place just as the mass of creatures slammed into it. With another squeal, she scrambled backwards into the fireplace until her back hit rough-cut granite blocks. She snatched up the poker and tried to swing it against the reaching grasping hands, but it clanged against walls and the narrow tunnel of the chimney.
Screaming with equal parts fear and desperate fury, she stabbed at them with the point. It thudded against flesh, but if her enemies felt any pain, there was no sign of it. Another thrust glanced off a skull, then a hand caught her forearm. Briar Rose screamed again and stabbed with the poker. By pure dumb luck, its point sank through a bloodshot, dilated eyeball and into the braincase with a sickening squish-crack. The hand that held her lost its grip as it went into wild convulsions. Briar Rose squeezed herself all the way into the back of the fireplace, making herself as small as possible and pulled her poker back, barely keeping it out of the reach of snatching, clawing hands.
The press of bodies held the wrought-iron rack in place, and the creatures didn't seem smart enough to pull back and toss the rack aside so they could get at her. Even so, their snarling-writhing-gnashing assault rattled the rack, shoving it slightly side to side with the creatures' random Brownian motion. It was only a matter of time before they slid it too far one way or the other and a corner scraped its way past the arch and dipped inward, giving one or more of the creatures the few extra inches it would need to reach her.
Briar Rose looked up, and a wave of despair crashed over her. There was only darkness. They bricked over the chimney? she thought. Her hands reached up and touched...cast iron? Fingertips brushed across her skirt, and she let out a strangled squeak. She pressed herself as far back as she could, while her fingers groped at the iron barrier. Groans of hunger, and scrapes and creaks of metal against stone echoed in the cramped firebox chamber that sheltered her. Then...a fragment of memory: The flue...damper thing... She didn't remember what it was for exactly, only that it could be opened and closed. She pushed against the cold iron, growing increasingly desperate and determined with each second that passed.
Creak.
A thin line of pale light. She pushed harder, groaning with effort. Reluctantly, the damper opened a little more, and a little more. Another, longer scraping sound from the log rack. A rattle-click as its corner crossed one of the fluted ribs of the fireplace arch. Above her, the damper would move no further. A narrow opening...could she fit through? Briar Rose snaked an arm past the damper and groped into the darkness above, in search of anything she could grab onto. There's a shelf! The rear wall of the fireplace leaned forward, making her efforts to keep herself out of reach standing awkward, but above the damper, the brickwork was flat; a small ledge that, just maybe, she could sit or stand on, if she could only squeeze up past the damper.
Rattle-clink. The corner of the log rack and slipped past another fluted rib. A flash-image of the fireplace in her mind: each rib was slightly recessed from the one before it, so that once the rack passed one, the pressure of bodies against it would keep it from going back; a ratchet. How many ribs were there? Three? Four? Briar Rose couldn't remember. Turning to face the sloping back wall, she wrestled her forearms above the damper and tried to jump and pull herself up.
Her left foot was seized in a vice-like grip. She kicked and pulled--and her Mary Jane slipped off, snatched away by the ghoul. Breaths coming fast and sharp, she struggled to pull herself up, hissing with terror each time a button snagged on the rough stone. Then she was through, squirming onto the narrow shelf, turning around to sit so she could pull her legs up and out of reach, just as another rattle announced the fall of the log rack. Fleshy slaps and fingernail scrapes against stone. Hisses of putrid breath and the clacks of snapping teeth. But for the creatures below, there was no prey to be found. It was as if their cornered morsel had vanished by magic. Curled up with her knees to her chest, Briar Rose was at last safe enough to close her eyes against the gray semi-darkness and sob silently.
---
It wasn't too long before the creatures peeled off one by one to go in search of better pickings. She waited, and waited, to make sure none of them yet lurked. But if she squeezed back down into the firebox, what then? They'd still be prowling the halls, and who even knew how many there were? Above her, the pale light was now a square, the opening of the chimney; it might as well have been light-years away. Briar Rose didn't know how long she'd remained in her hiding place, only that the light had faded away to nothing. But what else could she do? Every now and then, she could hear a snarl, or a faint echo of shuffling footsteps. But I can't just stay here forever, she thought. So I'll either starve to death...or get eaten.
Rattatat. What was that? Rattatat. Snarl. Rattatat. Rattatat. More growls and snarls, moving toward the sounds. Suddenly, Briar Rose knew what it was: automatic weapons fire, in three-round bursts. Sometimes there were single shots too, maybe from pistols or a different kind of rifle. A deep boom. Shotgun? The Army's here! she thought. Another moment of careful listening to make sure there were no ghouls in the Counselor's office, and one more to try and determine if the Army was winning. They seemed to be, as the growls and shuffles were becoming less frequent.
Feeling a surge of hope for the first time since it all began, Briar Rose wriggled her way out of the chimney and back down into the firebox. She snatched up the poker and picked her way past the corpse of the creature she'd killed (and the pool of mostly-dried blood that haloed its head, which made her gorge rise). Spotting a glint of buckle in the faint light from an LED on the Counselor's office phone, Briar Rose found her lost shoe, slipped it back on, and picked her way out of the Counselor's office. It was dark now, and she didn't have a flashlight, so she snugged herself against the corridor wall and moved as quietly as she could.
Suddenly, light flickered past her from behind, then returned to transfix her in its glare. She whirled, holding her hands up. "Please don't shoot! I'm not one of them!"
"The hell?" a man's voice said. "One of the students?" Briar Rose could only see the bright light mounted on his rifle. She nodded. "Isn't this supposed to be a high school?"
"What are you doing, Clay?" A second light, also on her.
"It's a kid--"
"It's an extra mouth to feed. Chances are she's bitten already,"
"I'm not!" Briar Rose protested.
"And even if she's not, she's trouble waiting to happen. Shoot her."
"But--" Clay said. The other light shifted subtly: taking aim. Briar Rose squealed, lunging out of the flashlight's beam as a three-round burst tore through the air where she'd been. She ran as fast as she could, then ducked behind a column, which took the next three shots.
"Fuck!" the other voice said. Briar Rose ran on, looking over her shoulder and zig-zagging to keep herself in the column's shadow; if the light couldn't reach her, their bullets couldn't either. Then they were fanning out. She glanced back forward--a gleam of eyeshine loomed out of the dark, headed straight for her. Clenching her teeth to stifle a scream, she ducked under slashing arms, then dove between legs in faded, blood-spattered denim, sliding under the ghoul's reach. Bullet holes stitched across its chest and torso, but it staggered onward, forgetting her in favor of brighter, noisier prey. Briar Rose rolled sideways to get out of the line of fire, then scrambled to her feet and dashed around a corner. Another three-round burst, a crack-splat of shattering skull, then a meaty thump; the ghoul's corpse hitting marble tiles.
Briar Rose stopped just long enough to pull off her shoes and carry them in her free hand, so she could run silently in her sock feet. The floors were slick, but without the sound of her footfalls to guide them, the men quickly lost her in the dark. Whoever they are, they're not the Army! There were more of them, and she thought she heard them talking to each other on radios. But she knew this school, and they didn't. She'd had months to learn all the hiding places and most inconspicuous ways to get from place to place. Furthermore, she'd stashed her bike and backpack out of sight in the topiary garden, just in case she needed to make an escape.
---
TIME UNTIL NEXT WORLD EVENT 'MYSTERIOUS STRANGER': 18 HOURS, 35 MINUTES
Keeping a close eye on her pocket watch, Briar Rose grabbed cans of vegetables, then one can of chicken and one of shredded beef, shoving them all into a cloth grocery bag. Finally, a package of soft flour tortillas; they wouldn't get mashed like a loaf of bread. Then, on impulse, she checked her watch again, and listened. A few minutes left, and no one near as far as she could tell. She grabbed another can, and used it to smash the glass on a locked case holding cigarettes. She snatched a couple packs, blue ones with a stylized picture of a Native American on them. These got crammed into a small space in her bag. Not that she smoked, or had any intention whatsoever of starting. But she'd seen a movie once, about guys in prison, and they used cigarettes as money. So maybe she could use them as trade goods, or a bribe to get herself out of a jam?
A brief stop-and-listen at the doorway of the grocery store, a check of her watch, and she slipped back out onto the sidewalk. She hurried to a pile of bagged trash, one of many that had started building up once the garbage trucks stopped coming around. The smell was utterly horrible of course, but it hid her scent from the small group of ghouls that were just now beginning to stir. She looked at her watch again, taking a moment to memorize the time. As soon as she was safe, she'd write it down in her notebook, in a list of start and stop times for the Light. Its blinking was random as far as she could tell, but what about its start and stop times? Was there a pattern? Were the stop times staying an hour in length, or getting longer or shorter? She already knew the zombies didn't need to actually see the Light to respond to it. They didn't stop moving if they went into a building or had one between them and the Light; being underground in the Metro didn't do the trick either.
There was no time for analyzing data now; the ghouls were on the move, heading past on the other side of the street. Once they were gone, Briar Rose could get back to her bike, stow her loot, and try to figure out what to do next: try to get a closer look at the Light, or get as far away from it as possible? Finally, they were gone. Stop. Listen, she thought, regretting each whiff of garbage-scented air she had to breathe. Not a sound except for the scudding of fallen leaves and forgotten papers along the ground, carried in the soft breeze. Relieved, she rose up from behind the bags and hurried down the sidewalk, her bike less than half a block away. But just as she was about to reach it, she saw him.
The rifle she spotted right away, then the gunbelt for a pistol. His rugged face was at the center of a lion's mane of hair and beard; he could have been a mountain man from an old Western, if not for his modern clothes. He took a smooth, silent step; he was good at it, which explained why she hadn't heard him coming. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, and she froze in her tracks. Briar Rose had little doubt that he could gun her down before she could take more than a few steps.