Chapter Text
The hazy afternoon sun cast its rays almost dismissively through passing clouds onto the fading glory of western Miami, and in particular, Carlos A. Ferralls Academy. Established 1999, de-established October 23, 2077, along with the rest of Miami, the rest of Florida, and the rest of the world.
A wide student walkway of bricks, bleached to a pinkish hue, formed a path flanked with benches (their glossy black paint flaking away to reveal crumbling rust), small trees (now little more than branchless, leafless, rotting spears stabbing at the sky), and “islands” of garbage, small piles the size of mattresses, washed or blown in by three decades of Florida coast wind and rain. At the west end, four steel roll-down shutters were set in a once yellow, now bone white, wall whose remaining black letters called it the GYMN M.
A pair of shadows traced over the walkway, reaching one of the shutters and climbing halfway up before stopping. The shadows’ owners, who had of course also stopped, stared at the covered doors, then looked at each other.
“A school?” asked the shorter and younger, wearing a thin dark grey hooded jacket over a midriff-baring white shirt and knee-length denim shorts, her tone and expression tinted with concern. “Didn’t Nana G. say schools were forbidden?”
“No, Kishana, she did not say forbidden. Only a bad idea.” The taller and older, but just as dark-skinned, rubbed a hand over his shaved head. “But we are running out of good ideas. Schools, they all had their own janitors, their own cleaners, their own cleaning supplies. But they would have many other things too. Food, medicine, books, some even had tools. During the Great War, they’d be one of the first places people would go to grab supplies, and to hide.”
Nodding in understanding, Kishana turned to the school as she adjusted a half-filled canvas tote bag to a more comfortable perch on her shoulder. “I see…the walls, the metal fence, it looks even safer than the factory,” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the next block east, a nearly windowless pale tan two-story brick building taking up most of it. “You think there’s anything left?”
“I hope there’s anything left,” her companion answered, not especially convincingly, gripping his scoped wooden-stocked rifle close to his black-vested chest. Like his wrist and shin guards, there was steel plate sewn under the vest’s cloth exterior. “The good news? We’ll know very soon.”
“Okay, Malik.”
As the man knelt and inspected the bottom of the protective shutters, the teenager looked nervously around, but thankfully, nothing was moving but the two of them. After a thorough investigation, the third shutter was found damaged — one of the two hooks holding it in place had corroded to uselessness, leaving only one intact. Wedging a yellow-painted length of steel Malik had called a “wrecking bar” into the same spot, then throwing his full six-feet-plus of lean muscle against it, there was an air-piercing clank as the second clamp was snapped off. That done, Malik gave an unnecessary shushing finger over his lips, Kishana gave an unnecessary silent nod in response, and the steel was rolled carefully upwards to reveal an intact pair of glass double doors.
Both peered through from the safety of outside and around the thick concrete wall. Inside was a huge room whose hardwood floors were painted with red and black lines, forming rectangles and circles. Other than long sets of bench-like seats on both side walls, and a table in the center, there wasn’t any other furniture.
“Basketball,” Malik spoke in a hushed tone, “a sport with a lot of running and jumping and throwing. It means there should be bathrooms and changing rooms for many people, nearby. If those are bare, we leave. If they aren’t, we keep looking.” He glanced down at Kishana’s bag. “How much more can you carry and still run?”
“I think…” she poked around inside, moving some plastic bottles and small cardboard boxes around. It had been a good “shopping run”, as these two-person searching trips were called. “…four or five more things, then I’ll have to use both hands.”
“Well, if we’re lucky, we’ll find some backpacks in the lockers. That should help.” He closed his eyes just long enough to shake his head. “Okay. What’s Nana G’s first rule?”
“It’s never worth dying over.”
A brief nod to acknowledge the correct answer. “And what’s my first rule?”
“Don’t speak until you say it’s safe first.” Malik had drilled that into her before they’d set out on Kishana’s first scouting mission and what must be Malik’s fiftieth, at least. Sounds brought attention, but voices could bring more attention, and the parts of Miami they’d entered were less safe than most. But, the safe places had all been cleared…
After clicking a switch to mute his radio and clicking another switch to toggle the safety off his rifle, carefully, he tried one of the glass doors. It opened easily, causing Malik to let out a sigh of relief Kishana wasn’t supposed to hear.
The gymnasium’s basketball court had clearly been the scene of some tragedy. There were a few bodies in tattered clothing on the bleachers, a few more around the table — topped with a typewriter, a pair of large powder-blue lamps with off-white shades, and a green plastic mesh bucket (the type that could carry golf or tennis balls). What was missing was any sign of violence, as there were no visible weapons, blood stains, bullet holes, or burn marks anywhere.
Three doors led to other parts of the building, but one of them stood out. Tucked next to the bleachers, not only was it the strongest door (white-painted steel with a vertical strip of security glass), but there was a black plastic box under the handle, and a second right next to it on the door frame. A nearby section of wall plaster was broken open, a black-insulated cable had been pulled free, its end stripped, split in half, and laying next to a red plastic crate. Two black rubber lumps stuck out from the crate’s lid.
Blocky black-paint letters over the door said LOCKER ROOMS.
Malik crouched (Kishana immediately copied the stance) and tapped his ear, then pointed to that door. Staying close to the school’s exterior wall, they crept up until he could try the knob. It turned, but the door wouldn’t pull open. Turning to her, Malik made a V with his fingers, pointed at the two ends of the cable, the two knobs on the tub, and the two black boxes. Then, he waved an upwards hand back and forth.
The expression on Kishana’s face indicated more that she wanted to understand than did understand, but the pantomime had been clear enough. She took two silent steps backwards as her guardian unscrewed both rubber caps, revealing threaded bolts. One half of the cable was wrapped around one of the bolts, then its cap was twisted back down into place. Then, the other half—
“SOMEONE ELSE MAY BE!” the ceiling yelled with a dozen male singing voices, almost as loud as a gunshot, echoing off the bare walls.
They both instantly froze, eyes widened in panic.
The voices in the ceiling continued, asking “NEARER YOUR HEART?” They were accompanied by faint (comparatively faint, at least) piano, ooo’s and ahh’s, and the raspy, growling sounds in the throats of half the bodies in the room, rising to their feet.
Ferals.
Malik snapped out of it first, dropped the cables, grabbed and twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open. A second later, he slammed it back shut. Two seconds later, withered and scarred faces slapped against the wire-mesh glass of the door.
Meanwhile, Kishana had stopped counting ghouls when she got to fifteen.
“ONCE IN A WHILE—”
Malik spoke first. “Run!”
She didn’t.
“—WILL YOU DREAM—”
Malik stepped forward and shoved her towards the doorway outside.
That finally broke her paralysis and got her stumbling, then running, towards sunlight.
“—OF THE MOMENTS I SHARED WITH YOU?”
Kishana slammed the glass doors open and ran out of the school, her breath coming in terrified gasps. Three steps behind her, Malik jumped upwards and grabbed the shutter with his left hand to pull it closed.
“MOMENTS BEFORE WE TWO…”
The metal covering made it halfway down before rotting, radioactive flesh slammed into his back, knocking him to the ground. The clattering of his rifle slapping against the bricks made Kishana turn to see her protector under four, then six, then eight thrashing, growling figures. He managed one final “Gnaaa—” before his head vanished beneath the horde.
“—DRIFTED APART?”
His hand squeezed, and the sound of the gunshot bounced off every building for two blocks.