Another new day in this hell, another awful morning of waking up to the smell of rotting flesh. Weirdly, I was growing indifferent to it, like a hobo so immune to the smell of his own urine that he uses his shoes as a pan. Except more reprehensible.
Julie was still noticably in shock after yesterday. She was still as white at toilet paper, and just as fragile. Seemingly, all it would take would be one touch and she would freak out completely and lapse into unconsciousness in seconds. We decided, for her good, to keep her in bed until she was better. David elected to stay by her side.
The rest of us got the usual gear (M16A4, M1911, a lot of spare clips and a special piece of Semtex just in case) and headed out in search of more survivors. This was almost desensitising us all. This was like being in the army, only worse, because the enemy was almost asking to be killed in a brutal manner. I contemplated this for all of three seconds and carried on regardless. We headed for the French corridor, the very place I had been when all this happened. A survivor here would seem likely.
We tried to stay quiet, but as we neared the French corridor, Jack finally realised what Rob had scrawled on the M249, and almost took a mental turn;
"OK, who wrote that? I demand to be told, before I turn Duncan to paste." He was deadly serious, and Rob sheepishy put his hand up. Jack began to tear into him mercilessly... but to our cost, zombies heard us arguing and began to run to us to literally tear into us. Jack completely lost the plot and sprayed like mad, turning the floor red with undead blood. We made for the nearest room for a search.
In the room lay a shock for us all. The room was full of dead students. We al stared at them, jaws hanging down. They just sat there in the chairs, splattered with blood. Bite marks all over. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out as Rob put a bullet in the teacher, who had begun to reanimate. Her head exploded in a shower of claret.
"Fuuuuuck..." Rob mumbled, "...we're stuck in a room full of undead!"
This was confirmed when the entire class began to rise, one by one. We killed (rekilled perhaps?) each one as they rose, sending shattered skull to the skys. There were 20, maybe 25 students in the class, but we were mincing them up. Unfortunately, we had a shock in store. The teacher once again rose up, minus a head.
Rob recoiled in horror, screaming, "But I killed her before! I swear!"
"Where's it's head?" I asked? He pointed at the floor. I turned white.
"Right, everyone OUT! We are getting out of here NOW!" We scampered to the door, but Duncan fell, completely by accident, into the open manhole that had been opened for maintainence before the attack. I had to get him out.
I pulled and tugged, but getting Duncan out was a laboured process. I had one hand attempting to lift Duncan out, and one hand with my M1911 in it, firing at the respawned teacher. I screamed for cover fire, and got it quite emphatically, as Jack and Rob went fully-auto and concentrated fire on the teacher. I just got enough time to haul Duncan out, before hurling a piece of Semtex in and slamming the door shut. The door erupted, and zombie limbs rocketed out of the door. I grinned and ran off, squad in tow. However, I stopped dead and noted a small plaque on the door that had been ripped apart. I carried it back to the shelter, and looked at it. It read;
"James Z. Tapman - Redeemer Of The Afflicted"
Presumably, he was the champion of the illness that brought us to this.