Eighth Exchange--An Unlikely Zombie Story
Notes:To anyone who is interested, this is for a story exchange that I do with a friend, mostly on ff.net under the name of Scrat'sJidders .
The cramped space in between the huge dumpsters of P.S.124 smells like half-eaten sandwiches, cleaning supplies and death. Shrill cries emanating from a small, writhing, bloody bundle of blankets indicate that somewhere a mother is missing her baby. It’s also likely that she is missing other things as well-perhaps an arm or a leg, or even a large portion of the velvety skin that once clung on to her muscles and bones as a durable uniform defining her humanity. Poor, miserable woman. Whatever she may be missing and wherever she may be missing it, right now it is her sweet, abandoned child that she is missing the most.
Society’s future hangs by the fraying threads of life, which hold up children like the forgotten baby that is no longer protected by a mother’s love. Instead he is shielded by his smallness. While the hope of humanity lies in the hands of its children, the small infant lies squirming between the two large metal bins that hinder his chances for surviving just as much as they help him.
There is a bustling clamor in the distance as parents scramble to find their children, and teachers struggle to keep the rest of their students together as they all await rescue, or at the very least, an evacuation order. As the militant voice of the principal rains down on Staff and P.T.A. members alike and the kids all quickly shuffle in whatever direction they’ve found themselves pushed in, the inescapable white noise from the river of cars driving out of the main city drowns out everything else, effectively numbing the upset that has settled in the core of the adults and children.
None of them have yet to notice the infant package tightly bound up in his cocoon of blankets on the far side of the building. On the far side of P.S.124, the forgotten baby cries out for food and love as his only chance at survival is preoccupied by a pack of unruly second graders just out of earshot. All of these children will never see their homes again. Most will never again see their parents. Even less of them will be able to make it out of the city alive, much less to a safe place where they can settle down.
However uncertain these student’s futures may be, it is clear that with each minute that the screaming baby is ignored, the certainty of his survival plummets down at an ever-increasing rate. If the baby is not silenced, his lungs will likely fail him. If he is not fed soon, he will be troubled with all manner of health problems granted that he doesn’t starve first. Although he is excruciatingly close to again feeling the warmth of a mother’s love-one need only to walk outside for a brief moment and his pleas for life-other than the distant sounds that prove that the humans of P.S.124 have still been able to maintain all of their bodily functions, there is no sign that anyone will become this child’s reprieve.
The hope for the future of mankind is placed squarely on the shoulders of the children of the world. Inevitably, the brightness of life will begin to flicker out in most of these kids. Little by little, the world will soon grow dark. Mankind, however, is a tenacious race. If there is any hope for the species’ survival, it will come from the dark, forgotten corners of the Earth to lead civilization into a new era.
The cramped space in between the huge dumpsters of P.S.124 smells like half-eaten sandwiches, cleaning supplies and death. Shrill cries emanating from a small, writhing, bloody bundle of blankets indicate that somewhere a mother is missing her baby. It’s also likely that she is missing other things as well-perhaps an arm or a leg, or even a large portion of the velvety skin that once clung on to her muscles and bones as a durable uniform defining her humanity. Poor, miserable woman. Whatever she may be missing and wherever she may be missing it, right now it is her sweet, abandoned child that she is missing the most.
Society’s future hangs by the fraying threads of life, which hold up children like the forgotten baby that is no longer protected by a mother’s love. Instead he is shielded by his smallness. While the hope of humanity lies in the hands of its children, the small infant lies squirming between the two large metal bins that hinder his chances for surviving just as much as they help him.
There is a bustling clamor in the distance as parents scramble to find their children, and teachers struggle to keep the rest of their students together as they all await rescue, or at the very least, an evacuation order. As the militant voice of the principal rains down on Staff and P.T.A. members alike and the kids all quickly shuffle in whatever direction they’ve found themselves pushed in, the inescapable white noise from the river of cars driving out of the main city drowns out everything else, effectively numbing the upset that has settled in the core of the adults and children.
None of them have yet to notice the infant package tightly bound up in his cocoon of blankets on the far side of the building. On the far side of P.S.124, the forgotten baby cries out for food and love as his only chance at survival is preoccupied by a pack of unruly second graders just out of earshot. All of these children will never see their homes again. Most will never again see their parents. Even less of them will be able to make it out of the city alive, much less to a safe place where they can settle down.
However uncertain these student’s futures may be, it is clear that with each minute that the screaming baby is ignored, the certainty of his survival plummets down at an ever-increasing rate. If the baby is not silenced, his lungs will likely fail him. If he is not fed soon, he will be troubled with all manner of health problems granted that he doesn’t starve first. Although he is excruciatingly close to again feeling the warmth of a mother’s love-one need only to walk outside for a brief moment and his pleas for life-other than the distant sounds that prove that the humans of P.S.124 have still been able to maintain all of their bodily functions, there is no sign that anyone will become this child’s reprieve.
The hope for the future of mankind is placed squarely on the shoulders of the children of the world. Inevitably, the brightness of life will begin to flicker out in most of these kids. Little by little, the world will soon grow dark. Mankind, however, is a tenacious race. If there is any hope for the species’ survival, it will come from the dark, forgotten corners of the Earth to lead civilization into a new era.