part seven: May 20 - Impromptu Field Trip

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As the group walked to the fire station, some of the youngest children skipped and played. The older children were more subdued and alternated between watching the smaller children or Tim and Nancy. Nancy let the children run and play; there were too many to control anyway. Plus, this might be the last moments of innocence they would ever get to enjoy.

When they reached the fire station, Nancy told the children to wait on the lawn while she went inside to check with the firemen, but children being children, they pushed in around the door anyway. When Nancy stepped into the office, she found the firemen in the same frozen state as the teachers and staff. Nancy froze in panic, barely registering the sound of the few students who had followed her as they turned and shouted to others that the firemen were zombies, too. This news quickly spread through the crowd. Nancy shook off the stunned shock of finding the firemen incapacitated and stepped back out to address the children. She tried to shout above the din, trying to get the children’s attention, to get them to gather around her on the front lawn. But panic had started to spread. The news that the firemen were in the same condition as their teachers and other adults at school spread like wildfire through the whole group. Multiple clusters of children were picking up the lament that they wanted to go home—What about my parents? What about my brother or sister? As the wailing spread from group to group, the sound increased, building in volume until Nancy could not make herself heard above the roar of the frightened children. The combination of all the children’s voices was reaching an overwhelming volume.

Suddenly, a loud, piercing whistle blasted over the roar. Nancy spun around to see Tim standing on a chair, his fingers to his lips as a second loud whistle burst forth. “Listen up, everyone,” he shouted at the sudden lull. “We need to listen to Mrs. Jackson.”

The group looked at Nancy pensively. Tim stepped down from the chair and offered Nancy his hand for her to step up onto the chair.

She smiled gratefully to Tim. “Thank you,” she breathed out in relief.

Now that she had their attention again, she needed to calm them down, so she decided to discuss what was happening. Some of the children wanted to go home. Now the demands of “I want my mommy” or “my daddy” or “I want my family” threatened to build into a roar again.

Nancy held her hands up to bring the group back to calm and quiet. “We have to stay together,” she shouted. “The firemen aren’t zombies. They are—” she paused to think—“They’re frozen, like your teachers at school.” She watched the children’s faces, monitoring their responses. “We must stay together. You older students need to help me with the youngest children. None of us can take off without knowing whether or not help is out there.” She waited for someone to argue with her. Thankfully, for once, no one contradicted her. “I’m going to try the phone in the fire station and find out if I can reach someone for help.” She scanned the faces, then stepped down from the chair and walked back into the fire station.

Nancy closed her eyes. Please let there be a tone. She picked up the phone and slowly brought the handset to her ear, but there was no tone—only the low static hiss of a dead line. She put the handset back on the charging station and stared at the walls. Now what? Nancy took a deep breath, then turned to walk back outside. The children all looked to her for news. She looked back at the children and shook her head. “That phone’s dead, too,” Nancy said to Tim.

Nancy scanned the houses across the street. “I’m going to check some of the houses along the street. Maybe I can find another adult to help us.”

As she walked quickly toward the sidewalk, Nancy heard one little voice ask if the zombies would eat them, and the boy AJ spoke up, saying, “Didn’t you hear Mrs. Jackson? They aren’t zombies, they’re frozen, like veggies. They can’t walk or talk or eat.” Nancy mentally thanked AJ; he was always one of those students who would have their hand up offering to help. He was that child in your class that you’d affectionately labeled as a 35-year-old in a child’s body. AJ’s natural leadership was showing now as he stepped up to help calm the younger children down with his bravado of pretending to know more than the others.

The children huddled together on the front lawn of the fire station, watching Nancy expectantly. Nancy stopped and stood on the sidewalk, scanning the unnaturally quiet neighborhood across the street. She felt a shiver run up her spine. It was so very eerie how the absence of human noises allowed the natural noises to become a roar in her ears. The slightest breeze—the rustle of leaves as the breeze blew gently through the branches—seemed to be amplified. Nancy felt more than heard what she could only describe as a low-level roar; it was as if she could hear the air molecules colliding. The sound of silence was anything but silent. She looked back over her shoulder at the children as they waited silently for her. She hadn’t noticed until now just how quiet it had suddenly become.

Nancy realized she couldn’t put reality off any longer and motioned the teenagers and Tim to come closer. “Okay,” Nancy said, “here is what we know. Tim and I are the only adults so far who are not frozen. WE”—and she looked over her little group of 12-, 13-, and a few 14-year-old children, meeting as many eyes as possible—“WE are the only older people who have not been affected.” She paused to let that piece of information settle in. “We have to take care of each other until we can find help or until everyone snaps out of whatever this is.”

A couple of the girls started to cry; someone voiced concern about their family. Nancy spoke up in an attempt to stop the flood of rising panic. “All of us must take care of the younger children; they do not understand what is happening yet. As the oldest members of our group, we have a responsibility to be ready to keep the younger children calm and safe.” Nancy carefully chose her words to include these older students as her partners—she needed them to step up and be the mature protectors. “Here’s what we have to do: first, keep the youngest children calm, play games, keep them all together. No one can leave the group. We must stay together.”

One of the girls who had started to cry asked, “What about our parents? I want to check my mom.” Her tone had an edge of belligerence; she expected to get her way.

Nancy looked directly at the girl and recalled her name. “Shelby, I’m sure that everyone here wants the same thing, and I would like nothing more than to have all of you go home to the safety of your families. But right now, we must stay together. I'm going to go around to some of the houses and try to find some help. For now, I want all of you to stay right here.” She looked the girl in the eye until she looked away. This was a child who was very used to getting her way and usually manipulated her parents to let her have whatever she wanted.

“All of you stay here, and you older students help keep the younger children together.” Nancy repeated this statement again. What was that old saying—three times is the charm—but with children it was more like three times three. The girl walked away with her friends. She was not happy, and Nancy could tell that she was plotting with her friends by the way she looked back over her shoulder angrily at Nancy.

Nancy turned to Tim. “Stay here with the children and keep an eye on that one.” She nodded toward the angry girl and her friends. “I’m going to knock on a few doors.” Tim looked at her with concern on his face, and Nancy added, “I’ll be right back. We’re in this together. Recruit AJ and Mike to help you keep an eye on her and her little gang.” Nancy indicated the girls again. Tim gave her a weak smile and a slight nod. He turned and walked over to the children, and he, Mike, AJ, and three of the older students started to organize games to distract the children.

Nancy walked across the street to a white colonial house with a neat white picket fence. She pushed the gate open on its squeaky hinges and walked past the flowering azaleas along the slate path leading to the hand-cut granite steps and up to the green front door. She knocked on the solid wooden door and waited. She listened in vain for the sound of someone walking across a floor to open the door, a call of “I’m coming” or “Who’s there.” She heard only that constant eerie silence. The hairs on her arms were standing up, and she had that gut-deep feeling that something very wrong was on the other side of this door. She reached out and turned the doorknob, then slowly opened the door. Nancy called out, “Hello, is anyone home?” She kept hoping there would be a normal answer from the back of the house, but there was still that suffocating silence.

Nancy stepped into the hallway. It was typical of the homes in this area with the old colonial stairway, the oxidized varnished railing aged to deep, dark brown, and an oriental runner down the hall leading to a kitchen area in the back, the parlor to the right, and the dining area to the left. The wide old pine board floors dated the house to be an authentic colonial structure and not some vintage replica. She had always loved these old money pits but could never afford the upkeep of one by herself.

Five years ago, she and her husband had purchased an old colonial and had planned to raise a family there. But one day she discovered that his plans had changed. She had been so happy before the divorce, so in love, and thought he was in love with her too. She shook her head; she had never seen it coming. She was so convinced that he had shared her dreams. They had worked so hard side by side to restore the old house they had bought, to turn it into a home in preparation for their future. But he betrayed her; she had believed in him, and he left her for another woman. If that wasn’t enough, he got a lawyer that tried to cut her out of everything he could get.

Nancy had to take the deal to split everything they had accrued. She knew she couldn’t afford the old house on her teacher’s paycheck, so she had taken the payoff and purchased a little house that she could afford and physically take care of. She had made a new life for herself and felt she was doing well.

She examined the wide pine board running the length of the hallway and curled a rueful grin. She had heard through the gossip channels that his new wife had left him, took him to the cleaners, and had custody of the child. She guessed the final laugh was on him—he got his secretary, and she got the house.

She hadn’t thought about this sad, angry chapter of her life for a long time, and this definitely was not the time to waste thinking about her faithless ex. She shook it off. Snap out of it, Nance, you have more important things to think about now.

She walked back to the kitchen area and found what she feared. There was an older woman on the kitchen floor. She had obviously been preparing a meal, and the remnants of the meal were cast across the floor where it had been dropped mid-step. Spotting the phone, Nancy hurried over to check for a ringtone—again, that aggravating static. Then Nancy looked for evidence of children but did not find any.

She left the house and went to the next home, where she found a similar scene. After she had checked four more houses, she started back toward the fire station. As she was walking back past the third house, she heard the cry of a baby. Nancy froze in mid-step. The cry sounded as if it came from the house behind these houses on the next street. Nancy looked into the back yards and could see that the yards were fenced off from each other, but two houses down she saw a gate between two of the homes. She turned and raced back down the street. She noticed Tim watching her from the fire station, and she waved to assure him that she had not forgotten him. She held up a forefinger, trying to signal to him, just one more, and hurried to get to the house with the back gate.

Nancy crossed through the yards to the next street, then down this street to the house where she had heard the baby’s cry. The cry got louder as she approached the house. Again, she knocked before she entered—this was the home of a mother, and she did not want to frighten the woman. But again, no answer, so she entered another house without invitation. The baby’s cry was louder and came from upstairs. Nancy called out to announce herself. She went to the kitchen first and found the mother on the floor, a baby bottle clutched in her hand, the milk dripping from the nipple into a small puddle on the linoleum. The woman’s body was twitching. Nancy knelt, asking her, “Can you hear me? Can you respond?” But there was no response from the young mother. Nancy thought she must be in her mid-twenties. Nancy gently pried the bottle from the young woman, murmuring, “I’ll take care of your baby.” Nancy did not know if the woman could hear her, but if she could, Nancy wanted to try to alleviate her fears.

Nancy took the bottle and started up the stairs, following the sound of the baby’s cries. In a nursery, she found a little girl standing in her crib, red-faced from crying. Nancy picked up the baby, cuddling her, and gave her the nipple. The baby hiccupped a few more sobs, and after a few hesitant sucks on the nipple, went to work chugging down the milk.

Nancy smiled as the little girl looked up with those large infant eyes, her tears traveling down the sides of her reddened, chubby face. When the little girl finished the bottle, Nancy lifted the baby and laid her against her shoulder, patting her back. The resounding burp that issued from the child would have been unsurprising coming from a full-grown man. Nancy held the girl away and looked at her. “My goodness, that wasn’t lady-like.” Nancy smiled at the child, then sniffed. Yep, her diaper needed to be changed too.

Nancy found the baby’s changing table and proceeded to change the diaper. Whoa! she thought. It was always horrifying how a cute little baby could smell so very bad. Having changed the diaper, she found a large diaper bag and collected as many supplies as she could stuff in the bag, then took the baby back downstairs and prepared another bottle. The formula that the mother had used was apparently from the empty carton on the counter. Nancy checked the cupboards and found six more cartons. She prepared another bottle for the baby. The baby’s eyes were locked on her mother on the kitchen floor all the time that Nancy searched. She gathered up more supplies—she must get back to Tim and the other children, and she’d have to take the baby with her. She knelt and told the young woman on the floor again not to worry about her baby, that she would take care of her, and walked away.