part seven: May 20 - Impromptu Field Trip

As the group walked to the fire station, some of the youngest children skipped and played while the older ones were more subdued, alternating between watching the smaller children and glancing at Tim and Nancy. Nancy let the children run and play—there were too many to control anyway. Besides, these 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 crowded around the door anyway.

Inside the office, Nancy found the firemen in the same frozen state as the teachers and staff at school. She froze in panic, barely registering the sound of a few students who had followed her as they turned and shouted to the others that the firemen were zombies, too. The news spread rapidly through the crowd.

Snapping out of her stunned shock, Nancy stepped back outside and tried to shout over the rising din, calling for the children to gather around her on the lawn. But panic had already taken hold. Cries of “I want to go home,” “Where are my parents?” and “What about my brother or sister?” echoed from group to group, the volume building into a roar. Nancy could no longer make herself heard above the frightened children’s cries.

Suddenly, a loud, piercing whistle cut through the chaos. Nancy spun around to see Tim standing on a chair, his fingers to his lips as a second sharp whistle burst forth.

“Listen up, everyone!” he shouted at the sudden lull. “We need to listen to Mrs. Jackson.”

The group turned to Nancy, eyes wide with uncertainty. Tim stepped down and offered her his hand so she could step up onto the chair.

She smiled at him, grateful. “Thank you,” she breathed.

Now that she had their attention again, she needed to keep them calm. Some of the children were still begging to go home. The cries of “I want my mommy” and “I want my daddy” threatened to build to another crescendo.

Nancy raised her hands to quiet them. “We have to stay together,” she called. “The firemen aren’t zombies. They’re... they’re frozen, like your teachers at school.” She scanned their faces, watching for signs of understanding. “We need to take care of each other. Older students, I need your help with the little ones. None of us can leave until we know for sure whether help is out there.”

She waited, bracing for arguments, but for once, none came.

“I’m going to try the phone inside and see if I can reach someone,” she said. She 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 raised it to her ear. Nothing—just the low static hiss of a dead line. She returned the handset to its cradle and stared at the wall. Now what?

Taking a deep breath, she returned outside. The children looked at her anxiously.

“That phone’s dead too,” she said to Tim.

Scanning the homes across the street, she added, “I’m going to check some of the houses. Maybe I can find another adult to help us.”

As she headed to the sidewalk, Nancy heard a small voice ask if zombies would eat them. AJ responded firmly, “Didn’t you hear Mrs. Jackson? They’re not zombies. They’re frozen—like veggies. They can’t walk or talk or eat.”

Nancy mentally thanked AJ. He was one of those students who always had his hand up, eager to help. The kind of kid teachers affectionately referred to as a 35-year-old in a child’s body. His natural leadership was showing as he helped calm the younger kids with his confident tone.

Nancy paused at the sidewalk, scanning the eerily quiet neighborhood. A shiver ran down her spine. The absence of human activity made the natural sounds almost deafening—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of a bird, even the faint hum of the wind seemed amplified. She could almost hear the air molecules colliding. The sound of silence was anything but silent.

Turning back to the children, she realized how quiet they had all become.

Nancy motioned for Tim and the older kids to join her. “Okay,” she said, “here’s what we know. So far, Tim and I are the only adults who aren’t frozen. We”—she looked around, meeting the eyes of the 12, 13, and 14-year-olds—“we are the only older people not affected. We have to take care of each other until help arrives or until... whatever this is passes.”

A few girls started to cry. Someone asked about their family. Nancy stepped in quickly.

“All of us need to look after the younger children. They don’t understand what’s going on yet. As the oldest ones here, it’s our job to keep them calm and safe.” She made sure to include the older students as her partners—they needed to feel capable and needed.

“Here’s what we do. First, keep the youngest calm—play games, stay together. No one goes off alone. We must stay together.”

One girl, tears streaking her cheeks, asked with defiance, “What about our parents? I want to check on my mom.”

Nancy met her gaze. Shelby.

“I know we all want the same thing,” Nancy said calmly. “I would love nothing more than to send you all home to your families. But we need to stay put. I’m going to knock on a few doors and try to find help. In the meantime, stay here.”

She held Shelby’s gaze until the girl looked away. Nancy could tell she was plotting something by the way she glanced back angrily.

Nancy turned to Tim. “Stay here with the children. Keep an eye on that one,” she nodded toward Shelby and her friends. “Recruit AJ and Mike to help.”

Tim nodded with a weak smile and turned to help the others organize games.

Nancy crossed the street to a white colonial house with a neat picket fence. She passed blooming azaleas and walked the slate path to the granite steps. She knocked on the green front door, listening for signs of life—footsteps, a voice, anything. Nothing.

Her skin prickled. Something felt wrong.

She turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

Still nothing.

Inside, the layout was familiar—an old colonial stairway with a dark, aged railing, an oriental runner down the hall, a kitchen in the back, parlor to the right, dining room to the left. Wide pine floorboards confirmed the house’s authenticity.

Nancy had always loved these old homes. She and her ex-husband once bought one, hoping to raise a family. But he’d left her. Left her for someone else, then tried to take everything. She shook off the memory.

Snap out of it, Nance. You’ve got more important things to deal with.

In the kitchen, she found what she feared: an older woman frozen mid-motion, food scattered across the floor.

Nancy checked the phone—dead again. She searched for signs of children, but there were none.

She moved from house to house, finding the same in each—frozen adults, dead phones, no help.

Then, as she passed a third house, she heard it. A baby’s cry.

Nancy froze. The sound came from the next street over. She scanned the backyards and saw fences between the homes—except for one spot two houses down.

She ran. Tim spotted her and she waved him off—just one more, she signaled.

Nancy made her way through the backyards and found the house. The baby’s cries were louder now.

She knocked. No answer.

Inside, she found a young mother collapsed on the kitchen floor, a bottle dripping beside her. The woman’s body twitched slightly.

Nancy knelt beside her. “Can you hear me? Can you respond?”

No reply.

Nancy gently took the bottle. “I’ll take care of your baby,” she murmured.

Upstairs, she found a baby girl in a crib, face red and tear-streaked. Nancy picked her up, cuddled her, and offered the bottle. The child hiccupped a few sobs, then began to drink.

When she finished, Nancy lifted her to burp her. The resulting belch could’ve come from a grown man.

Nancy laughed softly. “My goodness, that wasn’t very ladylike.”

She sniffed. Yep—diaper time.

She changed the baby, grabbed supplies, and prepared another bottle.

As she worked, she noticed the baby’s eyes locked on her frozen mother.

Nancy knelt again. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

And with the baby in her arms and a full diaper bag on her shoulder, she walked away.