part six: May 20 - Pine Ridge Regional School 9:30 AM

Nancy Jackson suddenly stopped mid-lecture to her sixth-grade students as a sharp pain sliced through her head. She winced, her hand rising involuntarily to cover the area of pain. Funny, it felt just like she’d eaten ice cream too fast. The pain eased almost as quickly as it came, though the spot still throbbed dully.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Jackson?” Anthony asked with genuine concern on his cute, round face. The twelve-year-old boy hadn’t started his adolescent growth spurt yet and still retained the cherubic features of an elementary student.

“Yes, AJ, I’m fine. I think my allergies are acting up. Thank you for asking. How’s your project coming along?” She stepped over to glance at the boy’s computer screen—only to find it had gone blank. A quick glance around the classroom confirmed that all the screens were dark.

She wiped away the dampness that had sprung to her eyes from the sudden headache and looked around. The digital clock had gone dark, too.

Great, she thought. Did the power go out? The solar panels were working, and the lights were still on. Or have we finally overwhelmed the old network?

Staff had complained again and again that the system needed an upgrade. The school’s aging infrastructure couldn’t keep up with the demands of a growing population. As the number of neural implants increased in the middle and high school wings, it had become harder to maintain online access for the elementary students. More than once, the system had frozen mid-lesson when demand outpaced capacity. They’d been promised an upgrade over summer break—but that didn’t help her now.

She checked her antique pendulum clock on the wall. 9:28. Of course, it was running slow again. Just twenty-four minutes to recess—then she could visit Cindy’s office and find something to ease the headache.

She picked up the classroom phone to call Linda in the main office. Dead. She crossed to the door and opened it, intending to ask Diane across the hall if she knew what was happening. But as she stepped into the hallway, the sound of shouting children and distressed cries triggered her inner alarm. She hesitated, glancing back at her own students—she was never comfortable leaving them alone. She looked up and down the hallway. No adults in sight.

She darted across to Diane’s room and opened the door. Most of the children were huddled on one side of the room. A few of the braver ones stood near Diane, who was collapsed on the floor.

Nancy quickly ushered Diane’s students into her own classroom, then rushed to her colleague. Diane’s body trembled slightly. She lay rigid, as if frozen mid-step. It reminded Nancy of a store mannequin posed in motion and then knocked over.

She turned to the students still lingering. “You’re Mike, aren’t you?” she asked one of the taller boys. He nodded, eyes wide. “Run to the main office and get Mrs. Jenkins.”

Mike nodded again, squared his shoulders like a soldier, and took off.

Nancy loved this age group. Their emotions were so genuine, and they were always eager to please. She called it the “wow factor”—the thrill in their eyes when they learned something new and surprising. She always felt lucky to be the one guiding them in that moment.

She bent over Diane and gently took her hand. It was stiff, unresponsive, but still trembling faintly. Nancy spoke softly to her friend of six years, assuring her that help was coming.

Moments later, Mike returned, terror now etched on his face. “Mrs. Jackson, the ladies in the office… they’re like Mrs. Hanson. They’re not moving either. It’s really creepy. Like—they all turned into zombies or something.” He paused, breathing shakily. “And something’s going on in the other classrooms too. The little kids are crying. Mrs. Jackson… what’s happening?”

His rising panic was contagious. Nancy forced herself to stay steady. She gave Diane one last look, then crossed the room to Mike.

“Show me,” she said, taking his hand and stepping into the hallway.

Now the sound of frightened children echoed from every direction. Her own students were crowding into the hallway, worry written on their faces.

“Stay there!” she called to them, letting go of Mike’s hand and jogging to the next room. The same scene—crying children, an unresponsive teacher. She sent the students to her classroom and continued down the hall, repeating the process with each room. The cries grew louder near the younger grades—first, second, kindergarten.

“Sarah, Allie, Hank—get all the coloring supplies from the back cupboard and take them to the cafeteria,” she instructed. “Joe, Jeff, Sarah, Noah, Larry—come with me. Everyone else, help gather materials and meet us there.”

Room by room, Nancy gathered terrified students, sending them in groups to the cafeteria under the care of older children.

She spotted Noah and Mary following her.

“Noah, Mary—please get out the milk and cookies. Start with the kindergarteners.”

“Sure, Mrs. Jackson. No problem.” They ran off.

Once the classrooms were emptied, she ran to the main office. As Mike had said, all the adults were frozen in place, trembling faintly. The phone lines were dead.

Mike waited for her outside the office. “Mrs. Jackson, I’m scared.”

“I know, Mike.” She knelt beside him. “I have to check the middle school wing. I need you and the others to stay here and help keep everyone calm. Can you do that?”

Mike looked at his feet. “Yeah. Will you come back soon?”

“I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can. I won’t leave you.”

He nodded solemnly and turned toward the cafeteria. Nancy jogged toward the middle school wing.

She burst through the doors and made a beeline for the office. The same scene—frozen bodies, dead phones. Down the hall, a group of seventh and eighth graders clung together. One of them, a tall redhead, turned and ran to her.

“Mrs. Jackson!” Maddie cried. “Everyone’s become zombies!”

Nancy gently pushed the girl back to look her in the eyes. “I know. So far, I’m the only adult unaffected.”

She scanned the group. “I need your help. You’re the oldest students I’ve found so far who can help me.” She watched their faces. These were good kids—she remembered several from last year. They nodded solemnly.

“I’ve got the elementary kids in the cafeteria. I need you to help my sixth graders watch them while I check the rest of the building. Can you do that?”

They nodded again. She sent them off and continued her grim search. Room after room, the same horrific scene: teachers and students frozen, mid-task, eyes blank, bodies stiff.

She begged the universe for just one more adult. But when she reached the ninth-grade classroom, the sight wrenched a sob from her chest. She was glad the children hadn’t seen this.

She pressed on through the high school wing, tears streaming down her face. Everywhere, students were frozen mid-motion. She considered stopping—but someone had to witness what was happening.

Eventually, she heard a door slam. “Hello? Who’s there?”

A lanky teen rounded the corner. “Are you a teacher?”

“I’m Mrs. Jackson, from the elementary building. What’s your name?”

“Tim. Tim Nelson. Everyone’s like—frozen. I thought I was the only one left.”

He poured out everything at once, panic rising. Nancy let him speak, needing him to get it out. When his voice finally steadied, she explained what she knew.

“I’m the only adult still functioning. Whatever this is doesn’t seem to affect kids under twelve. I need your help, Tim. There are over 180 children who need us.”

Tim looked overwhelmed. She saw the fear in his eyes. But then something shifted—recognition, resolve. She remembered him now. Diane’s student. A good kid.

“What about my parents?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been outside. But I need you to help take care of the younger kids. Can you do that?”

Tim nodded. “Okay.”

As he turned to go, she asked, “Do you have an implant?”

He looked confused. “No. Why?”

When she said hers were disconnected, his eyes widened. “So the whole net crashed?”

“Go,” she told him. “I’ll be there soon.”

“You promise?”

She placed both hands on his shoulders. “I promise. I won’t leave you unless I have no choice.”

With that, he turned and ran.

Nancy resumed her search but found no one else. The silence was suffocating. Her mind began spinning. How would she feed everyone? How long could the frozen survive? Her own panic bubbled to the surface, and she let herself cry—briefly—before wiping her face and hurrying back.

She entered the cafeteria to find Tim leading a game of Simon Says, the children giggling. Relief flooded her. This kid was gold.

They needed a plan. First: stall. She’d feed them lunch early. Then, maybe a walk to the fire station two miles down the road—there, they might get a 911 call out.

She told the youngest children it was a field trip. The older ones knew better, but played along. She and Tim set up lunch, gently moving the cafeteria staff to the breakroom. That familiar stiff vibration passed through their bodies—it made Nancy shudder.

“I wish we could help them,” she told Tim.

“We can’t. Not with all these little kids,” he said quietly.

Nancy met his eyes. “Tim, I meant what I said. I won’t abandon you. I can’t promise I won’t be affected too, but as long as I can choose, I’ll stay with you.”

They served bread, sandwiches, and milk. During lunch, the dreaded question arose: “Where’s my brother?” “I want my mommy.”

Nancy put on her best everything’s-fine face. “We’re having an early lunch so we can go see the fire trucks!”

Excitement spread—especially among the youngest. Nancy asked Tim to close the classroom doors on the way out, to shield them from the truth.

Then, together, they led the group outside, down the sidewalk, and toward the fire station.