Apocalypse After School

Isamu pulled out the gun from his waistband without a second thought, the cold steel heavy in his hand. Principal Tanaka instinctively took a step back, his eyes wide, and his hands shot into the air as though surrendering to an invisible authority. His breath hitched, audible in the otherwise stifling silence of the room.

'This f**king guy,' Isamu's thoughts churned, his mind boiling with disgust. 'The world's gone to sh*t—dead guys banging on his door—and all he can think about is pleasure. Fatso was a saint compared to this guy. Not that Fatso ever did anything wrong. Just wish I had a bullet to spare for this prick.'

Across the room, Denji, with a frown etched deep into his face, shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the trembling girl in the corner. Her wide, terrified eyes darted around the room, her breaths shallow and panicked as though she had been running for miles. Denji crouched beside her, pulling her gently toward them.

"Get the f**k down!" Isamu barked, his voice a sharp, cracking whip that reverberated off the office walls.

Tanaka didn't hesitate. He dropped to the floor, his belly pressing against the faded carpet in front of his desk. His head tilted slightly to the side, his voice trembling as he spoke, "It's not what it looks like, kids. I didn't hurt her. She wanted to—"

"Shut the f**k up." Isamu's tone dropped to a deadly whisper as he knelt, pressing the barrel of the gun against the balding man's head. His voice was ice against Tanaka's ear, but his eyes—cold and detached—spoke of darker things.

The girl, still gasping for air, caught Isamu's attention. Her face, though streaked with tears and smudged with what seemed like dirt, sparked a memory. He blinked, realization dawning.

"Yuna?" he murmured, the name soft yet laden with disbelief.

Her tear-filled eyes flicked to his, recognition dawning back. "Isamu?" Her voice cracked, trembling with both relief and lingering fear.

Denji glanced between them, confusion etched across his face. "You two know each other?"

Isamu stood, a rare flicker of empathy crossing his features, an emotion he didn't often entertain. "We live in the same neighborhood. I've known her all my life… Are you okay?"

Yuna nodded silently, though her tears didn't stop. They carved thin rivers down her dirt-streaked cheeks, pooling at the edge of her trembling lips.

'I could put a bullet in this guy's head and not feel a damn thing,' Isamu thought, his fingers flexing unconsciously on the gun. 'If it weren't for the loud bang, I'd do it right now. But I'm not risking all our lives just to take his. We'll both burn in hell later anyway.'

Denji stepped closer, his fingers running through his hair, mussing it in frustration. "What do we do now?! This is some f**ked up sh*t we just walked into here."

Isamu's grip on the gun tightened. 'No way are we taking this piece of sh*t with us to the fourth floor. No telling what kind of weird crap he'd pull.'

Out loud, he said, "I don't know, Denji. I'm confused as hell, but one thing's for sure—we're not taking him with us." He pointed the gun toward their principal, emphasizing his words.

Denji hesitated but gave a reluctant nod. "Yeah, probably for the best. How do we get outta here though? They're waiting just outside, and there's a lot of them."

Isamu massaged the back of his neck, rolling his head side to side. His voice carried the weight of exhaustion. "I don't know. We'll need another distraction, but I'm out of flasks. And the hallway's not available like usual for us to throw anything without catching a bite from one of those things."

As their attention wavered, Tanaka's gaze darted to the door. He moved quickly, scrambling to his feet and reaching for the handle. Yuna yelped, scrambling to hide behind Denji.

"You kids want to live?" Tanaka said, his hand gripping the handle tightly. "Whatever plan you come up with, I go first… or I'm opening this door and serving your old buddies a buffet."

Isamu cursed under his breath, sliding the gun back into his waistband. "Okay, okay. You're the boss, whatever you say. Just let go of the handle. No need to get all worked up."

Tanaka released the handle, adjusting his pants and breathing heavily. "Smart decision. Where were you two coming from?"

'We can't let him know anything about the fourth floor or the cafeteria,' Isamu thought, his mind racing.

"We were on the first floor trying to get out," he lied, his voice steady. "But there was a whole horde of them at ground level. We ran back up and came here. What about you?"

'Gotta keep him distracted until I think of something.'

Tanaka wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes shifty. "I, uh, was here the whole time. Had a jar of water in my office luckily, but I'm feeling real hungry."

Isamu chuckled softly, though the sound carried no warmth. "Aren't we all? So, you've both just been here the whole time, huh?"

"What, with her? She came last night," Tanaka muttered, gesturing toward Yuna. "Don't know what she was doing sneaking around in the dark with those things everywhere… That gun of yours—you the one who fired it yesterday? Sounded like it came from upstairs."

'F**k. How the hell can this old guy tell where a gunshot came from?'

Denji jumped in, his voice hurried. "Uh, yeah, that wasn't us. Right after the shot, the gun fell down the fire escape on our floor. Got lucky, I guess."

Tanaka squinted, his expression skeptical. "Yeah… lucky. So I guess that means there are other people on the higher floors."

Isamu sneezed suddenly, then moved toward the window behind him. Sliding it open, he leaned out and surveyed the space between their building and the next. "I think I've got an idea. We tie something and smash the window of the next class over. These things can't see, but they hear pretty well."

Tanaka smirked. "Yeah, I figured that one out too."

"Exactly. So, we smash the window, draw them to the next class, and make a break for it. We'll use the fire escape to check for survivors upstairs."

Tanaka chuckled, nodding slowly. "You're pretty smart, kid. Probably would've gone places if all this sh*t didn't happen." His tone shifted, turning icy. "Now, hand me the gun—slowly. Don't try anything. Aim that sh*t at me you better hope you're quick and don't miss, 'cause I'll turn this handle and bust the door wide open. We'll all be dead."