Previously: Annoyed after having his secret crush revealed by malicious Chris Walker, Ethan tells him where to stick it. Immediately after aggravating him, a young boy is murdered in Chris' room. Coincidence? 

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Chris Walker was drunk as fuck when the hammering at the door started.

Roused from a drowsy stupor, he jerked violently upright, dregs of whiskey spilling from the bottle still clutched in his hand. The disused closet was so tiny that his head had been resting right against the door, so no need to wait for the hangover, the thumping headache was already covered. He'd known his little hiding place wouldn't be able to stay a secret for very long, but Jesus fuck, what was the big emergency?

Dressed only in boxers, Chris looked sharply around him. The crashing at the door hadn't stopped, and it hadn't quieted, so he figured he had barely seconds before the unexpected visitor got their way in. The mop through the handle was a solid precaution, but it wouldn't hold up against any concerted effort from the outside. But Chris was only mildly concerned until he heard the firm voice half a metre away in the corridor.

"Open up. Now!"

Searing panic flooded through him. Luke fucking Parks was outside, and he sounded as deadly serious as he ever had. Chris set the now-empty bottle down with the exaggerated delicacy of a drunk, its remaining contents now darkening into a large stain on the already-grubby blanket he'd been sleeping on. That was alright, there were plenty of other stains to keep it company, most of them spillages from previous bottles of booze, others a natural by-product of the porn magazines professionally-concealed in the corner behind a bucket.

It wasn't long before Chris realised he had no chance whatsoever of successfully hiding anything in the closet, but that wasn't too bad; the real meat of the stash was safely squirreled away where nobody would ever have a chance of finding it. Therefore, the current top priority shifted to clothing, specifically the wearing of it.

BANG!

The door was now wide open, about to swing closed again from the force of its impact against the interior wall. Leg still outstretched, bulky frame filling the doorway, Luke Parks reached forward and pushed it open again. Chris also stood on one foot, scruffy trousers half on and shirt halfway down his ample belly. He opened his mouth, maybe to shout indignantly, maybe to question timidly, but Parks' expression silenced him. The man's eyes were wide and intent, scanning both Chris and the room with wary rapidity.

"What are you doing here?"

Chris finally found his tongue and gestured grandly around him. "What does it look like?"

Parks shook his head. "No. Not today, you little shit," he snarled, seizing Chris and yanking him out of both the closet, and his trousers.

"What the fuck?!" Reacting on instinct, Chris lashed out and felt his elbow drive into Parks' gut. Grunting, Parks' grip loosened and Chris staggered out of his reach, stumbling over his own feet and hitting the floor hard. Looking up, he saw that Parks was doubled over and coughing.

"Oh shit," Chris said, wide-eyed.

But Parks just straightened slowly and fixed him with a steely glare. "Get up, and follow me. Now, Walker. We need to talk."

"Whu-- you... what?"

Parks' eyes flamed. "An hour ago Kieran Blackman fell from the window of the room I later find out belongs to none other than Chris Walker. Kieran's dead. Rachel-- the... and-- and I find you hiding out in a cupboard, pissed out of your fucking mind, after being absent from your work assignment."

Chris was floored. "He what? I-- I didn't-- you--"

Parks wrenched him to his feet and dragged him down the corridor by the wrist. "I have to start somewhere, and there's nowhere else to start but with you. So shut your mouth and do what you're fucking told for once."

The next day, while Daniels delivered his community meeting, Chris was sleeping off a hangover on the floor of Luke Parks' newly-implemented interrogation room, deep red finger imprints still burning on his arm.

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On the morning of Kieran Blackman's death, not long after sending Chris Walker storming off to who-knows-where, Ethan McKenzie was speed-walking away from his early-morning sentry assignment. "Bye!" he called to Phoebe's hastily-retreating back. 

So that was a bloody disaster, let's see how babysitting goes. 

Most of the young children of Eastbrook, along with family if they were lucky enough to still have them, lived in the sports facility, where gymnastics equipment served as the closest available apocalyptic substitute for childrens' activities. Eight-year-old twins April and August Dylan had a whole room designated to them and their parents, though it was also officially a home to the Blackman brothers. Young Kieran was usually here with the twins, so his absence today suggested to Ethan that the kid must be off somewhere with his older brother Billy.

For this session, Ethan was paired with Georgia Allen, a previously-plump, now only somewhat-plump flame-haired former art student. He'd known of her a little before the apocalypse and had never been a fan of her abrasive personality, but she was a year younger and liked different subjects, so their paths had never needed to cross. Ethan was pleasantly surprised to find, however, that she was effortlessly good with the twins, getting involved with activities and conversations and making them laugh with ease. 

Ethan had always felt at a loss during childcare assignments, so he was more than happy sitting apart the whole time, doing pretty much nothing but trapping himself in his own head until it was over. Having not spoken a single word to him the entire time, Georgia exited with a terse "thanks for your help, mate."

The twins looked at him. "Anytime!" Ethan beamed at her back. 

As lunchtime rolled around, he retreated to a small classroom next to the science labs, all the better to avoid bumping into pretty much anyone except Michael, who he assumed would rather be spending the time with his latest girlfriend, Lily Latimer. Which made it quite the surprise to see Lily herself in the classroom, sitting with Anton and Ashley the science enthusiasts. Bemused, Ethan gave them a vague nod and sat on the other side of the room. 

He supposed he'd broach the subject to Michael later, since the two of them were on the same sentry assignment next. Ethan had a feeling he was deliberately placed with Michael for assignments far more often than luck would have granted. He wasn't sure why, but he certainly wasn't going to be complaining about it to Daniels or Ms Hansen or whoever co-ordinated these things. 

Pulling his lunchbox from his backpack, Ethan shovelled prudently small portions of tinned carrots and mystery meat down his throat, washing it down with as much water as he could spare, which wasn't a lot if he didn't plan on dying from dehydration out in the sun for another two hours. 

Michael was already there when Ethan arrived and started scaling the crude treehouse-esque ladder. This guard platform was much closer to the main cluster of buildings than the one he'd shared with Phoebe Reed earlier. This one was tucked just next to the languages department, with the main school building easily visible past its shoulder. Michael gave him a hand up, putting Ethan to shame with muscular arms twice the size of his own, and clapped him on the back. "You alright, man?"

"Nah, not really," said Ethan.

"Fair enough."

Minimal conversation passed for what must have been the first hour or so, with only sporadic zombie appearances to break things up. Ethan was clearly miserable and Michael respected that. Looking out at the ravaged world beyond the walls, Ethan found himself wondering what life would be like without strict timetables and a power-tripping imitation of a headteacher for a leader. Constant squalor, endless scavenging for food, a lifespan of probably about a week? Other than that, it didn't sound too bad.

"Oh, got another one," said Michael, pointing. 

"Huh?" Ethan followed his hand and saw that he was gesturing to an emaciated dead woman, her features sunken and angular. She was shuffling round the corner of a house about a hundred or so metres down the main road. "Oh, right," he said. "Guess that's... what-- 4-1 to you?"

"Correct. You're off your game today, my friend."

"Guess so."

Michael turned to him frankly. "So what's up?" Ethan tilted his head to the side. "I mean, on top of all the normal crap."

Ethan told him about the events of the morning, trying his best to make it seem like anything to do with Sophie Fletcher was an urgent matter of life and death.

"You're only making it into a problem in your own head, man," said Michael. "You don't talk to her at all, and you're always saying she's out of your league anyway, so-- where's the issue, y'know?"

"The fact that she knows! It's alright when it's only in my head, now I'm just, like, a weird creep or something."

Michael laughed. "You think Sophie Fletcher's never had a guy crushing on her before? And you can't tell me this is somehow gonna make you more awkward around her."

"Alright, alright." Ethan rolled his eyes.

"That's small-fry shit, man. If there's anyone in this world you can't hide your thoughts from, it's me, brother. So: what's up?"

"Okay, you asked for it." Ethan shook his head. "My petty crap wasn't good enough for you, riddle me this baby then... what is even the point of being alive anymore?" Try that one on for size, motherfucker!

For something that smelled strongly of suicidal ideation, Michael looked remarkably unsurprised. "Was there a point to being alive before all this?"

Ethan frowned. "Uh... I dunno man, but I can tell you for sure that Cerebral Vortex is never gonna get rich, or famous, or even like, moderately successful. Won't get to go to uni, probably never have kids or a proper family, buy a house, sell an album... shit, we can't even go to a theme park or go out for a coffee. Literally the last thing I saw or will ever see at the cinema in my life was a fucking DC movie. I have no way of ever changing that fact. All we do now, each and every day, is work so we can survive to spend the next day working for the day after that. At least there used to be a reason to do that. You work to get money so you can afford to spend some of your time not working, and then you spend that time doing fun shit that makes you feel better about working again 'cause it means you'll be able to do the fun shit in between. And you build up to some big, distant goal and then whether you get there or not, you move on to some new big, distant goal to build up to. And everything's still a bit rubbish, but you can say you have reasons to exist at least."

Hey, that was pretty good actually. Schoolchildren of the year 2300, meet the new post-apocalyptic Shakespeare. 

But Michael just kept looking slightly off to the side with a resigned grimace.

"Of course," Ethan groaned, holding up his hands. "You've got all this crap figured out already, but just-- how the hell do you make yourself keep living for nothing? I mean... trust me, I'm the last guy who'd throw themselves off a building or anything, but like, if I'm gonna be alive, I at least wanna know what that means exactly."

Shrugging, Michael smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know, man."

That actually caught Ethan by surprise. As impossible as it had seemed that there could be any conceivable satisfying answer to any of that existential mess, he hadn't really even considered that Michael wouldn't manage to somehow summon one. Ethan sat in empty silence as his friend shrugged again. 

"All I know is we'll die someday. That much was already true. Except now we've probably all got a whole shitload less time 'til that day comes around. And that changes everything. Maybe in two years, or ten years or fifty years things might actually get back to the way they used to be, but even if it does, well, either one of us could live until that point, or we both might die tomorrow. So all we can really do until we die, is do what we can do."

"Oh really?" smirked Ethan.

"Yeah, man!" Michael grinned. "I can't do half the shit we used to be able to do, but y'know what I can do? I can look after some little kid while his parents are out bringing back food for me to eat, I can sit here on this lovely little platform and make sure we're not besieged by any rough-tough thugs fixing to take our stuff and kill us all. And with a bit of luck, I can make my best friend feel slightly better about things with a simple chat."

"...Fair enough."

"I don't like this life any more than you do, but what'll happen will happen. We'll die or we won't, the world'll go back to normal or it won't. Can't go to concerts anymore, and I'll never get to go down in history for my godly riffs or lyrical prowess--"

"Or dashing good looks."

"--yeah or those, which we can both agree is a tragic loss to society, but what I can do at least is sit in a music classroom with my mates and make amateur shit like we used to."

"Think about it, all our competition's probably dead now."

Michael nodded approvingly. "Now that's positive thinking, dude."

For the next ten minutes or so, Ethan was feeling better than he had for a while. And then a thunderous smash split the silence of the early afternoon, lasting only a second but hanging like a shadow in the humid air, sending out the ghostly resonance of splintering wood and shattering glass. A ragged scream, cut short abruptly with a wet thud as soon as it had begun. Replaced by a higher, longer shriek, strangled with horror. 

Ethan didn't remember jumping from the platform after his friend, barely felt the pain when he tried to imitate Michael's athletic roll and landed hard on his ankle. Eastbrook Academy, the school he'd attended for five years, suddenly became a labyrinth of blurry grey buildings and indistinct walkways. But his legs carried him regardless, and he and Michael arrived at the scene earlier than most.

Ethan had never seen fear on Rachel Parks' features before. Her face was a vampiric white, stark against the glistening red sprayed across her front. She was shivering feverishly. Kieran Blackman had missed her by about five metres.

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Author's Note: turns out the second chapter is just as difficult as the first, who'd have thought it?

Again, throwing a lot of character names at the wall still, but a large amount of them are just part of the world and haven't come into their role in the story yet. But the efforts of Eastbrook's chief administrator Erika Hansen, lovely and organised as she is, means that my convenient cast list probably isn't going away any time soon. So here's the Eastbrook residents from this chapter.

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EASTBROOK ACADEMY CENSUS, BY MS. ERIKA HANSEN

CURRENT POPULATION: 94

LEADERSHIP TEAM:

MR. C. DANIELS- Community Leader

MS. ERIKA HANSEN- Chief Administrator

MR. LUKE PARKS- Head of Security

MISS ISABELLE ODMONDS- Chief Field Officer

YOUTH:

ETHAN MCKENZIE, 16- pianist of "Cerebral Vortex", semi-reliable slacker. Especially close with Michael Osbourne.

MICHAEL OSBOURNE, 16- bassist and vocalist of "Cerebral Vortex", intelligent and physically-capable. Especially close with Ethan McKenzie. Worth special attention.

CHRIS WALKER, 16- frequent behaviour issues, no positive contribution to Eastbrook. New tactics recommended. Rarely engages with anyone except old classmates "Cerebral Vortex."

SOPHIE FLETCHER, 17- intelligent and physically-capable, extremely reliable. Well worth special attention.

PHOEBE REED, 17- physically-capable, but little ambition. Close friends with Sophie Fletcher and Kirsty Richardson.

(KIERAN BLACKMAN), 7- adopted into the Dylan family, fell to his death from a window, investigation so far inconclusive.

BILLY BLACKMAN, 14- older brother of the above, adopted into the Dylan family, responsible and motivated, one of the few people Rachel Parks will accept help from. Worth special attention.

RACHEL PARKS, 12- daughter of Head of Security Luke Parks. Unofficial community messenger. Overeager but responsible and capable, with strong potential. Worth special attention. 

APRIL DYLAN, 8- identical twin to August Dylan, daughter of Patrick and Millie Dylan. Grieving, but may be helpful to the Kieran Blackman investigation.

AUGUST DYLAN, 8- identical twin to April Dylan, son of Patrick and Millie Dylan. Grieving, but may be helpful to the Kieran Blackman investigation.

GEORGIA ALLEN, 15- artist, always reliable, though little ambition.

LILY LATIMER, 17- reasonably experienced medical aide, extremely reliable, definitely worth summoning for unexpected injuries.

ANTON BELL, 14- reliable, spends most time in the science labs with Ashley King.

ASHLEY KING, 15, (female)- usually reliable, spends most time in the science labs with Anton Bell. Not to be confused with Ashley Henderson (17, male.)

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Next: The father-daughter duo of Luke and Rachel Parks bring the murder into greater clarity, and an unassuming supply-run team sets out with more members than they return with.