It was dawn, but still a little dark. At Winsten High School, mindless zombies wandered aimlessly along the veranda, their footsteps echoing in the silence.
On the second floor, a single classroom glowed with light.
Inside, a young boy—around seventeen—sat calmly on a bench, taking notes. In front of the blackboard stood a middle-aged man wearing a sweater and night pants, scribbling equations and explaining the fundamentals of calculus.
His hands trembled. Sweat dripped from his forehead. Every few seconds, his eyes darted toward the closed classroom door as if expecting it to burst open.
But the boy remained composed. Focused. His pen moved steadily across the page, as if nothing outside that door existed.
"Doc, relax. They won't come unless you make loud noise… or bleed," the young man said calmly, trying to reassure him.
The middle-aged man swallowed nervously, his eyes still fixed on the locked door. "Why can't I just teach you back at the base? I don't feel safe here."
"Where are we going to find a teaching board at the base?" the young man leaned back on the bench, completely unfazed. "We'll leave after this. I promise."
Bastard. Motherf**ker, the man cursed silently. I was sleeping peacefully. And this lunatic dragged me all the way here—just to teach high school math. In the middle of a goddamn zombie apocalypse.
Who in their right mind wants to learn calculus while the world is falling apart? His whole family must have loose screws.
Grumbling internally, he continued scribbling out the next solution.
"Come on, just a few more problems," the boy said without lifting his head.
Son… I don't think I'll be able to grant your last wish. But when I see you in heaven, we'll curse this bastard together.
With a heavy sigh, the teacher returned to the equations, hands still trembling.
The sudden ringtone pierced the eerie silence of the school, echoing through the hallway like a warning siren.
The middle-aged man froze mid-equation. Slowly, he turned, jerking his head toward the source of the sound. His eyes blazed with frustration.
"What the hell…" he muttered.
The young man raised his hands in defense. "Hey, it's not mine."
The ringtone was coming from a school bag tossed under one of the desks. Curious, the young man walked over, unzipped it, and pulled out the still-ringing phone. The screen read:
Linda (GF)
The middle-aged man's jaw clenched. He snatched the phone from the boy's hand, slammed his thumb on the answer button, and shouted without hesitation:
"LINDA, YOU CRAZY IDIOT! WHY THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING?! YOUR BOYFRIEND GOT BITTEN AND EATEN BY ZOMBIES! AND IF I EVER SEE YOU, I SWEAR I'LL SMASH YOUR FACE SO BAD YOUR OWN ANCESTORS WON'T RECOGNIZE YOU!"
His voice echoed through the classroom.
The phone went dead silent.
The young man blinked. "Wow."
The teacher stood there, chest heaving, phone still in hand.
"Doc… that was so loud," the young man said dryly, raising an eyebrow.
Almost immediately, the sound of dam, dam, dam!—tapping and thudding—came from the hallway.
Zombies.
The middle-aged man paled. His hand trembled as he stared at the shaking door.
"Mr. Wang… you did a very good thing," the young man added with dripping sarcasm.
"Shit…" Mr. Wang muttered, backing away. "Shit, shit—"
CRASH!
The door burst open, wooden shards flying as a wave of zombies shoved their way in.
One of them lunged straight at Mr. Wang.
SMACK!
It was intercepted mid-air—jaw-first—by the young man's fist. The zombie flew sideways, colliding with a desk.
The young man didn't stop.
He jumped clean over another desk, using the momentum of the landing to spin and drive both feet into an oncoming zombie's chest with a brutal, pushy kick. The force shattered its balance, sending it toppling backward into the others.
He grabbed Mr. Wang's hand and sprinted towards the window, pulling him along. With swift motion, he opened it.
"Hey Doc! Ever done parkour? It's simple—just roll the moment your feet hit the ground," the young man instructed.
Without giving Mr. Wang time to react, he dragged him and jumped out of the window.
"What?! The h—" Mr. Wang's exclamation was cut short.
The young man landed smoothly, executing a perfect roll and standing up with ease. Mr. Wang, however, tumbled uncontrollably, finally coming to a stop against a fountain.
"You should do some exercise daily," the young man commented, offering a hand to help him up.
Mr. Wang's legs were shaking; he could barely stand steadily.
Zombies were wandering nearby and began to run toward them.
"Shit!" the young man cursed. Without hesitation, he hoisted Mr. Wang onto his back and ran as fast as he could.
"Hey Doc... I think you should lose some weight," he remarked.
"What! I am not fat," Mr. Wang denied.
They reached a car with two gears fitted to its back. The young man got into the driver's seat.
"You look young. Do you know how to drive?" asked Mr. Wang.
"Of course I know. This is the gear, clutch, accelerator, and brake, right?" the young man said, pointing to each, but mistakenly swapped the accelerator and brake.
"This is the brake, and this is the accelerator," Mr. Wang corrected, pointing to the correct pedals.
"Oh! I got it—that's why the car didn't move no matter how hard I pressed the accelerator," the young man said, a sudden look of enlightenment flashing across his face.
"What—?" Mr. Wang barely got the word out before the car jerked forward violently, shooting down the road with a screech of tires.
The car leapt forward in a blur of motion—zip, zap—crushing the shambling zombies in its path.
"Ho-hooo!" the young man whooped, gripping the wheel as excitement coursed through him. The ride was bone-jarring, every bump and jolt a thrill.
Mr. Wang's knuckles went white as he clasped his hands together in frantic prayer. "Oh my God… please free me from this—this madman—and let me reach my family safely. I swear, if you do, I will destroy every adult comics in the bunker!"
"Wow! You've got adult comics? In this apocalypse? Looks like you're enjoying life while everyone else is struggling to survive," the young man said, glancing at Mr. Wang in surprise.
Mr. Wang turned red with embarrassment. "You madman! Look at the road and drive!" he shouted, grabbing the spinning steering wheel.
The young man quickly regained control of the car, swerving back on course as more zombies appeared ahead.
As they reached a desolate stretch of road, Mr. Wang clutched his stomach and groaned, "Please stop! I can't take this anymore!"
Without hesitation, the young man slammed the brakes.
Mr. Wang threw open the door and leaned out, vomiting onto the dirt.
"Looks like you had a heavy dinner last night," the young man commented casually, watching him with a smirk.
"This was the worst ride of my life... I curse you—you won't even get lice..." Mr. Wang puking again, his stomach completely flipped from the wild ride.
Luckily, there was a half-empty water bottle in the car.
"Move," Mr. Wang growled as he wiped his mouth and slid into the driver's seat.