Read Online The Day the Dead Came to Show and Tell by Mira Grant - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mira Grant
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were paid off quickly and quietly. The lucky families whose children had stayed home that day said nothing, perhaps feeling that their good fortune would be taken from them if they dared to flaunt it. Who can blame them for a little nervousness, given the circumstances?
None of the students who survived have ever spoken to the media. We reached out to them, to ask whether they would break their silence and speak to us. There have been no replies. Whatever happened in the halls of Evergreen Elementary has been lost to posterity, save for those fragments captured on the schoolâs security camerasâ¦and given the horrors that those fragments imply, perhaps it is better that way.
Perhaps there are some truths better left forgotten.
âfrom Unspoken Tragedies of the American School System by Alaric Kwong, March 19, 2044
*Â Â *Â Â *
Wednesday, March 19, 2036, 12:01 p.m.
Elaine Oldenburgâs class was one of five in the first grade. The school extended from kindergarten through fifth grade, although there were only three fifth-grade classes; many students were withdrawn from the physical school system after fourth grade, or transferred to a middle school where they would be less likely to endanger smaller children through their mere presence. All told, thirty-three classes were in session when the alarm began to sound. It was too much to ask for that many students to remain calm and collected, especially when the restraints failed to activate correctly, resulting in fewer than half the students being locked into their desks.
Nathan Patterson had started feeling unwell fifteen minutes after the end of recess, and had been sent to the nurseâs office for observation and blood tests. Mr. OâToole had followed school policy and not asked Nathan to take a blood test before leaving the classroom. If it had come back positiveâwhich it couldnât, there was simply no way Nathan had been exposed; it was a ridiculous ideaâthe door would have locked, and the safety shutters on the windows would have descended, containing the infection, yes, but also containing the entire class. Blood tests were only requested in the case of student illness when the student could not be safely transported from the classroom to the office.
Joseph Lee, who sat next to Nathan, kept casting anxious glances at his friendâs empty desk. Nathan should have been back by now. But instead, the alarm was sounding, and Mr. OâToole couldnât get the office on the phone. Something was seriously wrong. And why wasnât Mr. OâToole calling for help? Someone needed to tell the police that something was going on at the school.
Cellphones were forbidden during class, but with Mr. OâToole pacing back and forth in front of the whiteboard and half the class distracted by crying, or sitting very still and trying not to cry, Joseph decided he could risk it. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, swiping his thumb across the screen to unlock it. The familiar glow of his background sprang into view. Habit made him fold himself around the screen, trying to keep from attracting Mr. OâTooleâs attention. He neednât have bothered. In that moment, his teacher wouldnât have noticed the students beginning to dance on their desks and sing the national anthem. His mind was miles away, following a trail that would have been familiar to everyone in the room: like the rest of them, Mr. OâToole was trying frantically to convince himself that this wasnât what it looked like.
It wasnât an outbreak.
It couldnât be an outbreak.
Joseph brought up his keypad and considered it for a moment, waffling between calling home and telling his dad what was going on, and calling 911 and letting the authorities know what was going onâalthough he wasnât really sure what heâd say in the second instance. Like, was it prank calling if you told the police that the alarms at school
None of the students who survived have ever spoken to the media. We reached out to them, to ask whether they would break their silence and speak to us. There have been no replies. Whatever happened in the halls of Evergreen Elementary has been lost to posterity, save for those fragments captured on the schoolâs security camerasâ¦and given the horrors that those fragments imply, perhaps it is better that way.
Perhaps there are some truths better left forgotten.
âfrom Unspoken Tragedies of the American School System by Alaric Kwong, March 19, 2044
*Â Â *Â Â *
Wednesday, March 19, 2036, 12:01 p.m.
Elaine Oldenburgâs class was one of five in the first grade. The school extended from kindergarten through fifth grade, although there were only three fifth-grade classes; many students were withdrawn from the physical school system after fourth grade, or transferred to a middle school where they would be less likely to endanger smaller children through their mere presence. All told, thirty-three classes were in session when the alarm began to sound. It was too much to ask for that many students to remain calm and collected, especially when the restraints failed to activate correctly, resulting in fewer than half the students being locked into their desks.
Nathan Patterson had started feeling unwell fifteen minutes after the end of recess, and had been sent to the nurseâs office for observation and blood tests. Mr. OâToole had followed school policy and not asked Nathan to take a blood test before leaving the classroom. If it had come back positiveâwhich it couldnât, there was simply no way Nathan had been exposed; it was a ridiculous ideaâthe door would have locked, and the safety shutters on the windows would have descended, containing the infection, yes, but also containing the entire class. Blood tests were only requested in the case of student illness when the student could not be safely transported from the classroom to the office.
Joseph Lee, who sat next to Nathan, kept casting anxious glances at his friendâs empty desk. Nathan should have been back by now. But instead, the alarm was sounding, and Mr. OâToole couldnât get the office on the phone. Something was seriously wrong. And why wasnât Mr. OâToole calling for help? Someone needed to tell the police that something was going on at the school.
Cellphones were forbidden during class, but with Mr. OâToole pacing back and forth in front of the whiteboard and half the class distracted by crying, or sitting very still and trying not to cry, Joseph decided he could risk it. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, swiping his thumb across the screen to unlock it. The familiar glow of his background sprang into view. Habit made him fold himself around the screen, trying to keep from attracting Mr. OâTooleâs attention. He neednât have bothered. In that moment, his teacher wouldnât have noticed the students beginning to dance on their desks and sing the national anthem. His mind was miles away, following a trail that would have been familiar to everyone in the room: like the rest of them, Mr. OâToole was trying frantically to convince himself that this wasnât what it looked like.
It wasnât an outbreak.
It couldnât be an outbreak.
Joseph brought up his keypad and considered it for a moment, waffling between calling home and telling his dad what was going on, and calling 911 and letting the authorities know what was going onâalthough he wasnât really sure what heâd say in the second instance. Like, was it prank calling if you told the police that the alarms at school
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