Chapter 73
Preparation for Plan B
12:40 PM — School Rooftop
The clock had already struck 12:40 in the afternoon, yet the school building remained a nightmare of bloodshed and terror.
The ferocious growls of zombies echoed through its corridors, rising from the floors below and occasionally carrying all the way to the rooftop. Every distant snarl served as a cruel reminder that the world they had once known was gone. The familiar classrooms, once filled with students' laughter and teachers' voices, had become hunting grounds for creatures that showed no mercy.
But above that living nightmare, on the school rooftop, a handful of survivors still clung desperately to the hope of being rescued.
Some sat with their backs against the rooftop walls, their exhausted faces turned toward the sky. Others stood near the edge, scanning the distant horizon for any sign of a helicopter. Every passing cloud, every distant sound, and every unexpected movement in the sky made them wonder whether help had finally arrived.
Yet the sky remained silent.
And the waiting continued.
Mr. Smith stood among them, his expression serious as he explained the two survival plans he had prepared. He had already made the situation clear to everyone, and for the time being, they were concentrating entirely on Plan A.
The first plan was simple: they would continue waiting for rescue until their remaining food and drinking water had dwindled to a dangerously low level.
Until then, they would conserve their supplies as carefully as possible.
No unnecessary consumption. No careless waste.
Every piece of bread and every mouthful of water mattered now.
Fortunately, their current location offered a few advantages. Unlike the classrooms below, the rooftop provided a relatively secure place to wait. There were washroom facilities nearby, and the school's water tank contained enough water to sustain them for a considerable period, provided they used it wisely.
Most importantly, not a single zombie had reached the rooftop.
Nor had there been any indication that one might appear anytime soon.
They had taken every possible precaution to secure the entrance. Working together, the survivors had barricaded the rooftop door from the inside with whatever they could find: large wooden doors without handles, heavy steel frames, broken chairs, damaged desks, and other pieces of discarded furniture.
The makeshift barricade was far from elegant, but it was sturdy enough to give them some reassurance.
As long as the entrance remained sealed, they could at least hope to keep the monsters below from reaching them.
There was another precaution they had taken as well.
Using the remaining pieces of scrap scattered across the rooftop, they had constructed an enormous SOS sign in the middle of the open space.
It was their message to the world.
Their silent cry for help.
If a helicopter passed overhead, the sign would immediately catch the attention of its crew, making it easier for the rescuers to identify the building and locate the survivors.
Now, they sat and stood around that enormous sign, each person carrying a different mixture of exhaustion, fear, and hope.
But while Plan A offered them the comfort of waiting, Mr. Smith knew better than to place all their hopes in a rescue that might never come.
That was why he had prepared a second plan.
Plan B.
If their food and water ran out and rescue still failed to reach them, they would have no choice but to leave the rooftop themselves.
They would have to descend into the very place they had spent days trying to escape.
The thought alone was enough to send a chill through anyone who imagined it.
But there was no guarantee that they would ever be rescued.
And if the day came when waiting was no longer an option, they would need more than courage to survive.
They would need strength.
Discipline.
And the ability to defend themselves.
Therefore, until that desperate day arrived, they would train.
They would prepare their bodies and minds for the dangers that awaited them beyond the rooftop door.
They would learn to fight.
They would learn to protect one another.
And, if necessary, they would learn how to fight their way through hell itself.
Thus began their next mission.
"Preparation for Plan B."
---
{The Beginning of Training}
Mr. Smith stood in the middle of the rooftop, surveying the scattered pieces of scrap that covered the ground.
At his command, everyone began dismantling the enormous SOS sign.
The wooden pieces, steel frames, and other discarded materials were gathered and moved to one corner of the rooftop. They would need the entire open space for training, and leaving the debris scattered across the ground would only create unnecessary obstacles.
Besides, they had not abandoned their hope of rescue.
If a helicopter appeared, they could quickly rebuild the SOS sign.
Until then, however, they had work to do.
Mr. Smith was still wearing the physical training uniform he had put on before the outbreak began. The familiar outfit looked somewhat out of place in a world where survival had become more important than school schedules, examinations, or morning assemblies.
Yet there was something reassuring about seeing him in it.
For a brief moment, he looked like the teacher they had known before everything fell apart.
But the man standing before them was no longer merely a physical training instructor preparing students for their usual exercises.
He was preparing them for a battle in which a single mistake could cost someone their life.
His face was stern, his shoulders squared, and his eyes moved from one survivor to another, making sure everyone was ready to follow his instructions.
The survivors arranged themselves into five rows.
Jackson, Mary, Lina, and Yaram stood in the first row.
Ghani, Afra, Sana, and Hasnain occupied the second.
Jack, Jason, William, and John stood in the third.
Saim, Jinjin, Michael, and Miss Selena formed the fourth row.
Finally, Saad and Jacob stood together in the fifth.
Eighteen survivors stood before their instructor, waiting for their first command.
The rooftop was quiet now, apart from the occasional distant growl rising from the school building and the soft rustling of clothing as everyone adjusted their positions.
Mr. Smith stepped forward.
"All right! We're beginning with a warm-up. Follow my movements carefully, and don't try to do more than you can manage."
His voice was firm enough to command attention.
He stretched both arms out to his sides, then raised them overhead while spreading his feet apart in a controlled jumping motion. After returning to his original position, he repeated the movement.
"Come on! Everyone together!"
The survivors followed his example.
Some moved awkwardly, while others quickly found their rhythm. Their shoes scraped against the concrete as eighteen people began moving in unison beneath the open sky.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, they were doing something that did not involve hiding, running, or desperately searching for an escape.
They were preparing for what came next.
Most of them followed the instructions with surprising enthusiasm.
Most.
Afra, however, seemed to have other things on her mind.
Although she was standing in the second row, her attention kept drifting toward the people behind her. Every few seconds, she turned her head to look at Sam and Jinjin, who were exercising in the row behind her.
There was something painfully difficult about watching them.
Perhaps it was the memories they brought back.
Perhaps it was the fear of losing someone else in a world that had already taken too much from them.
Whatever the reason, her eyes lingered on them longer than they should have.
A faint, sad smile appeared on her face as she watched them move through the exercises.
She was physically present on the rooftop, but a part of her mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely.
Unfortunately for her, Mr. Smith noticed.
Before he could address her, however, another survivor was already attracting attention for an entirely different reason.
John.
Even after reaching the rooftop, John had continued wearing his clown costume. He had washed away his clown makeup with water, but the colourful outfit remained, making him look strangely out of place among the exhausted survivors.
The contrast might have been amusing under ordinary circumstances.
But these were not ordinary circumstances.
John was also struggling with the physical exercises. His body felt heavy, his stamina was limited, and his natural laziness made the situation considerably worse.
While everyone else jumped and stretched, John merely waved his arms in the air.
He raised them.
Lowered them.
Moved them from side to side.
And barely moved his feet at all.
His performance was less like a warm-up and more like someone attempting to imitate one from a considerable distance.
Mr. Smith watched him for several seconds.
His expression gradually hardened.
Finally, he walked over to John.
"Stop!"
John froze halfway through an exceptionally lazy arm movement.
Mr. Smith positioned John's arms correctly, then demonstrated how he should move his feet.
"Your arms and legs are supposed to work together. You're not here to wave your hands around!"
John glanced down at his feet, then back at his instructor.
"Like this, sir?"
"Exactly like that. Now do it properly."
Mr. Smith returned to his position and faced the group again.
Then, with the unmistakable authority of a military instructor, he called out:
"John! Unless you want to spend five hours standing like a rooster as punishment, you'd better start doing exactly what I'm teaching you. Understood?"
For a moment, John looked as though he had not fully processed the threat.
Then the meaning finally registered.
"Yes, sir!"
His response came with considerably more energy than any movement he had performed so far.
He straightened his back, positioned his feet correctly, and began following the exercises with renewed determination.
Apparently, the possibility of five hours of punishment had awakened muscles that the zombie apocalypse itself had failed to motivate.
A few survivors struggled to suppress their amusement.
Even in a world drowning in terror, John's misfortune offered them a tiny, unexpected moment of relief.
But Mr. Smith was not finished.
His attention shifted toward Afra.
He narrowed his eyes slightly before addressing her in a firm voice.
"Hey, you! The girl standing in the second row!"
Afra immediately straightened.
"Yes, sir?"
"Stop looking behind you. If you want to get out of here alive, then pay attention to the steps I'm teaching you. You won't survive out there by standing around worrying about everything except your training."
His words struck harder than she had expected.
Afra's expression changed. The sadness in her eyes gave way to embarrassment as she realised that everyone nearby could hear him.
For a brief moment, she lowered her gaze.
Then she took a quiet breath, faced forward, and fixed her attention on Mr. Smith.
"Yes, sir," she replied softly.
This time, she followed every movement carefully.
Her eyes no longer wandered toward the people behind her.
Whatever she was feeling, she would have to carry it with her while learning to survive.
Because the world outside was not going to wait for her heart to heal.
---
{When Hard Times Steal Your Smile}
At the back of the formation, Saad continued exercising beside Jacob.
The two of them had been following the instructions for some time when Saad glanced toward Mr. Smith.
Something about their instructor seemed different.
The man who had once made jokes and brought laughter into ordinary school days now stood before them with the seriousness of a soldier preparing his unit for battle.
Saad continued moving his arms, but his expression grew thoughtful.
After a moment, he turned slightly toward Jacob.
"Mr. Smith has become so serious, hasn't he?" he remarked. "He used to be so funny."
Jacob glanced at him.
For a brief moment, a faint smile touched his face, although there was little happiness behind it.
Then he answered quietly.
"Hard times take the smiles away from even the people who used to smile the most."
Saad's movements slowed.
He looked at Jacob, but the other boy had already turned his attention back toward the front.
There was nothing dramatic about Jacob's words.
He had not raised his voice or tried to make his statement sound profound.
He had simply spoken the truth as he understood it.
And perhaps that was why the words lingered in Sad's mind.
He remembered the days when their greatest worries had been ordinary school problems, when a teacher's joke could make an entire classroom laugh, and when the future had seemed like something they had plenty of time to think about.
Now, every new day is a battle against uncertainty.
The smiles that had once come so easily had become rare.
Some people hid their fear behind silence.
Others tried to remain cheerful for the sake of their friends.
And some, like Mr. Smith, had learned to put their own feelings aside because too many lives depended on their decisions.
Saad slowly turned his gaze forward.
The faint amusement that had lingered on his face disappeared, replaced by a quiet seriousness.
He straightened his posture and resumed the exercises with greater concentration.
Jacob did the same.
Neither of them spoke again.
There was nothing left to say.
The training continued.
And for the next three hours, the rooftop echoed with the rhythmic sounds of movement, instructions, and the occasional groan of exhaustion.
They stretched their muscles, practised basic movements, and repeated the exercises until their bodies began to protest.
Some struggled more than others.
Some had to pause to catch their breath.
But nobody gave up.
Not because they suddenly enjoyed the pain, but because each movement reminded them of what they were fighting for.
Their lives.
Their friends.
And the possibility of seeing another sunrise.
---
{A Cold Evening on the Rooftop}
By the time the training session finally ended, the afternoon had slipped away.
The light above the school had begun to change, and the open sky was gradually surrendering its brightness to the approaching evening.
A cold mist spread across the surroundings, drifting over the rooftop and partially concealing the distant buildings. The air grew colder with every passing minute, and the pale golden light of the moon struggled to penetrate the thickening haze.
From their position on the rooftop, the survivors could barely distinguish the outlines of the buildings beyond the school.
Everything looked distant.
Unfamiliar.
Almost unreal.
The school beneath their feet remained filled with danger, but for a little while, they had managed to concentrate on something other than the horrors waiting below.
Now, however, exhaustion was catching up with them.
The eighteen survivors gathered their remaining strength and headed toward the storeroom, where they could rest away from the cold.
Inside, the atmosphere was noticeably different.
The storeroom offered little comfort, but its walls provided some protection from the evening chill. The survivors settled along the walls, sitting close together wherever space allowed.
Their faces revealed just how demanding the training had been.
Several leaned their heads against the wall with their eyes closed. Others stretched their legs in front of them, carefully moving their arms and shoulders as though trying to convince their aching muscles to relax.
For many of them, it was the first time they had exercised so intensely in a long while.
Their bodies were not accustomed to such exertion, and the consequences were becoming painfully obvious.
Afra, Sana, Mary, Lina, Saad, Jack, Jacob, and Miss Selena were among those struggling with the soreness in their arms and legs.
Even the smallest movement seemed to remind them of the three exhausting hours they had spent following Mr. Smith's instructions.
John, meanwhile, appeared to have discovered an entirely new reason to regret his earlier laziness.
He shifted against the wall, trying to find a comfortable position.
Then he shifted again.
And once more.
No matter how he sat, his tired muscles refused to cooperate.
He looked around at the others, several of whom were suffering just as much as he was.
For once, he had no joke to offer.
The survivors ate what little food they could spare.
Each person received a single slice of bread.
John, however, managed to eat two.
Nobody seemed particularly surprised.
After all, if there was one thing John could still do with enthusiasm, it was eat.
Despite their aching bodies and the constant danger outside, the storeroom gradually grew quieter.
One by one, the survivors settled into whatever positions offered them the greatest comfort.
The exhaustion of the day weighed heavily upon them, leaving little energy for conversation or anxious speculation.
Outside, the cold mist continued to spread across the school.
Somewhere below, the zombies still wandered through the building.
But inside the storeroom, the survivors finally allowed themselves a few hours of rest.
For that night, at least, their tired bodies demanded sleep more urgently than their frightened minds demanded answers.
And so, under the uncertain protection of the rooftop above them, they slept.
---
{Two Weeks of Preparation}
The days that followed brought a new routine to the rooftop.
Every day, the survivors continued their training under Mr. Smith's supervision.
At first, even the simplest exercises proved difficult for some of them. Their muscles ached, their stamina was limited, and their bodies struggled to adapt to the demands being placed upon them.
But gradually, things began to change.
They learned to endure longer training sessions.
They became more familiar with basic defensive movements.
They practised throwing punches, delivering kicks, and maintaining their balance while moving.
Under Mr. Smith's guidance, they also learned a few fundamental techniques inspired by Taekwondo.
The training was far from enough to turn them into expert fighters, but it gave them something they had desperately needed: a basic understanding of how to defend themselves.
They began to learn that fighting was not simply about striking an opponent.
It required balance, coordination, awareness, and the ability to remain focused even when fear threatened to overwhelm them.
They also learned to pay attention to their surroundings, follow instructions quickly, and recognise the importance of working together.
Some improved faster than others.
Those who had already possessed fighting skills became stronger and more disciplined, refining what they knew through constant practice.
Those with little or no experience gradually became more confident in their movements.
Even the ones who had struggled during the first few sessions began to show signs of progress.
The change was not always obvious.
Sometimes, it was as simple as a steadier stance, a quicker reaction, or the determination to finish an exercise that had once seemed impossible.
But each small improvement mattered.
Because every lesson brought them one step closer to the day they might have to leave their shelter.
And although none of them knew when that day would come, they understood why they could no longer afford to remain unprepared.
Two weeks passed.
Two weeks of aching muscles, repeated exercises, exhaustion, and determination.
Two weeks during which the survivors learned to depend not only on the barricaded rooftop, but also on their own abilities and one another.
They were still frightened.
They were still trapped.
And they were still waiting for rescue.
But they were no longer the same helpless group that had gathered around the SOS sign t