A Typical Day at School

April 15, 2011, was like any other day. That is, it was like any other rainy day with thunder and lightning. The eighth graders at All Saints’ Episcopal School had gradually entered their homeroom and were greeted by their teacher, Mrs. Golden. Like so many other times, Mrs. Golden began the day by asking the students what they wanted to share. Connar Capps was first.

In the middle of her sharing, a thunderous bang echoed through the room. Chad Gregory interrupted and announced that he thought that someone was breaking into the room. “No,” said Mrs. Golden, “it’s just the storm, Chad.” Moments later there was the sound of shattering glass. Calmly, and in a low voice, Mrs. Golden simply said “zombies.” Then she hit the red button, the mysterious red button that students had always wondered about, the red button below the white board. “Eighth grade: at times like these our capacity to retaliate must be, and has to be, massive, to deter all forms of aggression.”

The white board flipped over while she was talking. On the other side were weapons of every kind. “Children,” she continued, “it’s time to lock and load!” She grabbed a Spas 12, tossed an AK-47 to Hank Selby, and Sara Spain took a machete. The rest of the students were in the process of getting weapons when the first zombie entered the room. Mrs. Golden blew its head off with a single burst from the Spas 12. The second zombie, however, ate Dylan. “Die, monster!” screamed Abby McGarel as she threw a knife between its eyes. The battle was intense.

Chad Gregory looked like he was going to be the next victim, but Gabe Sexton attacked with an exploding arrow in his crossbow. As the arrow made contact with the zombie, it exploded early. The zombie was killed, but Gabe was blown backwards for ten feet. Taimur Kouser and Sophie Assadnia double-teamed a particularly ugly zombie whose nose had rotted away. Chad, recovering from the attack, borrowed Sara’s machete and beheaded another.

Just as quickly as the attack began, it ended. No more zombies were left. The students were worn, bloody, and exhausted. “What was that all about?” they asked their teacher as she replaced the weapons and pressed the red button again. The white board swung back to normal.

“It’s my turn to share,” Mrs. Golden said. “I was trained by the Navy SEALS and the CIA in all forms of weaponry and combat. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I have been waiting many years to use my skills right here in our school. Today was a great victory. We will miss Dylan, though. Now, children, use your magic fingers and point to the next vocabulary word.”

Filthy Memories

By Hank Selby

I was only six when it happened. It was the scariest day of my life… well, so far. Explosions, bullets, and fire were everywhere. The terribly repulsive scent of gasoline and burnt flesh was not a pleasant odor. Surprisingly though, neither the gunfire, nor the explosions was the thing that frightened me the most. It was the screaming; the horrifying screams of young children helplessly calling for their mothers and fathers to save them. Oh, if only their parents could have been quicker. No soap will be able to cleanse the memories I have kept from that day, seventeen years ago.

We were living in Chicago, Illinois at that terrible time. My parents had taken me into the heart of the city to do some Christmas shopping. We parked in a high-rise parking garage. Who would have thought terrorists would have struck in a parking garage? The parking garage, though, was the center of their attack on the city.

Years later we learned that the terrorists came from Venezuela, a country that hates the United States. They believe that we have been cheating them out of their country’s oil. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I’m sure that they didn’t need to kill so many of us to prove their point. The attack on Chicago was the only one they ever made. It was enough to change me for life.

My memories of that day are probably what caused me to enter the professional world of the Central Intelligence Agency. As a spy, I travel the world gathering intelligence to use against terrorists. As of today I haven’t had to kill anyone. On the other hand, I have been trained to defend my country by any means necessary.

The memory of dying children, collapsing concrete and steel, and burning flesh, is something that I will never forget. My work as a spy for my country is patriotic. Terrorism is bad. No matter what reason terrorists claim to have, it is bad. My work may never be done, but I intend to work as hard as I can to try to end it all.