Free Dying Time by Daniel Clarke

Daycare
     
    Rebecca fell to the floor. So tired, so bloody tired, she thought. Her body shook as she cried, all the tears she’d been holding since that morning were released in violent convulsive sobs. She wrapped her arms around herself, and let it all out. It was too much for her, it would be too much for anyone. Why did it happen? What had they done to deserve this?
     
    What had she done to deserve this?
     
    “ Miss Anthony,” a tired, high pitched voice said. “Miss Anthony, are you all right.”
     
    Rebecca looked up wiping her face on her filthy sleeve. “Yes Angela, I’m all right,” she answered the young girl. “I just fell, and gave myself a bobo,” she was talking like a five year old now. “Do you need anything?”
     
    “ Can I have a glass of water?”
     
    “ I’m sorry, Angela but we ne-” she stopped herself. Why shouldn’t she give the girl a glass of water. They were nearly out, one glass wouldn’t matter now. “I’ll get you a small glass.”
     
    Angela smiled, and watched as Rebecca grabbed the last of the small bottles of water. Only a half full, five litre jug remained now. “Thank you Miss Anthony,” she said as she drank.
     
    Rebecca took the glass from her, and walked her back to her blanket in the middle of the play room floor. Kissing Angela’s cheek she looked over the nine children still in her care. None older then eight, no one under four. A nice mix of boys and girls. Everyone from a nice middle class families. Every single one an orphan.
     
    She stepped over the sleeping children. She had looked after them for two weeks, all alone. Trying to keep their minds off the lose of their parents. Keeping them entertained when they couldn’t go outside. Trying to keep them clean. Trying to keep them fed.  She wished it was different.
     
    If only their parents had survived to pick them up. If only her co-workers had stayed around. If only the police, or the military had helped.  If only the zombies hadn’t risen up and eaten everyone. If only she had been willing to abandon them all on the slim hope of getting to somewhere safe.
     
    If only.
     
    Tiffany had left in the first hour, followed by Aby, Debra and Paloma leaving together five hours later.  Parents had streamed in the entire day grabbing their children. By the end only John, a maintenance man for the building, and eleven children were left. Before John left he had helped her barricade the stairway leading downstairs, and made sure the fire escape ladder wouldn’t fall down. He’d asked her to go with him, but she couldn’t. He had only a small car, and the children wouldn’t fit.  By that time the zombies were almost surrounding the building. They’d have caught the children easily. 
     
    She had nearly gone with him. Seeing the dozens of dead people walking slowly for the building, moaning and screaming as they came closer. She had been so ready to just grab her coat and run away with John.  The children had all been asleep, it would have been so easy. But she had stayed. Someone had needed to protect the children.      
     
    A sign on the roof called for help. More signs, written by the children on the second day, hung from all the windows telling parents or rescuers to head to the back of the building where the fire escape was. She’d sent two children down it into a waiting mini-van on the second day. The mini-van couldn’t take anymore, they were full, and the zombies had circled them. But they had promised to return. She didn’t know the people, but she thought it was the safest option. The van never returned. She still woke up screaming at night dreaming about what might have happened to the two boys.
     
    She walked back into the kitchen, taking stock of what they had. She’d stretched the small amount of food they had over two weeks. Everyone was hungry, but no one was starving, yet. The only food they had left was a five pound bag of oatmeal, a box of twenty chocolate chip