9 3.1

In school, I panicked within myself throughout the classes, unable to find an excuse perfect enough to give my friends on why I couldn't and wouldn't be able to go to the homecoming game two towns from ours. Shelly and Mae had made the perfect arrangements for our traveling. We were to meet in front of the library 3:45 pm after classes and Mae's basketball practice. Naturally, Tamara ought to have gone with the cheerleaders in the school's coaster bus but had decided to go and hang out with us and join the cheerleaders at the game.

My head throbbed with anxiety the more I thought of the disappointed looks and heart breaks my friends were going to pass across to me through their expressions when I told them I wouldn't be able to go with them to watch the game. During history class, I held my throbbing head in my palms and placed it on the table. I had a lot of things bothering me that I couldn't even start mentioning to people, including my very best friends. I absentmindedly listened to Mr. Levine's teaching on US history, ranging from the first world war and the events leading to the war. My mind drifted far and wild in imagination as I thought back to the files I'd found in my father's office. Suddenly, I began to suspect my father, my chest thudding soothingly against my locker. Could my dad be the anonymous scientist? And if he was: what was he wanting to derive from the global calamity.

Our history teacher subtly and respectfully tapped my right shoulder to gain my attention and when I lifted my head at him, brows furrowed, he recoiled and studied my facial features.

"You don't look too good today. I think you need extra sleep," Mr. Levine told me, nodding his head for emphasis. "You could really use a few hours of rest or a visit to the nurse's office."

I nodded at him and thanked him on the inside, suddenly seeing his words as a ticket and excuse from going to the game. Actually, I had no idea I looked that sick already to get him notice that fast. So, heeding to his advice, Immediately my friends dispersed from me to their last classes of the day, I quickly typed a text and sent it to them all.

Today 2:32pm:

Guys, I can't make it to homecoming today. My head throbs, and I think I'm sick—so I'm just going to go home and rest. Have fun without me.

As I gathered my books by my lockers in the almost deserted hallways few minutes after closing in the afternoon,  my phone buzzed loudly in the pocket of my jean and my heart gave a loud thud. Gazing suspiciously around, I lifted my phone screen to my face and typed in the passcode. Naturally and instinctively, I had expected the message to be from the unknown number but instead it was one from Shelly with approval to me not going to the game and informing me about Tamara being sick.

I noticed you haven't being yourself today. I think it's fine if you stay home. I'mma send pictures and videos and also tell the others to do the same. Tamara's also sick, we just realized it now that we're on our way, not sure how she's gonna deal with the cheerleaders.

My brows puckered and I began to wonder how quick Tamara could have come down with an illness considering the fact that she had looked just fine all through the day at school but couldn't be too bothered about it. When I closed my locker and locked it, I caught a shocking sight of Baylor Allantoi staring at the far end corner of the hallway where the lockers of the seniors were arranged. He held onto his open locker and tried to be discreet about staring at me, but I noticed and when I did, a smile pushed up my lips.

I raised my hand in the air and waved frantically. "What's up?" I mouthed at him. "Why are you still in school?"

"Detention," Baylor mouthed back. A grin broke across his lips when I shook my head in mock disappointment and his left eyes winked at me before he locked his locker and turned to leave, his hands shoved into his pants pocket.

Suddenly, I was slightly pissed with myself for having set a meeting time with an unknown person when the school would most likely be deserted. I took in a shaky breath and glanced at my wrist watch. The time read few minutes past four and I was immediately covered in cold sweat, having an idea I couldn't chicken at that moment even though I wasn't too certain the person with the unknown number was going to honor my text message.

Mindlessly twirling a strand of hair around my index finger, I took off walking out of the hallway. Few kids lingered around that I was sure weren't going to the game. I instantly didn't see the homecoming as a big deal, considering the way I'd been so eager and looked forward to it during the summer holiday.

As I neared the bleachers, my heart thumped in my chest painfully. I clutched tight the straps of my backpack and tried hopelessly to try to stable my breathing. Beads of cold sweat settled on my temples and slowly rolled down. I felt hopeless at that moment when the field and the bleachers were deserted with no single soul lingering around for miles and I had to meet with an unknown person all alone. I rubbed my sweaty hands together and resisted the urge to scream out my lungs at the empty bleachers, the field, the sky, at myself. My eyes stung and my throat closed up. If the person with the unknown number happened to be dangerous with the intention of hurting me, then I had nothing I could do to save myself. Then, if I was killed, it was all my fault.

I cautiously climbed up the steps leading up the bleachers, looking over my shoulders for the possibility of any approaching figure over and over again. The sun was extremely low in the sky therefore appearing like a giant yellow tongue leaking at the field miles away, where the sky connected with the green grass. Birds were being loud in the sky as they flew past, giving loud caw caw caw like to announce their presence up there in their magical blue world. Walking up the stairs that led to the very top of bleachers, my legs wobbled and shook with cold. Considering the fact that I had a throbbing ache in the head that had already lasted for a couple of hours, I'd expected cold to begin to set in on me and knew I had to use some pain killer medicines as soon as possible if I didn't want to turn out very sick.

As usual, the bleachers wasn't too neat. I brushed aside snack wrappers with my shoes, a few half used cigarettes and avoided seats with dried, nasty gums before settling down at the very top of bleachers where the seats were the neatest while I made a mental note to leave after twenty minutes if nobody showed up. But within that time, I decided to make some research which was the main reason I came to school with my laptop.

Once I set the laptop on my backpack and placed them both on my laps, I turned it on and immediately the home screen filled with icons of software programmes, a wallpaper of I and Buttercup in the background, I pulled up an internet browser and quickly typed in my first search.

Scientific projects within World war 1 and 2?

The internet produced result just as soon as I typed in my search. I scrolled down the web slowly, trying to find a useful one among the numerous results. I found one that dealt with the world war and mostly history concerning it, diseases that broke out during the time and many more, but nothing on scientific projects after the world war I and before the World War II. But I had the feeling that at the rate at which I read through articles on the World War, I was surely going to ace any history tests.

I scrolled back up and cleared the previous search to type in a new one, eager to find something helpful. At that moment it was just me, my laptop and the empty open field that connected the school to the road on which cars and few trucks honked nosily and rode past, propelling further off and appearing smaller the more they did.

The history of the four hundred Zombie men in the years before second World war?

"Oh, yeah," I sarcastically muttered when the search yielded results, cupping my temple with my right hand and drumming my hands rhythmically against my head. "You need to show me something. Anything. There's got to be something."

The result yielded no positive, useful results. A couple of zombie movies but no information about dead men coming to life as soldiers to proceed with the war. I slowly scrolled up through the movies and their descriptions. Some wacky zombie commercials. Zombie games and some zombie movies that somewhat had settings of World war. I grimaced in anger and leaned back against my seat, hopelessly staring at my laptop screen. The search had singled out the words Zombie men and World War and had given informations on them separately. I was suddenly confused, not knowing what was happening. I was sure I'd seen the headlines on the old newspapers the previous night, but then, I wondered why the internet was providing nothing on them.

Unless — I gasped in sudden realization and chewed down on my lower lip in anger — the history was totally taken down and hidden, if that was possible and was only available between the scientists and the military personnel themselves as a top secret. My father did have a lot of friends in the military. His younger brother, Uncle Bob, was a Colonel in the US army.

Inspired, I leaned closer to my laptop and swiftly typed in another search: Matthew D. Silverstein. What did the D stand for, I mused, Damon? Dickson? The result popped up and I leaned very close to my laptop screen, squinting my eyes a little bit.

MATTHEW DOUGLAS SILVERSTEIN.

1895 — 1942.

According to the result, Matthew Douglas Silverstein was an European scientist with distance relations to the sovereign ruler of England. He was born in the year 1895 to his teenager parents in Albania, on the Adriatic coast on the Balkan Peninsula and suffered from tuberculosis passed on to him through his tubercular mother. It said that Matthew contributed greatly to the World War with his scientific inventions and weapons and died from epileptic seizure in his sleep at the age of forty-seven in the year, 1942. His wealth and property were passed on to his wife, Mary J. Silverstein and his two sons.

After reading through the article, I scrolled up and clicked on images to see what Matthew looked like. Black and white images filled the screen, loading one after the other to reveal more. I clicked on the top one and waited for it to load, exhaling loudly.

While I waited, a sudden, continuous honking grabbed my attention. Grimacing, I looked to the direction of the road, way past the green field and toward the south. A red pick up truck was slowly driving past, and even though it was more than an hundred feet away, I could hear the sounds of country side music playing loudly. I wasn't sure if the person or people in there could sight my lone figure seating on the bleachers all alone because I couldn't make out their faces but made them out as two white faces with dark heads. It looked like they were slowing down on purpose to watch me. After a while, the truck disappeared down the road.

I took a quick glance at my watch. It was way past the number of minutes that I'd promised myself already and disappointment pricked my skin like thousands of needles when I realized the person was never going to come. My mouth twisted in anger as I reminded myself that I had other important things before my family all returned home. I looked down at my laptop screen and momentarily froze at the black and white picture that met my sight. Written underneath the picture was:

Matthew Douglas Silverstein in his early twenties.

The man in the picture looked rugged. He had a Roman nose and a thin pair of lips that was in a form of a grin. His tight jaw was an angular shape that was filled with little stubbles. His skin was pale. He had on a white cotton shirt with a silky vest and a pair of black pants, which tied everything together and a bowler hat over his head. Beneath his shirt, his muscles were still so obvious and eye catching. The background of the picture looked like he was in a carnival. Men in uniforms were caught in motions of hitting drums and marching. Balloons and confetti rained, floating in the air and over the heads of the marching band.

Looking at the picture, my body shook with terror and my mouth hung open in disbelief. One thing that stunned and overwhelmed me was the fact that: Matthew D. Silverstein looked exactly like Baylor Allantoi.

An old fashioned Baylor.