Speaker A
You left her on the roof, Mrs. Reyes. The woman who left you behind on day 30.
Part 4 of a zombie survival serial: a young narrator and their mom fight to rescue Mrs. Reyes from a walk-in freezer at Lincoln High, then face infection and a final helicopter escape.
Key Takeaways
- The story hinges on sacrifice, as characters repeatedly stay behind so others can escape.
- Sound (the bell, the horn, the knock) is the central survival mechanic.
- Small physical details, like the battery and the infected cut, drive the plot's tension.
- The episode closes on a bittersweet escape that leaves the threat unresolved.
What the video covers
- The episode opens with a helicopter evacuation and a radio call from Mrs. Reyes at 2:00 a.m., which keeps the undead at Lincoln High hemmed in by the ringing of a brass bell.
- Mr. Hail's signature knock on the radio reveals that Mrs. Reyes is still alive, trapped somewhere near the school.
- The narrator and Mom drive bus number seven back into Lincoln High, using the horn to draw zombies away from the freezer.
- The narrator reaches the walk-in freezer, where Mrs. Reyes has been hiding, and frees her after a tense standoff.
- Mrs. Reyes is injured on the stairwell door, and Mom treats the wound, which turns out to be a cut and not a bite, though it becomes infected.
- The group loses bus number seven's battery and must scavenge a new one from another bus while a zombie grabs Mom's ankle.
- Mrs. Reyes's fever worsens, and she tells Mom to send the narrator and the boy away on the helicopter.
- The final chapter stages a rescue run to the roof, where the pilot takes three passengers, leaving the zombie crowd behind.
- The story keeps its recurring motifs: the bell, the 2:00 radio call, the 3:40 knock, and the detention-era rules.
Chapters
- 00:00Helicopter evacuation and the 2:00 radio call
- 01:36The knock and the plan to return to Lincoln High
- 02:17Bus seven and the horn distraction
- 03:36Freeing Mrs. Reyes from the walk-in freezer
- 05:25Infection scare and the fever
- 07:15Scavenging a battery for the bus
- 08:27Final rescue run to the helicopter
Full Transcript — Download SRT & Markdown
Speaker A
On day 90, she stayed so you could go. The last thing you see from the helicopter is the far end of the roof, her cardigan, the old brass bell swinging, and Mr. Hail walking toward it. 11 mi out, the convoy is waiting on
Speaker A
the highway. 40 army trucks, eight yellow school buses, 600 people from the stadium. The bridge on Route 9 is down, and the army is building a new one. 30 days. They say the pilot sleeps next to his radio. At 2:00 in the morning, it
Speaker A
crackles. Lincoln High still ringing. She says it every night at 2. Never late. Mom sits up to hear it. Under her voice, you can hear the bell. Every 50 minutes, it keeps 400 dead people in that building. Not out here, following
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600 living ones. Night 97. 2:00. The radio clicks on. Nobody speaks. Then somebody knocks on the microphone. Two slow, one fast. The pilot calls it interference. Your mom looks at you. You've heard that knock every day since detention. Every day at
Speaker A
3:40. Mr. Hail has knocked at 3:40 for 97 days. That's when detention ended. Never at 2:00, never early, and never late. But 2:00 in the morning is her time. And Mrs. Reyes has never been late. Not once. So this knock isn't his,
Speaker A
it's hers. She's knocking his knock because it's the one knock you'd know anywhere. And if she can't talk, something is close enough to hear her.
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You take the radio out of the pilot's hand and you knock back. Too slow, one fast. A long silence. Then so quietly you almost miss it. One knock. She's alive. The pilot won't fly. One helicopter. 600 people. One fuel truck
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stuck behind the broken bridge. Then he says the thing he always says, "Staff only. Sorry, Mr. Hail.
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Mom looks down the line of yellow buses. Before she was a nurse, she drove one.
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On day 98 at dawn, bus number seven pulls out of the convoy. It says Lincoln High on the side. You're in the front seat.
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She stayed for you, so we go and get her. Lincoln Avenue is empty. For the first time in 98 days, there's no bell. And without it, they don't stand at the fence. They wander down the halls, up the stairs, into any room with an open
Speaker A
door. Mom backs the bus right up against the east doors so nothing can get behind you. You climb out of the emergency exit straight into the school. The stairwell door that folded on day 68. The desks Mom dragged across the hall, room 214.
Speaker A
Your tally marks are still on the wall. Now you have to search a building full of 400 dead with nothing to move them.
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Rule one says, "Move when the bell rings." But somebody took the bell, so mom leans on the bus horn. It's ugly and loud, and every head in Lincoln High turns east. You go west. The trophy case is still [music] smashed. Her office
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door is open. Caught. Coffee mug. No radio. On the roof at the far end, there's [music] only her purse, zipped shut like she meant to come back for it.
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Then the horn stops. Mom can't lean on it forever. In the west hall, every head turns back. The boy in the Letterman jacket comes down the stairs at you. You go over the trophy case and the broken glass gets your hood instead of you.
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Back in room 214, at 3:40, somebody knocks. Not on your door. Somewhere far below you. Two slow, one fast.
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For a 100 days, Mr. Hail has knocked on one door. Whichever door has somebody behind it. On day one, that was yours.
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On day 72, it was your mom asleep against it. Today it isn't yours. So at 3:40 on day 100, you follow the knock down the back stairs, past the gym, into the cafeteria, and through to the kitchen. Mr. Hail is standing at the
Speaker A
walk-in freezer, the one a woman in a hairet once stepped out of. He's knocking on it. Too slow, one fast. The power died on the first day. It isn't a freezer anymore. It's a steel box with a heavy door, and that door swings out. To
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get in, he'd have to pull. Rule two, they push. They can't pull. She's in there. Getting to her is the problem. 60 of them have lived in this kitchen since day nine. The horn bought you 10 minutes. You'll need longer. Mom checks
Speaker A
the bus battery and says she can give you 20. Day 101. 338. The horn goes on and [music] stays on. The kitchen empties one shuffling body at a time.
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Mr. Hail goes last. At [music] the door, he stops like he's thinking about it.
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Then he follows the noise. You knock on the freezer. Two [music] slow, one fast.
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Something clicks inside and the heavy door swings out. Mrs. Reyes is sitting on a milk crate in the dark. Cardigan buttoned to the neck, the brass bell in her lap, the radio [music] in her hand.
Speaker A
She looks at you for a long time. Room 214. You're late. On day 96, she fell asleep ringing and woke up with Mr. Hail's hand on her shoe. She ran down through the closet with the bell in one hand and the radio
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in the other. The walk-in was the only door in the building they couldn't open.
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I couldn't say a word. They were right outside, so I used his knock. I knew you'd know it anywhere.
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Then out in the lot, the horn stops. Not like a hand coming off it, like a battery giving up. Every head in the building turns back. You run up the back stairs, the two of you in the dark. Mr.
Speaker A
Hail is at the top. He grabs her cardigan. She slips right out of it and tears her hand on the bent stairwell door. Mom meets you at room 214 with a fire extinguisher. Door shut. Desks back up. Three of you in one room again. Down
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in the lot, bus number seven sits with its lights off. The battery is flat. The convoy is 11 mi away and the bridge opens in 19 days. Detention just got longer again.
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Your mom is a nurse. She looks at everybody's hands. On day 106, she looks at Mrs. Reyes's bellhand. The cut from the stairwell door is red and swollen and hot to the touch. Nobody says the word bite. Everybody thinks it. Mrs.
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Reyes holds it out anyway. It's not a [music] bite. It's the door and it's infected.
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Mom flushes it with the cleanest water you have. She washes around it with soap and covers it with a clean cloth. Then she tells you what to watch for.
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Redness [music] swelling, oozing, fever. Any one of those means a doctor. The nearest doctor is behind a broken bridge. Every night at 2, Mrs. Reyes takes the radio. Three of us now, she says, and the pilot gives you a time.
Speaker A
Day 120, 340. Your roof, one trip. On day 112, the fever comes. She shivers under three coats. That afternoon, she calls your mom over and says it quietly.
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When he lands, you take that boy and you go. On day 90, she said go. You know that rule now. Anyone who tells you to go is staying. Not [music] this time. Every day at 3:40, the knock comes to your
Speaker A
door now. On day 115, the hall is packed so tight the whole desk wall moves an inch with every knock. You and mom put your backs against it until the knocking stops. And there's still the roof. When the helicopter lands, every one of them
Speaker A
will climb toward it. You need the horn, so you need a battery. There are three buses in the front lot. On day 49, you took a battery from the second one. The first was rusted shut. You never tried
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the third. Night 119. You and mom roll a mop bucket across the lot in the dark.
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The third bus opens. The battery takes both of you to lift. A gray hand comes out from under the bus and closes on mom's ankle. You stamp on it until it lets go. By 4:00 in the morning, bus
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number 7 has a new battery, and at 3:40, somebody has to be sitting in it.
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Day 120, 338. On day zero, you brought three things into detention. Half a granola bar, a water bottle, a math book. You wedge the math book between the horn and the seat belt. It's the first time it's ever been useful. The
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horn screams down Lincoln Avenue, and it doesn't stop. 400 heads turn east. You run up the stairs, through the closet, past the janitor, out the hatch. The helicopter drops onto the roof. Mrs.
Speaker A
Reyes is standing there with the bell. She doesn't ring it. The pilot leans out.
Speaker A
Staff only. Vice principal. These two are with me. Three seats. Get in. Mr. Hail.
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Behind you. The hatch bangs open. Mr. Hail climbs out onto the roof the way he did on day 90. This time he walks toward you. His hand finds the back of your sneaker. Mrs. Reyes rings the bell once
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right beside him. He stops. She sets it down at his feet and climbs in after you. The roof drops away. Below you, 400 dead are packed around a yellow bus with a math [music] book on its horn. Nobody
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had to stay. Not this time. On the roof, Mr. Hail stands over the brass bell.
Speaker A
It's [music] 3:40. He turns to the hatch and lifts his hand. He only knocks when somebody's behind the door. For the first time in 120 days, Mr. Hail doesn't knock.
Topics:zombiehorrorserial fictionLincoln Highsurvivalpart 4Mrs. Reyeshelicopter escapeaudio horrorpost-apocalyptic
