Newt marvelled at the way reality seemed to move and swim around her before stabilising again. She wished it had lasted longer so that she could’ve worked out what was happening.

Instead, she was now standing unsteadily in the destroyed principal’s office. Rowan was on his hands and knees looking like he was about to puke.

‘What happened?’ he asked, unsteadily.

‘I think we passed through some sort of doorway in the fabric of time and space.’ Newt’s mind was attempting to join the theoretical dots, between what had just happened and the articles she had read in science journals about the possibility of parallel realities. Unlikely though it was, a portal or doorway through to a different reality seemed like the only explanation.

‘Portal fantasy,’ said Rowan, getting to his feet with a groan.

‘What?’

‘Portal fantasy,’ repeated Rowan. ‘It’s a type of fantasy story where people go through portals into other worlds. Fabulous adventures follow.’

‘You know that stuff isn’t real, don’t you?’ said Newt.

‘Well, I used to think so,’ said Rowan. ‘I’m not sure any more.’ He waved his arms around, gave a wan smile and vomited onto the floor at her feet.

‘Gross.’ Newt stepped away.

‘Sorry,’ said Rowan, wiping his mouth and also stepping away from the puke.

‘Jeez, Rowan, you are utterly disgusting. You could have moved away at least.’

‘I said sorry.’ He was sounding less so, now.

They turned away from each other, and that’s when the enormity of their situation hit. Silent, they both gazed around.

‘This is Mr Hardnose’s office, isn’t it?’ said Rowan, eventually. ‘Just wrecked?’

‘I guess so,’ said Newt.

A parallel reality, thought Newt, as she considered the office. That’s the only possible explanation.

‘Did a tornado crash through here or something?’ said Rowan.

The wall at one end was partly collapsed, brickwork crumbling.

Newt stumbled over the debris and looked out.

She gasped.

‘What is it?’ asked Rowan, coming to join her.

It wasn’t just the principal’s office that had been destroyed. The whole school had been ravaged. The buildings were all in varying states of decay, from the partly-standing canteen to the completely flattened hall. Concrete paths had been ripped up and the ground gouged into ruts. There was a crater in the centre of the sports oval and the basketball poles were rusted stumps.

Newt felt her legs wobble. This was all too much. How could everything have been destroyed? A horrifying thought struck her …

Where are all the people? Is everyone dead?

‘What happened?” whispered Rowan.

‘Something bad,’ said Newt, her voice as unstable as her legs. ‘Something very bad.’

The sound of shifting rubble, followed by a growling, made them both turn.

Is someone alive?

The office door was splintered and broken, the bottom section missing, the top hanging from the frame by one hinge. Beyond it, they could see more rubble and devastation.

Another growl. Closer this time.

There was something out there.

It was getting closer.

‘Probably just a stray dog,’ said Rowan hopefully.

‘It doesn’t sound like a dog,’ said Newt, a little swell of hope rising up within her.

‘I hope it’s a dog,’ said Rowan. ‘I mean … what else could it be?’

A pair of legs appeared in the lower half of the doorway, the torso and head obscured by the remaining piece of door. The legs were wearing ragged grey pants that were torn and grimy. The feet were bare and dirty.

Is that dried blood? wondered Newt. Is he hurt?

‘See,’ she said, ‘it’s not a dog. It’s a man.’

The man growled again … the sound shifting and changing to more of an anguished moan.

‘Hello!’ called Newt, her voice shaky.

‘Shhhh!’ said Rowan.

‘We need help,’ said Newt. ‘We need to know what’s happened.’

There was another moan as the top section of the door swung open, the hinge giving way. It crashed to the floor, revealing …

Principal Hardnose.

Except he was different.

Any hope Newt had felt at an adult’s arrival dried up.

Both the kids instantly recoiled and started backing away. He was wrong and utterly horrifying.

His jacket and shirt were as tattered and grimy as his pants. And that is dried blood, thought Newt.

The principal’s hair was a mat of filthy clumps. His face was distorted. One side looked as if his skin had melted, like a candle left burning too long. His thin lips were curled back from blackened teeth. His tongue lolled out in an almost comical way. He was drooling.

Mr Hardnose moaned again and stretched out his arms towards them, his hands like claws.

‘O … M … G …’ said Newt, backing away further, barely able to keep her legs steady. ‘He … he’s … he’s a …’

But she couldn’t form the word. Her mind refused to acknowledge that such a thing could exist. Because it couldn’t. It was unscientific.

‘He’s a zombie!’ finished Rowan.

With a guttural growl, Mr Hardnose lurched towards them.