Unsure of the scope of this threat, and knowing the man was no longer able to work the complicated door handle, I moved past the passenger side to the rear window, shining the light inside as the man shifted to follow. It was horrible.
In the back seat were the children. They had looked so bright and vibrant in the pictures, but that was taken from them. Each, also, had been robbed of the stillness of a peaceful death, instead laying in a snaking mass of bloody tissue. Their bodies were barely recognizable, and it was difficult to tell where one began and the other ended, so bad was the carnage.
I jumped back as the man’s bulk crashed over the seat as he struggled to reach me, disturbing and nearly overturning the bodies of his children. I leaned towards the window and saw that a tiny hand was still drawing the door handle inward- the child lock had prevented them from getting out.
Totally unconcerned with the remains of his children, the man clambered over them, tearing the hand from the handle in the process, to distort his face on the glass. As if from desperate hunger, bloodstained teeth grated along the window and his mottled tongue left a filthy trail on the glass. I knew that I should pity him, but I also knew that the man was no longer behind those dead eyes. As much as I realized that it didn’t make any sense, I knew that I hated him on a very personal level.
Leaving him to howl after me, I returned to the house and walked briskly to the master bedroom, peeking at Madi as I walked past the window- she was waiting patiently and smiled when she saw me. I returned to the garage clutching a large pillow. As if I never left, the man continued to try to bite through the glass, which I covered with the pillow, feeling it vibrate with his assault.
I pressed the pistol hard into the cushioning and squeezed the trigger, sending the recoil screaming into my palm. Blood and brain violently painted the opposite door as both rear windows shattered with a crash, leaving my ears ringing with the blast- it was much louder than in the movies and I was momentarily disoriented in the small space. The man’s body slumped backwards, folded over onto his children’s laps. His face was still fixed in an enraged grimace and his eyes were left open. I leveled the pistol and fired again. And again. His face shattered with my angry shots, his head fracturing to reveal the soft bulk within.
I dropped the pillow and returned into the home, locking the door behind me. Later, I would have to see what it was that they had packed for their aborted travel; most likely I’d find something of use among their possessions, but first I needed to have Madi inside.
I pulled the rear door open. Madi wasn’t there.
“Madi!” I called, scanning the yard in a panic. I saw movement and saw her face peering from the child’s playhouse, her red eyes gushing with tears. In full sprint, she crossed the yard and locked to my waist in a bawling hug.
“I heard gunshots, I thought you were gonna die,” She managed in between sobs. She had just lost her mother and brother; her terror at the possibility being alone was evident and understandable.
“I’m fine, honey, let’s get inside where it’s safe.” I pulled her hand from my waist to lead her into the house.
She resisted, “If it’s safe, then what did you shoot?”
Parenting was easier when she was younger- she didn’t think quite as much as she does now. I looked at the tree line nervously, regretting the sound of the shots, and wanting to get to the relative safety of indoors as quickly as possible. With one motion, I lifted her into my arms, feeling her body tense with the start as I quickly shut the door behind us.
“If I tell you we’re safe, we’re safe,” I snapped, shaking her small body. My outburst startled her and she looked at me with wide eyes. “I’m sorry,” I stammered, lowering her to the ground, “You just have to listen to me. All I want to do is make sure you’re safe, okay?”
I wondered how much longer I could hold myself together.
She nodded. I pulled her with me to the couch, where we sat.
“I found some dead people in the garage. I shot them just to be sure and now the door is locked,” I lied quickly. “Now, you know what we need to do next, right?”
“Watch outside and stay quiet,” she recited.
“Good, you got it!” I replied with a false sense of confidence. “You start in here; I’ll start with the kitchen.” I crossed to the kitchen as Madi peered out the living room window. There was a tense silence as we studied the landscape, methodically rotating to a different window with a different view every few moments. I recalled, sadly, that at one time we would have had three people watching.
I guessed at my numbers, completely pulled them out of my imagination. I figured that the gunshots, being inside of a house that was surrounded by trees, could maybe heard for about a mile in any direction. I read somewhere, once, that the average person walked about four miles an hour, so I gave the undead a little more than that speed, if they were eager. Using my completely made up numbers and hasty math, we watched for about an hour until I was satisfied that it was safe.
“Hey, Madi,” I called.
She appeared next to me. “Yeah?”
“You hungry?”
“Starving!” She grinned. We were mourning in cycles; focusing only on survival and preservation, then the momentary relief of normalcy, followed by crippling periods of deep depression that we tried to hide from each other in an open secret that we tried to keep. Yet I didn’t feel that I had the luxury of grief; I had to care for Madi, had to keep her alive. I’d have time to grieve later, when we were safe, but for now I had to be content grieving in installments when she wasn’t around.
We searched through the kitchen drawers and cabinets, discarding the many items that needed electricity- our past reliance on power was amazing to me. The bags of microwave popcorn were useless and the canned foods were only frustrating without a manual can opener- probably the reason they were left behind. The fridge and freezer, of course, was nothing but a molded mess.
Eventually, we were able to sit at the table to a feast; a generous spread made up of dried pasta, peanut butter, packets of ketchup and, for desert, honey, fresh from the plastic bear. Surprisingly, the Twinkies were completely stale. I thought they were supposed to last a million years, or something like that.
“Daddy?” Madi said, with a mouthful of pasta.
I raised my eyebrows at her, my tongue working the peanut butter from the roof of my mouth.
“When they die after hurting so many people… do they go to heaven or hell?”
“What?” I asked, buying a moment- the question was deceptively deep.
“I mean, if someone lives a good life, but they get bit and become one of those things… then they hurt people... do they go to heaven or hell?”
I realized that her question covered a lot of ground. She was asking about those creatures, those that were once men, women and children that had just killed her mother and brother. More so, I also realized that she was talking about Aimee and Job directly; if anything was left of them, they’d be mindless abominations by now. A mother that would kill her child without a thought, it was a horrible concept. My mind drifted, thinking about those children that were killed by parents that they trusted; how confusing it must have been for the youngest of them…
“Dad?” Madi broke in.
“Honey, come here,” I turned to reveal my lap as she obediently trotted around the table. “Those things, they aren’t people any more. And you can’t let yourself think that they are. The people they once were, they’re gone. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “So Mommy and Jake…?”
I pulled her tight to my chest. “They’re not here anymore. They’re together in Heaven, baby. They’re together. And someday, we’ll get to see them again. But not soon.” I wondered if that was true; Anymore, I wondered if there even was such a place.
She held tight to me, her face in my chest. “Good,” I heard her mutter.
Chapter VIII: Discoveries
With Dinner over, Madi settled into the couch with
a blanket pulled over her shoulders. She had explored the children’s bedrooms and collected books and toys from the children’s bedrooms. She had piled her favorites next to her, and was reading a SpongeBob Squarepants book that was too young for her.
“I’m going to get some things out of the garage. Stay here.”
“Okay, Dad,” she replied, not looking up from her book. I couldn’t tell if she was escaping from reality or acting like a normal girl; for my own sanity, I assumed the latter. I laid her small revolver on the couch next to her. She didn’t react to it, but I could see her head move slightly towards it. She knew it was there.
I unlocked the garage door, and took a deep breath at the memories of what was inside. I pulled it open a crack and entered, the flashlight leading the way and competing against the thin beams of light streaming in through the dirty window. Assuming, correctly, that I would regret doing so, I lit the interior of the vehicle. Nothing had moved. The nightmare fuel that I had seen inside was still there.
I was next to the driver’s side window when I saw movement in the doorway. Madi slipped inside, flashlight in one hand, her revolver in the other. She had the sense not to look inside the car, and I felt somehow comforted by another person’s presence. Without looking from the man’s corpse, I felt for the ignition, the keys jingling as my fingers brushed them. I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Keys in hand, I crossed to the trunk under the watchful eye of my daughter. I turned the key and the lid sprung open, revealing a small treasure trove inside, at least compared to our present situation. With the flashlight between my teeth, I began greedily pulling items free and stuffing them into the pair of backpacks that I had found- a large green camping bag for me, and a smaller pink “princess” one for Madi.
I took special care to fill Madi’s with enough for her to survive on her own if, God forbid, she had to. A small solar blanket, a sealed bag of beef jerky, some toiletries, a small multi-purpose utility knife; although they were corpses, I liked this family, they had planned ahead- for all the good it did them. I filled both bags to full, leaving the non-essentials that every family seemed to pack. The photo albums, makeup and bank information… they weighed a family down, and meant nothing without survival itself.
I carried both bags into the house, past Madi who held the door before following me in.
“Whadja find?” she asked.
“Good stuff,” I answered, handing her the small pack. She struggled briefly against its weight before dropping it hard to the ground.
“It’s too heavy!” She complained, “I don’t want to carry all that.”
I looked sternly at her, directly in her big soft eyes, “You need to be stronger, then. The weak die. Never forget this. You cannot be weak any more- you don’t have that luxury. You will always know where this bag is.”
I walked away with my own bag slung over my shoulder- mine was heavy, too, but I didn’t show it. I could feel her eyes follow me as I dropped the bag near the front door. What I said was harsh, I knew, but the reality was harsher. After a moment, I heard her grunt and I turned. With effort, she lifted the bag and fixed it to her shoulders, then walked resolutely towards me where she dropped her bag next to mine.
“It’s not all that heavy,” She said. I was proud of her.
We filled our stomachs that night, and the next several after, with the food that we had found in the car. The idea of ‘rationing’ was forgotten for the first time in too long, and I began to feel stronger with the nourishment. It still surprised me how quiet and dark the world was now, which always made the nights seem later than the time that it actually was. That also meant that we tended to rise earlier now, much like how I imagined our ancestors lived.
With our appetites satisfied, we cleaned up for the night as best we could and shut ourselves in the bedroom to sleep. In the dim light, I watched Madi until her breathing slowed and she fell deep asleep. I had promised her that I’d always stay with her until she fell asleep- it was the only way she would any more.
I lay next to her in a bed that wasn’t mine- a bed that was once enjoyed by the family that was now dead and sealed in the garage. It was a surreal feeling, which perhaps accounted for the dreams that I faced moments after closing my eyes. Brief, flashing nightmarish images flashed across my subconscious; gnashing teeth, blood, being surrounded by seas of the undead… My final moments with Aimee and Jake. I had the feeling that I would be reliving that for some time to come.
I woke drenched in sweat, as I did too often. I had dreamed that our safe house was being invaded, that we were no longer safe here. The noises continued quietly from somewhere in the house- it wasn’t a dream. Grogginess was forced from my head, leaving a sharp fear focus accompanied by the throbbing of my heartbeat in my ears.
I sprang to my feet, pulling the pistol from under the pillow as I rose. Mercifully, Madi stayed asleep, breathing softly. I quietly crept to the door, and pressed my ear to it, holding my breath. Without a doubt someone, or something, was in the house; danger had intruded. Carefully, I placed the pillow on the side of Madi’s head, covering her exposed ear to muffle any sounds, hoping she would have the opportunity to say asleep.
I turned the knob painstakingly slowly, cracking the door and peering into the hallway. A silent beam of light danced across the wall, reflected from the family room. The living- that was worse. I watched from the relative safety of the doorway, hearing the sounds of the intruder searching the home, pausing periodically to, I assume, load our hard-won possessions into something of his own.
I remembered with the slightest sense of irony that Madi and I also were intruders in this home. Whoever was out there was probably here for the same reason- to find what they need to survive in this harsh world. While I could sympathize with their motives, these were not times for social graces- survival was paramount, with Madi’s own a promise I intended to keep. Perhaps I would answer for my actions someday, but I intended to do so after a long life.
I slunk into the hallway, careful to stay in the shadows, and crept forward towards the noise and the light reflect from the kitchen. Whoever it was, they were loud; loud meant careless, careless meant a liability. Having the benefit of knowing the layout of the home, I moved forward, crouching low, sensitive for any clue that the person wasn’t alone or would stand and turn around. The pistol slipped in my sweaty palm as I advanced on the sound.
As I ducked behind the dividing wall, outside of the kitchen, I thought of Madi and what she’s experienced so far. Seeing the creatures; seeing them getting shot, maimed and still growing in number, that was enough for the child. The death of a living person would be too much, I was sure, for her young psyche. I stole a glance around the corner and could see the man crouched in front of the pantry, sorting foodstuffs with his back to me. I knew what had to be done, it was a matter of survival, and I knew I had to do it before the figure became a person in my mind, when they would be harder to kill.
Inspiration struck, and I tucked my pistol into my waistband and reached to the nearby shelf to pull down a small, heavy sculpture. Its weight became a reminder of the guilt I knew I would feel. I pressed my body tight against the wall as I heard the pantry door close. I winced with the sound, hoping Madi wouldn’t wake.
I heard, from across the room, the crack of joints as the man presumably rose, then his footsteps rising as he walked closer to the doorway. I came closer, unsuspecting of his fate; I held my breath so it couldn’t be heard, and waited. I knew I would only get one clean shot, and prayed that it would be enough. For the man’s sake- a victim of chance, I wished him a clean death.
I raised the sculpture high. As if in slow motion, I saw movement as the man rounded the doorway. I was poised to strike and was turned to the man and we faced each other directly. His eyes grew wide with shock and his jaw dropped as he drew in a sharp breath. The moment froze as we locked eyes. With treacherous sentiment, the emotion that I tried so hard to deny, I delayed from killing this
man. He was older, perhaps my father’s age if he were still alive. Much like my father, his face was weathered from hard living and age, and his thinning hair was beginning to grey.
Neither of us moved, each locked in our unique sensations. Perhaps, I thought, he would simply leave. Perhaps, against all hope, he could stay with us peacefully. The moment was broken when his hand flashed to his side. My eyes followed it to a holster that I hadn’t noticed before. In it was a massive silver revolver.
Not a word was spoken as he stepped back started his draw in a fluid, practiced motion. I couldn’t let him win any distance between us, where he would have the advantage, so I closed in and brought the sculpture down hard on the wrinkled forehead. His hand froze in place and the revolver fell noisily to the floor. His body tensed and I saw his face fall flat as his head whipped back, leading his body to the ground. He fell in a crumpled heap, and was still. I kicked the revolver away from his form and leaned in close. I barely heard a shallow, raspy breath, followed by a gurgled moan.
“You were going to kill me,” I said to the man, not pausing for nor expecting a response. “Then what? What would you have done with my daughter then?” I paused then, reflecting. “I wish things could have been different. I’m sorry.” Out of mercy, I brought the statue down a final time, directly on the man’s temple. I felt the skull give way; he convulsed once and was still.
Breathing heavily, I sat next to the man wondering what to do next. I left the body where it lay and went to check on Madi. Although she had rolled in her sleep and knocked the pillow to the floor; she still snored softly. Like an angel, she slept the sleep of the innocent, something that I would never again know.
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