In Death We Rise

As I lay there, crying into the dirty, blood soaked mattress, I felt guilty for allowing my mother to go out in search of my father. A man whom I silently questioned would do the same for one of us? She had an idea in her mind that he was still alive, that he was still one of us. Though, when we ran away, he was sprawled on the garage floor, reabsorbing his own pool of blood into the back of his gray sweatshirt. His left arm and right leg were missing, torn off at the joints leaving behind a crimson, sinew and tendons trail down our driveway and into the alley where they were snarling and feasting on his flesh. He was crying, too. I thought not so much as a result of physical pain, but when he tried to shoot himself, there were no more bullets left.

* * *

I felt cold and stiff and unreal in what used to be the local grocery store, turned refugee hideout for the people that weren't bitten. I was a cheep knock-off character based on David Drayton in “The Mist”. I wished suddenly that I could fall asleep and wake up from this nightmare. I wished I could have my mother or sister here with me. I wished I wasn't alone with these strangers who could care less for my safety.

Earlier today, me and my mother drove spastic-like around the town towards my Aunt's house with little belongings packed in the back of the SUV. All around us there were fires, cables ripped right out of the ground by those monsters, and people running into the streets- only moments later to be tackled to their death- or should I say reanimate state of being? You couldn't outrun them if you were on foot. We left my father, and I was sure of his ultimate nullification while my mother had her own self-destructing thoughts. She parked the car and we bolted for the front door but it was locked. I went around and banged on all the windows, darting out of sight when I saw one of the creatures trailing the scent of my living flesh. Neither my mother nor myself could convince them to let us into the house, fearing whatever had caused the mutations was airborne, or that we were just prodigious in our acting abilities and we were the living dead in disguise.

“We have to go now! Mom!” I screamed at her when I saw a pack of beasts running right in our direction. My mother took off and I asked:

“Where are we gonna go?” My voice broke a little then, realizing not only that we were now virtually homeless, but hopeless as well in finding a safe place to relocate.

Mother just looked at me with cold, defeated eyes. Water welled in the corners of her once bright hazel orbs, threatening to cascade over. “I love you,” was all she said.

And instead of her eyes spilling over, they were mine.