Silent Nights

I brush past the two boys just outside the door. One of them says something, tries to stop me, but I dodge his hand and quickly pad down the stairs. A set of footsteps trails after me, but I ignore them. I turn toward the kitchen, walking on the balls of my feet, tiptoeing over eggshells ever when I know he’s gone now. I reach the door and check the locks. The curtain is nailed shut, just like all the others on the ground floor. I whirl around and almost walk into the older guy, the one who took my gun.

“What are you doing?” he hisses. I ignore him and sidestep to head for the hallway. Instead of going back upstairs I walk into the living room. I stop in front of the window I used earlier, just beside the front door. I can see the little gap of light where I ripped the fabric. I glance back and the guy is there, just watching me kitchen doorway.

I step to the window and grip the fabric. I can still hear the ghastly noises coming from the street. It’d be hard not to. Wet ripping and throaty growls- the soundtrack of our lives now. I close my eyes and concentrate on the sounds, trying to discern exactly where they’re coming from. A hand closes around mine and pulls it away from the curtain. My throat closes around a gasp, making an audible noise. I stare wide-eyed at the stranger, hoping he’s the only thing that heard me.

There’s a screech from outside- the loose board on the top step of the porch. Awkward footsteps approach the window. I take a step away from the window, backing into the guy and forcing us both to stumble. I regain my footing and step up to the front door. The boards cover almost all of it, but the peephole is still clear. Holding my breath, I use one of the boards for leverage and stand on the tips of my toes to look out.

There he is. He stares at the window blankly, swaying slightly. His clothes hang in bloody tatters. His head is tilted at an unnatural angle. There’s not much left of his neck. I can see his spine. I can’t tell if he knows what he’s looking at. I’ve always wondered if they retain any memories. His head suddenly snaps to the door, cloudy eyes staring into mine. Another strangled sound escapes my throat as his jaw gnashes from side to side and a garbled growl exits his bloody mouth.

I forgot anyone else was with me until he grabs me again. This time he clamps one hand over my mouth and wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me away. I try to push him off, but he tightens his grip. I don’t know why he thinks it’s okay to keep touching me, and I’m about to correct this behavior when a pound against the door makes us both freeze. There’s a sound from the top of the stairs. The hand on my mouth disappears for a moment. I grab his other hand and try to prize my shirt from his grip. He turns his attention back to me and pulls us both another step back from the door.

“I have to finish him,” I whisper.