Bastille

It had been twelve days since the perimeter of Haven, Georgia had been blockaded. The widespread panic had slowly died down to an almost standstill. Most people remained in their homes. Businesses tried to remain open to provide food, water, and clothing to those willing to buy it. Soldiers stood at attention every few feet of the fences where citizens were not allowed to so much as peek out. Mayor Olson had lost contact with officials in Atlanta days ago and feared the worst was yet to come. He consorted daily with the military leaders stationed at his gates, planned evacuation routes, and most of all tried to calm his nerves with his favorite brand of whiskey. David chewed a piece of ice at his desk. Lieutenent Foster had been by his office and spoke of the madness outside the city.

“We’ve had a few attempts of breach but nothing too extreme. A couple in a truck had stopped outside the gates and tried to look in. A few of the dead ones approached and they left. By god they are a sight to see. And stupid.” The man had sneered, a look of disgust on face. David himself had gone with the lieutenant to see the undead that had started stalking the gates looking for a way in. He had been perturbed at first, watching them stumble about beneath the platform usually occupied by snipers. They attacked the fence with growls and hisses. Then he was amused at the sight of them.

“We’ve been luring them close by tapping the boards,” Foster had explained, reaching over to bang on the beams. They swarmed the fence, pressing their decaying faces against the boards. Fingers scraped the wood. Foster brought a gun over with a bayonet attached. From over the dead walking corpses he plunged the knife into each of their three skulls then watched them crumble to the ground. The grey haired man turned to David wiping the knife off with a dingy cloth, “It’s the easiest way to handle them. They can’t get through and just stand there until they’d stabbed. It has to be in the brain though,” Foster paused and eyed the sorry former human beings who littered the street under the platform, “stupid ass things.”

David’s heart had clenched seeing these former people, people that most likely had lived in the rural area just past the town itself, lying face down succumbed to death. David wasn’t the most holy man, but he had gone to church every Sunday of his adult life. He had heard the sermons and the scriptures. He knew of God, but watching those walking dead people made him question his faith. If God did exist, where was he now?



“I’m going crazy stuck in this house. Daddy needs to loosen up and at least let me go see my friends,” Cassandra was whining on the couch, her head in Lisa Olson’s lap as she silently knitted. Lisa knew a thing or two about what Cassandra was going through and couldn’t help but smile. It was said that women always married a man like their father and it was true. David Olson was her father times ten when it came to keeping his youngest daughter grounded here at home while all the drama in town persisted. Lisa had learned to keep out of David’s business with the situation at hand but deep down she worried. She had heard stories about the creatures attacking the fences, but like all the other citizens in Haven, was confused as to just what the creatures were. David had been coming home later and later in the evenings smelly vaguely of cigar smoke and whiskey.

“I think you need to be staying home with me. I could always teach you to knit!” Lisa chimed in with a faint smile. She listened to her youngest daughter groan from her lap. She peered up at the mother and said, “No offense Mom, but knitting is for old people.”

With that Cassie was up off the couch and out of the room texting on her cell phone. Lisa peered down at her half knitted scarf and sighed sitting the whole thing plus the ball of yarn into the sewing basket by her feet. The house was so quiet for having 5 people living inside of it. There were no pattering of feet, no sounds from the television, not even a voice could be heard. That saddened her. Lisa could remember when her children were young and wanted nothing more than to be clutching her skirt. Now she hardly saw her oldest dughter due to her extensive class schedule and student teaching. Her youngest children were just as hard to track down typically.

Lisa walked the few feet to her brightly lit kitchen taking in the old photos on the fridge. Pictures of her 3 children with missing teeth and wide grins, her wedding picture, one of a newborn Valeria on her mother’s chest staring right into her soul with those expressive hazel eyes. Lisa smiled at all the memories the fridge displayed before turning and pulling out pots and pans from the cabinets about her stove. If she couldn’t be with her family she could at least do the second to best thing to clear her mind. Cook.