Paramus

“This is it,” Elliott said, as they entered the city limits, “Paramus. The old stomping grounds.” A quick survey of the area told them that Paramus, or at least this side of it, had seen some shit. “Or what’s left of it,” he added.

He hadn’t expected it to be as it was the last time he’d seen it, but this change was worse than he had expected. All around them buildings were either boarded up or destroyed. Whether it had been human looters or zombie attackers, the results were the same. He hoped the rest of the city didn’t look this bad.

“Well, this is just the outer limits,” Adam said, “There may be people downtown.”

“Yeah, well, you and I both know that’s not always a good thing,” Sebastian commented. His hand had gone to the grip of his handgun.

“True,” Adam responded simply. Leave it to Adam to look for positives and Sebastian to look for negatives. At least they had a balance.

They didn’t talk much as they continued exploring the city, and the more they saw the more grim the picture of Paramus became. More and more signs of destruction, of abandonment, of death. Elliott couldn’t help but think of every boarded up or damaged property the way it once had been, and he sighed sadly.

There was a small residential area nearby comprised of low-income housing; he stopped and called the group to halt. His Uncle Carl and cousin Sylvia lived in that neighborhood. If they were still there. If they still lived. “I’ve got an uncle and a cousin that live in one of those houses. Let’s go check it out. I wanna see if they’re still there.” He hoped for the best, but he was really starting to fear the worst.

They turned down the side street and walked until they reached Uncle Carl’s house. From the outside it was evident the place had been trashed. Still, weapons drawn, they went inside.

“Uncle Carl? Sylvia? You guys still here? It’s me Elliott!” Elliott called, but in his breaking heart he knew it was in vain. The inside of the home was in even worse shape than the outside, and there was no sign that anybody had been there in a while.

He didn’t visit them often, hadn’t seen them in years, but it still hurt so much to know they were gone, that he would never see them again. Looking at the demolished living room, he couldn’t help but remember taking a hit off Uncle Carl’s joint at age sixteen and swearing he’d never tell his parents or holding a newborn Sylvia at age eight, marveling at how something so small and precious could someday become a person. Tears blurred his vision.

“Let’s go,” he said and left the scene at a brisk pace, desperate to get away before it tainted any more memories.

--

After that, they all traveled in silence. Outside of a brief encounter with a small group of zombies (none of which Elliott recognized, thankfully), there were no signs of anybody but them out in the streets. His hometown had become a ghost town, it seemed. It made his heart ache, and it made him walk faster. His parents had to be okay. They had to. God, what was he gonna do if they weren’t?

Finally, they had made it to his parents’ house. It was boarded up, but looked to be in otherwise good shape. He dared to hope they were okay, at least until he saw…

The front door was open.