deep into his lungs, Jeremy flung open the gate and charged out into the driveway.
The zombies had left the door and returned to his mother's remains. All three looked up in unison. Slowly they stood up and began to walk towards their new meal. This angered Jeremy even more. They were not even satisfied with his mother. Every muscle in Jeremy's body grew tight.
He ran full speed to the nearest corpse and brought the rusty blade down on its shoulder, cleanly separating the arm from the rest of the body. It moaned, the other two moaning in response. He brought the blade back up and sunk it into the monster's neck. Again. Again. The fourth time sent the head spinning in the air. The body fell limp. It was dead. This time for good.
The other two were not fazed by the fact that their comrade had been killed.
Re-killed? Jeremy quickly thought.
They shambled towards him, arms stretched out, reaching for his warm flesh. Jeremy took another deep breath and let anger replenish his lungs. He sprung forward and quickly disposed of the two remaining dead. Learning from the first one, he didn't waste time hacking off limbs. He aimed his blade straight for the neck. Soon their heads joined their friend's on the ground. Their teeth still jawing up and down, until Jeremy took the shovel and caved in each skull. They would not be getting back up.
It appears from now on, you'll have to kill people twice.
Jeremy felt the rage dissipate; he quickly became exhausted. He went back into the house and locked the door behind him. Heading straight for the bathroom, Jeremy tried to focus. Everything seemed cloudy. He was in a daze. Once in the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror, steadying himself against the counter. Blood covered him. Not the clean, bright red blood you see in movies. It was coagulated, congealed. Dirty. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower.
Mom , he thought. She's gone. There was nothing I could do. Was there? No. There wasn't. It was already too late by the time I got to her.
He continued to replay the scene over and over in his head. The hot water beat against his bare chest as he tried to figure out some way he could have saved her. There wasn't one. There was simply nothing he could have done different. And he knew that.
When he finished, he went to his room and stood next to his dresser. What do you wear for the apocalypse? Jeremy stared at the drawers, waiting for something to come to him.
Better just keep it simple.
He reached in and pulled out a pair of jeans. They were a light blue, worn around the knees and sat snug right under his waist. Unlike many of his peers, Jeremy thought that pants should sit at or just below the waist, not right above your knees. It was hot outside, but the idea of a little extra protection comforted Jeremy. His backpack caught his eye and he walked over to it, dumping its contents onto the floor.
His first year of college wasn't really going according to plan. He had decided to stay in town and attend a local school. The main problem was that he worked more than he attended classes. He had scholarships, but he choose not to use them to their full extent. He would never admit it to her, but his mother was the reason he stayed. He didn't want to leave her behind.
And now for what? He thought. She's gone now.
He quickly put on a plain, black t-shirt and then began to stuff a second pair of clothes in his bag. A lighter, a pocket knife his father gave him years ago and his grey Muse hoodie all made their way into the bag as well. Looking around the room, anything else seemed pointless.
His eyes fell on the small box under his bed. Not really noticeable, but Jeremy knew exactly what it was. It was a surprise his mother never looked in the box or asked about it. Jeremy was convinced that she knew. There was no way she could have been that naive.
He knelt down and retrieved the box. Opening it revealed what was left of some pretty good weed. Jeremy bought it from
The zombies had left the door and returned to his mother's remains. All three looked up in unison. Slowly they stood up and began to walk towards their new meal. This angered Jeremy even more. They were not even satisfied with his mother. Every muscle in Jeremy's body grew tight.
He ran full speed to the nearest corpse and brought the rusty blade down on its shoulder, cleanly separating the arm from the rest of the body. It moaned, the other two moaning in response. He brought the blade back up and sunk it into the monster's neck. Again. Again. The fourth time sent the head spinning in the air. The body fell limp. It was dead. This time for good.
The other two were not fazed by the fact that their comrade had been killed.
Re-killed? Jeremy quickly thought.
They shambled towards him, arms stretched out, reaching for his warm flesh. Jeremy took another deep breath and let anger replenish his lungs. He sprung forward and quickly disposed of the two remaining dead. Learning from the first one, he didn't waste time hacking off limbs. He aimed his blade straight for the neck. Soon their heads joined their friend's on the ground. Their teeth still jawing up and down, until Jeremy took the shovel and caved in each skull. They would not be getting back up.
It appears from now on, you'll have to kill people twice.
Jeremy felt the rage dissipate; he quickly became exhausted. He went back into the house and locked the door behind him. Heading straight for the bathroom, Jeremy tried to focus. Everything seemed cloudy. He was in a daze. Once in the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror, steadying himself against the counter. Blood covered him. Not the clean, bright red blood you see in movies. It was coagulated, congealed. Dirty. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower.
Mom , he thought. She's gone. There was nothing I could do. Was there? No. There wasn't. It was already too late by the time I got to her.
He continued to replay the scene over and over in his head. The hot water beat against his bare chest as he tried to figure out some way he could have saved her. There wasn't one. There was simply nothing he could have done different. And he knew that.
When he finished, he went to his room and stood next to his dresser. What do you wear for the apocalypse? Jeremy stared at the drawers, waiting for something to come to him.
Better just keep it simple.
He reached in and pulled out a pair of jeans. They were a light blue, worn around the knees and sat snug right under his waist. Unlike many of his peers, Jeremy thought that pants should sit at or just below the waist, not right above your knees. It was hot outside, but the idea of a little extra protection comforted Jeremy. His backpack caught his eye and he walked over to it, dumping its contents onto the floor.
His first year of college wasn't really going according to plan. He had decided to stay in town and attend a local school. The main problem was that he worked more than he attended classes. He had scholarships, but he choose not to use them to their full extent. He would never admit it to her, but his mother was the reason he stayed. He didn't want to leave her behind.
And now for what? He thought. She's gone now.
He quickly put on a plain, black t-shirt and then began to stuff a second pair of clothes in his bag. A lighter, a pocket knife his father gave him years ago and his grey Muse hoodie all made their way into the bag as well. Looking around the room, anything else seemed pointless.
His eyes fell on the small box under his bed. Not really noticeable, but Jeremy knew exactly what it was. It was a surprise his mother never looked in the box or asked about it. Jeremy was convinced that she knew. There was no way she could have been that naive.
He knelt down and retrieved the box. Opening it revealed what was left of some pretty good weed. Jeremy bought it from
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