made of three inch Chobham with offensive lasers on the outside. I stood watch on yet two more doors that led out of the kitchen, while Ship pushed the fridge up against the door. It was on wheels, so he tipped it over in its side and gently lowered it to the ground. As an afterthought, he opened it, reaching in and grabbing two cool bottles of water. I remember thinking it was absolutely freezing in that kitchen above a barbershop, so why wasn’t the water, which was in the fridge, cold too? We put our packs on the floor.
Movement in the shadows from the left side door made me ready and I dropped my water. I nudged Ship with my boot and he nodded and pointed to the other door. He shone the light on his gun into the darkness, and I once again thought how stupid I was for not remembering I had one too. I fumbled with my light for a second before it popped on, and I had one second to pan it into the doorway before the horror that was in there crawled out.
It was a kid. A little boy that had never done anything but watch SpongeBob while eating Captain Crunch on a Saturday morning. People had loved this boy, and he had loved too, but this virus or whatever the fuck was happening had turned this precious child into a thing . I sobbed as I saw this mockery of life drag itself toward me, scrabbling with one arm, the other missing. He was wearing bloody Spiderman pajamas that used to be blue. Fat, salty tears fell to the floor as this pathetic creature mewled and scratched. I wiped my eyes and moved forward to end his misery with the butt of my rifle.
When it was done, I sat down on the bed and cried. The moonlight shone through the curtainless window and glinted off a series of photos hanging on the wall. One had fallen off and smashed on the floor, probably during whatever struggle had ensued when whoever had been infected up here turned. I picked it up and shook out the glass slivers. Holding up the picture to the moonlight only made me sadder. The boy had been so God damned cute in life. Blonde hair and blue eyes, sitting on his little red bicycle, his good-looking mom on the left and his strapping dad on the right. His mom looked like any loving mom and wife prior to all this. She was looking at her son with nothing less than adoration in the picture. The kid’s dad was… His dad…
His dad!
I whipped my head up when I heard the slapping of feet running down the wooden slats of the hall. This was not the stumble of a zombie, and Ship, big as he was, never made a damn sound when he moved. I dropped the photo and raised my rifle at the same time. The tactical light illuminated yet another revulsion, as what used to be Dad tore into the room. This former father threw his hands up in front of his face when the tac light hit him in the eyes, momentarily blinding him. I would like to say that I used that moment to pull off some crafty tactic, or Houdini my ass out of there, but honestly I was just trying to keep my shit on the interior so I wouldn’t need to change my drawers on the run. The dad-thing recovered exceptionally quickly and he threw himself at me, hissing.
I yanked the trigger on my M4 and not a damn thing happened. I was still pulling the trigger when Dad tackled me and we both toppled off the bed, me on my ass and him on top of me. He threw his head back to scream that scream that they scream before he turned me into fillets, and I did the stupidest thing in the history of mankind. I reached up with both hands and grabbed his head. I drew it to me using all the strength I had, and I sunk my teeth into his neck. I ripped out a chunk of meat that would have made a great white shark proud, gagged, and spit it back at him. Dad’s left hand was on the wound, as if it could stem the flow of his life’s blood, and I looked into his eyes and saw the only other emotion other than hatred that these things can display. Surprise. He looked right back at me, and if he could have spoken, doubtless he would have said: Are
Movement in the shadows from the left side door made me ready and I dropped my water. I nudged Ship with my boot and he nodded and pointed to the other door. He shone the light on his gun into the darkness, and I once again thought how stupid I was for not remembering I had one too. I fumbled with my light for a second before it popped on, and I had one second to pan it into the doorway before the horror that was in there crawled out.
It was a kid. A little boy that had never done anything but watch SpongeBob while eating Captain Crunch on a Saturday morning. People had loved this boy, and he had loved too, but this virus or whatever the fuck was happening had turned this precious child into a thing . I sobbed as I saw this mockery of life drag itself toward me, scrabbling with one arm, the other missing. He was wearing bloody Spiderman pajamas that used to be blue. Fat, salty tears fell to the floor as this pathetic creature mewled and scratched. I wiped my eyes and moved forward to end his misery with the butt of my rifle.
When it was done, I sat down on the bed and cried. The moonlight shone through the curtainless window and glinted off a series of photos hanging on the wall. One had fallen off and smashed on the floor, probably during whatever struggle had ensued when whoever had been infected up here turned. I picked it up and shook out the glass slivers. Holding up the picture to the moonlight only made me sadder. The boy had been so God damned cute in life. Blonde hair and blue eyes, sitting on his little red bicycle, his good-looking mom on the left and his strapping dad on the right. His mom looked like any loving mom and wife prior to all this. She was looking at her son with nothing less than adoration in the picture. The kid’s dad was… His dad…
His dad!
I whipped my head up when I heard the slapping of feet running down the wooden slats of the hall. This was not the stumble of a zombie, and Ship, big as he was, never made a damn sound when he moved. I dropped the photo and raised my rifle at the same time. The tactical light illuminated yet another revulsion, as what used to be Dad tore into the room. This former father threw his hands up in front of his face when the tac light hit him in the eyes, momentarily blinding him. I would like to say that I used that moment to pull off some crafty tactic, or Houdini my ass out of there, but honestly I was just trying to keep my shit on the interior so I wouldn’t need to change my drawers on the run. The dad-thing recovered exceptionally quickly and he threw himself at me, hissing.
I yanked the trigger on my M4 and not a damn thing happened. I was still pulling the trigger when Dad tackled me and we both toppled off the bed, me on my ass and him on top of me. He threw his head back to scream that scream that they scream before he turned me into fillets, and I did the stupidest thing in the history of mankind. I reached up with both hands and grabbed his head. I drew it to me using all the strength I had, and I sunk my teeth into his neck. I ripped out a chunk of meat that would have made a great white shark proud, gagged, and spit it back at him. Dad’s left hand was on the wound, as if it could stem the flow of his life’s blood, and I looked into his eyes and saw the only other emotion other than hatred that these things can display. Surprise. He looked right back at me, and if he could have spoken, doubtless he would have said: Are
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