A Mother's Tale of Fear - A Short Story
It was late. The kids were in bed, husband was at work, and I was sitting in my rocking chair watching television. At first the shadows cast on the wall didn’t make me think twice. We live in the city and I was sure, despite the rain pouring outside, some crazy person was outside walking their dog or something. It wasn’t until my German shepherd’s ears perked up that I began to think something might be amiss.
I pressed the mute button on the remote and waited, hoping to hear something other than the nasally sound of Fran Drescher’s voice. I had been watching the Nanny after all. I couldn’t hear anything but the violent patter of rain hitting against the storm windows, and figured I must be losing my mind.
The shadows danced slowly across the hallway wall, increasing in size as they fanned toward the living room. The only time that happened, and I knew for sure, was when someone was on our side porch and the porch light reflected a person’s image through the kitchen window.
Hadn’t I turned off the porch light and closed the curtains?
A sinking feeling sat in the pit of my stomach, and I gulped nervously. By now Deuce’s head was up in attention, but he still lay across our red, leather loveseat. That feeling of dread only exacerbated when I could hear a low growl rumble from his throat. His tail twitched and his nose sniffed at the air.
“What’s a matter, boy?” I whispered.
The low growl increased and his tail twitched faster. I watched him closely as he darted his eyes toward the hallway and stood up on all fours; his nails digging deep into the leather loveseat.
“Deuce? Who’s there, boy?”
He ignored me as his body trembled. His growl grew louder as he opened his mouth, bearing his teeth.
He got me thinking. I got up from my rocking chair and opened my daughter’s bedroom door. Upon seeing her peaceful expression, I was comforted with the knowledge that she was still asleep despite the hard rain pelting her windows. I left her room, mindful of keeping her door open, and walked into the boys’ room. They, too, were sound asleep. I slowly breathed out and decided I would double check the kitchen, which was just to the right from the boys’ room, through the hall.
I passed the door that leads out into the main hallway of the three family house we own and, before stepping into the darkened kitchen, I peered into the room from behind the corner. I wanted to peek out of the window first, in case anyone was indeed on our porch. I had previously drawn the blinds and closed the curtains, but it appeared that the street light shined brighter than ever in the glistening rain, and did cast an eerie shadow across the kitchen and down into the hallway.
But where were the shadows coming from?
I skirted by the windows to our front door. It was hard to see well in the dark, but I didn’t dare turn on the light. I placed my hand upon the cool surface of the wooden door feeling for the deadbolt; to be sure the dial was turned to the left. It was. I sighed with relief and stepped away from the door, nearly tripping over Deuce, who had click-clacked his nails across the kitchen floor behind me.
“It’s locked,” I whispered, burying my face into his soft fur. His entire body trembled and his tail swished nervously.
“Let’s go back into the living room.”
I rubbed his neck, hoping to calm him, and ran my fingers through his mess of fur, but his body continued to shake. It wasn’t until I could hear his low growl again that I decided to take a peek out the window to see what was going on outside. Obviously something was getting him riled up.
With a deep breath, I knelt beside the window closest to the front door and drew back a corner of the green and yellow striped curtain. Peeking from my covert position, I could see the rain coming down in glistening sheets. Not a breathing soul appeared to be outside. At least I thought that until something caught the corner of my right eye.
I slowly released the air aching in my chest and switched sides of the window, to get a better view into my backyard. I pulled the curtain away from the windowsill and looked out beyond the porch, squinting, hoping to see whatever it was that had passed my peripheral vision. A gasp escaped my lips as I watched a black, huddled figure bent over our walkway over by our garbage barrels. I couldn’t make out what it was kneeling over, but the figure seemed to be thrashing at it and stuffing pieces of it into its mouth.
The fur on the back of Deuce’s neck bristled and he growled menacingly with his nose bumping the front door. He knew someone was out there.
Without another thought, I flung open the bathroom door and standing on the toilet seat cover, I peered through the slated wooden blinds hung over the bathroom window. It had the best vantage point into the back yard and I was curious to see what this figure was actually doing. Without making a noise, and comforted with the thought that Deuce was snuffing at front door should this figure even attempt to step one foot on our side porch, I stared hard into the darkness hoping to gain sight of this stranger in my yard.
The figure continued kneeling over whatever it was kneeling over, completely oblivious to the rain that fell hard against it and the stone tiles of our walkway. I moved the heavy wooden blinds aside and pressed my face against the cold glass of the window; I just had to know what the heck this person was doing. Were they going through our trash looking for scraps? Was it a bear eating a neighborhood stray?
I scoffed at the last thought, knowing it wasn’t a bear – this was the city for cripes sake. How the heck could it be a bear?
I watched as the figure lifted whatever it was picking at to its face and chomped down hard. I swear it sounded like bones cracking, even over the echo of the rain hitting the aluminum roof of the side porch.
“What the…” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I could finally make out what the figure was. I stood there on the toilet seat cover, my knees quivering, in complete shock.
The red-haired kid that lived diagonally across the street from us was huddling in my yard with what looked like a dead cat hanging from his mouth. I gasped again and let the heavy wooden blinds fall back, which slapped hard against the windowsill causing the sound to reverberate along the walls of cold bathroom tiles.
The sound must have jolted Deuce because he began to bark and growl, scratching feverishly at the front door. I didn’t bother trying to calm him hoping his raucous bark, which was loud enough to shake the glass panes of the kitchen windows, would deter the red-haired kid from continuing further onto my property.
“Good boy, Deucey, good boy!” I praised him with a hushed voice, and tip-toed toward the kids’ rooms to check on them again.
Just as I was about to pass the middle hallway door, I could hear footsteps pounding up the wooden steps of the side porch. I stopped dead in my tracks and slowly turned around. Was I just hearing things? Did that punk actually come onto my porch? Did he have a death wish or something?
I pushed aside the cans of paint and plaster my husband had stacked in front of the first window, and knelt on the floor, ignoring the pain of the metal heater grate digging into my soft flesh. I pulled back the corner of the green and yellow striped curtain, and stared out. Even with the storm windows down, the rain violently smacking the pavement and the aluminum roof, I could hear the red-haired kid grunting and panting as he stumbled up the porch’s wooden steps.
Oh no – oh no he didn’t!
I continued to watch, biting my tongue to keep myself from cussing him out, and couldn’t help but notice the rigid, jerky movements he made just to climb the stairs. Similar to a deer in headlights, my eyes focused on his disheveled appearance. His black sweatshirt was soaked and covered in a thick film of grimy mud. His normally curly, red hair was plastered to his forehead, despite being partially covered by the hood of the sweatshirt. The dirt didn’t bother me as much – no, it was the blood smeared across his normally pale face, dripping from his partially opened mouth, that got to me. It was the blood that sent flares and warning signs flashing in my brain. Something was really messed up with this picture!
Deuce was going ballistic; barking and sniffing, and clawing at the front door. I dropped the curtain and booked it into the boys’ room. I needed to get them up immediately and head to the ‘safe’ room upstairs in the attic. Not really a panic room, per say, but the prior owner back in the early 20s had been so wary of banks he created a room with thick metal walls and a two sided locking mechanism. With how the world was turning these days, my husband found it appropriate and instructed me to bring the children up there at the first sign of trouble.
“Come on, Squish!” I urged my oldest son, Alexander. “Throw on your robe and slippers, we need to get up.”
My son opened his eyes and grimaced, “What time is it? It’s still dark out.”
He groaned when I threw his bathrobe on top of him, but I ignored his question focusing on my objective and went off to wake up my daughter, Alexandria.
She still lay on her bed, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the … the thing, that stood on our porch – apparently banging something against one of our storm windows. I think it was his lunch; whatever it was, it made a sloshing sound as it smacked against the Plexiglas.
Alexander came up behind me, his eyes wide in horror, as he tugged the belt to keep his bathrobe closed. “What the heck is going on?” he whispered.
I tried to keep the tension and panic from my voice, “This isn’t a drill.” I began through gritted teeth, “Please wake your little brother up, and get him into his slippers.”
He backed away slowly, clearly unnerved by my tone. I pointed my finger towards the door and turned my attention to Alexandria.
“Wake up, Princess,” I whispered into her ear. “We have to go upstairs, and I need you to get into your robe and slippers, ok?”
She rubbed her eyes and sniffed, “What is that awful smell.”
I lifted my head, unaware of the smell she was detecting. “I don’t know, but I need you to hurry, ok? Get into your robe as quick as a jackrabbit.”
I opened her closet door and tossed her the pink and purple Mr. Potatohead bathrobe she got for Christmas.
I didn’t bother turning off the tv and only kept an ear out for any changes in Deuce’s bark, just in case the red-haired kid somehow managed to get inside through the window. The banging and sloshing noise hadn’t stopped, so I only assumed he hadn’t beat through it yet.
I returned to the boys’ room and checked to make sure Alexander was getting little Eddie into his slippers. Both boys looked up at me with solemn eyes. Even little Eddie, at only three years old, understood something serious was going on.
I bent my index finger toward me and in a hushed tone, “We should probably go up the front steps to the attic.”
Alexander nodded.
“What about Deuce?” Alexandria asked sleepily, as she entered the boys’ room.
I hadn’t thought about that, but didn’t have time to think rationally. My goal was to get the kids upstairs to the attic, where they could be safe – at least until my husband got home.
“He’ll be fine, he can protect himself,” I whispered, ushering them out of the boys’ room into the living room, through the pocket door entrance of my bedroom, and finally out into the front hallway where the front door was.
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Alexandria murmured as she clung to the back of my shirt.
We ascended the staircase toward the front door of the front apartment on the second floor. On tip-toes we walked through the empty, partially renovated living room and then out the rear door into the side hallway toward the attic entrance. This was the same hallway that if you went down the stairs, would lead into the hallway of our downstairs apartment.
I gently nudged the children up the last flight of stairs to the attic floor, and I stayed behind for a minute to listen to Deuce’s barking, which rattled the floorboards beneath my feet. His bark was intensifying, meaning the red-haired kid must’ve made some kind of progress with the storm window.
“Go to the metal room,” I instructed Alexander.
“What about you?” he asked with a hint of apprehension.
I pointed to the ‘safe’ room again, “I’ll be right back. Go with Alexandria and Eddie.”
He looked as though he was about to cry. Even ten year olds get scared from time to time, and this was definitely a scary situation. Imagine you’re ten and your mom woke you from a dead sleep, to hear your dog barking like a maniac and someone violently banging your windows. You’d probably be scared too; probably pee your pants! I know I would; even at nearly thirty, that’s how I would’ve felt!
I gave him a wan smile, trying desperately to convince him everything was going to be ok, “I just realized I forgot the phone and I need to run down into the kitchen to grab it.”
I took his hand into mine and gave it a quick squeeze. “It’ll be ok, I promise. I’ll be right back.”
“Should I lock the door behind us?”
I nodded.
“But how will I know it’s you?”
I cocked my head to the side and grinned, “You’ll know it’s me silly! But just in case, I’ll knock like this,” I knocked lightly on his hand part of the Spongebob theme song.
“Ok.”
Turning on his heels and with great reluctance, he proceeded into the ‘safe’ room. I watched as Alexandria tried to push past him and little Eddie stood there unsure, sucking his thumb.
“What about Mom?” Alexandria cried out as Alexander closed the door with a heavy metal clang.
I couldn’t hear Alexander’s reply; instead I focused on Deuce’s bark again. Breathing in and out slowly, trying to build up some confidence in myself, I stepped down to the second floor hallway. Deuce’s bark continued to rattle the floorboards beneath me, which made me feel a little better that the red-haired kid hadn’t made it into the kitchen just yet. I was waiting, waiting for that high pitched squeal dogs make when they’re hurt. Not that I want my dog to get hurt, not at all, but it would be a sure sign not to proceed further downstairs.
I slipped on tip-toes through the front apartment’s rear door again, into the living room, and down the front entranceway’s staircase. Still trying to control my breathing, my heart thundered in my ears and nearly deafened me. I entered my bedroom and into the living room where the tv was still on, still muted. Needing the light to help me see, I left it on and quickly walked into the hallway.
The red-haired kid hadn’t given up. He was still banging on the window, only this time it was the window closest to the hallway. The sound reverberated against the walls and in unison with my heartbeat. He wasn’t using the soft, sloshing-sounding, thing anymore. It sounded like he was smashing his head against the storm window. Head butting it over and over. Deuce was, of course, at the window snarling and barking like a fierce protector. He had knocked the shades and curtains down, lighting the kitchen completely.
I gulped. Tension caused cramps in my calves and my head was killing me from the blood rushing through my brain. No amount of controlled breathing was going to help me with this anxiety. Bracing myself for whatever was going to come, and my one thought being on my children and their safety, I rushed into the kitchen without looking through the exposed window. I grabbed the portable telephone from the charger by the bathroom door and ran straight for the hallway.
Hearing Deuce’s bark and knowing the worry my children had for his safety as well, I stopped short of the hallway and retreated back to the front door where the dog’s leash was hanging on the key holder. I tried to whisper for him to come to me, but he was obviously deterred considering the circumstances. I didn’t want to see the red-haired kid again, but knew if I was going to leash Deuce properly, to get him upstairs with us, I was going to have to stand in front of the window and clasp the hook myself.
Gritting my teeth and feeling like my heart was going to pound right out of my chest, I stepped over to Deuce and pulled him down from the windowsill by his collar. I couldn’t close my eyes, no matter how much I wanted to, and fumbled with the clasp to his leash trying to connect it with the loop on his collar. He wasn’t making it easy for me either, foaming at the mouth, his teeth bared and his eyes wild with fury. He lurched forward and gagged slightly as I tried desperately to hold him back just enough for me to get the leash connected.
While I finally got the clasp connected to the loop, I made the mistake of looking up and saw the red-haired kid staring back at me through the window. He seemed to shake there, unmoving for a split second, and as soon as he realized I was standing there he roared and once again struck the storm window. Much to my chagrin, he succeeded in creating one long jagged crack. It was only a matter of seconds before he was going to be through it and I knew it. I dragged Deuce through the hallway, the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. He didn’t fight me, which was definitely a miracle. Just before we reached the attic entrance, I could hear the downstairs kitchen window burst into shards of tinkling glass. He made it into our kitchen.
Cuss words streamed through my subconscious. Deuce and I ran up the attic stairs and I pounded the Spongebob theme on the metal door.
“Open the door! It’s me! Hurry up!” I cried out, looking behind me, unsure of how fast the red-haired kid was going to make it up the stairs.
Alexander pulled open the metal door and I clambered in with Deuce following behind me. When he shut the door, I slammed my back against it and twisted the three bolts that had been installed by my husband. The prior owner had two bolts installed, but they were accessible from inside and outside; the ones my husband installed were only accessible from the inside.
“Did you get the phone?” Alexander asked nervously.
Trying to catch my breath, I nodded.
Alexandria and Eddie sat huddled in the furthest corner of the room, by a window that had four layers of plexiglass. Eddie had his face burrowed in Alexandria’s lap and rocked violently back and forth. I could see tears streaming down Alexandria’s face.
“Are we going to call Dad?” Alexander asked.
I nodded again. My heart was still thudding against my rib cage, but my breathing was starting to even out. Deuce licked my face and padded over toward Alexandria and Eddie. I wiped the mixture of dog saliva and foam from my cheek, and stared down at the black portable phone in my hand.
“Well, are you going to call him?”
I breathed in and out another time, trying to gain my composure before dialing my husband’s cell phone number.
5-0-8-5-5-5-1-2
Deuce began snuffing at the air again and hunched his back. His eyes darted toward me and he dug his nails into the plywood beneath us.
“Oh crap!” Alexander called out knowing why Deuce was starting to twitch and growl.
I mashed the last two digits of my husband’s cell phone number and held the phone to my ear, trembling.
Ring … ring … ring … ‘Hey, it’s Jim. Leave me a message.’
Upon hearing the beep signaling to leave a message, I blurted, “Jim! You need to come home right now! The red-haired kid is in our house. He’s covered in blood and mud, and was eating … a cat, or baby, or something – I don’t even know what he was eating, but he’s in our house and we’re in the attic. Hurry!”
A scraping sound from outside the metal walls confirmed our worst fears – the red-haired kid had made it into the attic and was now outside of the room.
Alexander and Alexandria screamed as Deuce began barking and snarling at the door behind me. He pushed me with his nose and scratched at the door, which filled the room with the sound reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard.
“Shhh, it’s going to be ok! Everything’s going to be ok.” I drew my children to me and held them tightly to my chest. Their sobbing shook us and soaked my shirt.
I rubbed their backs and tried desperately to calm them, but Deuce’s behavior had them terrified.
I nuzzled them and kissed the tops of their heads. “Shhhh …” I whispered.
We all jumped, startled by the phone ringing in my lap. As they kept tight to me, I managed to pull the phone free and hold it to my ear.
“Hello?” I asked weakly.
“Honey?”
A huge breath of relief escaped my lips, “Oh, Jim! You don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice.”
The red-haired kid began to bang against the metal walls. Clang … clang … clang. Deuce continued his ballistic barking, clawing at the door and foaming at the mouth.
Pulling the kids to the opposite side of the room, over by the only window, I nearly dropped the phone and accidently pressed a button I shouldn’t have. Immediately the dial tone buzzed in my ear when I held it up.
“Crap!” I cursed out loud.
I turned the phone off and just as quickly turned it back on, hoping my husband would be there – but no – only dial tone.
I pressed his cell phone number onto the keypad and held the phone to my ears again, but it immediately went to voicemail.
“Call me back!” I cried out.
I trembled where we sat; feeling sick to my stomach. This is not a world I wanted to raise children in. Not what I had imagined my life to be. I could take care of myself, but three children ten and under? How was I going to do this and have us all make it out alive?
“Why won’t Daddy call back?” Alexandria bawled.
“He will, Sweetie, he will.”
Clang … clang … clang.
“What is really going on, Mom? Who is doing this? Who's here?” Alexander asked trying to make sense of the fear that was coursing through him
I shook my head. “Don’t worry, Squish.”
He buried his head on my shoulder, into the crook of my neck. “I’m so scared, Mom.”
I felt hot tears spill from my eyes. They stung as they rolled down my cheeks and dripped down my neck. “I know,” I kissed his head. “I know, but Daddy will be here soon.”
I stared down at the phone willing it to ring. Please ring!
Clang … clang … clang.
The red-haired kid continued banging against the metal walls unrelenting.
Please ring! Please ring! I screamed silently.
When my husband didn’t call back, I hit the redial button on the phone and put it on speaker.
‘Hey, it’s Jim. Leave me a message.’
I pressed the off button. Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Why was it going right to voicemail?
Feeling hopeless and without any other choice, I dialed 9-1-1.
“911 emergency, please state your emergency.”
“I need help!” I cried out.
“What kind of help?”
Without thinking, I went into detail describing everything that had happened and was happening.
I just about finished what I was saying when I realized the three kids were once again sobbing and convulsing on top of me. Crap!
“We’ll send a squad over right away,” the operator stated. “Where did you say you were?”
“We’re in a panic room in our attic.”
“A panic room?” the operator repeated.
“Yes. A metal room that was built in our attic years ago,” I answered, trying desperately to control my voice.
“Stay in that room until I call you back!” the operator instructed.
“Ok, we will.”
I pressed the off button and sat with my back to the corner of the room. My head banged slightly against the two walls, as the kids and I rocked back and forth.
“It’s going to be ok.” I repeated over and over.
Suddenly there was silence outside of the metal walls. The red-haired kid was no longer banging against them, but Deuce continued to bark. I swear we were all going to go deaf with the sound echoing along the walls.
After a few more minutes Deuce backed away from the door and his barking stopped. Only a low toned growl continued to bubble from his throat.
Did the kid go downstairs? Is he dead from smashing his head against the metal walls for so long? Did my husband make it home and rescue us?
As if to answer my question, three pop-pop-pop sounds echoed through the window beside us. They reminded me of firecrackers being lit on the fourth of July. They were instant, one right after the other – another set of them went off again, pop-pop-pop.
Then silence.
The kids looked up having heard the noise too, and stared up at me with questioning eyes.
“Over?” little Eddie asked. A little pout creased his tearstained cheeks.
I ran my fingers through his short, blonde hair and nodded, “I think so, Eddie. I think so.”
“Do you think Dad’s here now then?” Alexander asked, peeping up from my shoulder.
I nodded. “Either Dad’s here, or the squad came over super fast.”
“Can we go downstairs now?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not until the operator calls us back. She said she’d call back when the house has been cleared.”
“I hate zombies,” Alexandria whispered. I felt her little body shudder against my legs where she laid.
“Me too.”
“How do we know he was a zombie though? He might have been trying to get Deuce. Maybe he’s got rabies or something.”
The seriousness in Alexander’s tone made me smile. “That’s not what happens to a human when they have rabies, Squish.”
“How do you know? Maybe it’s a mixture of the zombie virus and the rabies virus. Like a super virus.”
I shrugged my shoulders, “I guess I don’t know then.”
Riiiiiiiiiiing!
The welcoming sound of the phone ringing played like music to my ears.
“Hello?” I asked, feeling a smidgen hopeful.
“Hey, Beautiful! Why don’t you open the door and give me a hug?”
“Jim!” my face lifted in a teeth bearing grin. My heart felt like it was going to explode, but this time out of pure love. My husband had rushed home to rescue us!
I threw the phone to the floor and flew through the door into the attic expecting to see my husband standing there with open arms. Unfortunately that is not what happened. No – not what I expected at all.
Before I could scream, Deuce barreled out of the safe room and lunged at the throat of the red-haired kid who stood in front of me. I watched in horror as Deuce completely tore apart the pale faced kid whose skull was already half caved in. Blood spewed everywhere and drenched the plywood floor. The red-haired kid gurgled and moaned, sending mucous and bile filled chunks spewing all over himself. It dribbled down his face and splattered to the floor with slick ker-ploink sound.
My stomach churned with the horrid smell of decaying flesh and blood. I pulled Eddie into my arms and gathered the other two children down the stairs as fast as my jellied legs would allow me. We ran down the middle staircase and, forgetting the hallway door to our apartment was locked, I pounded with my bare fist upon the only window. I turned the kids’ heads and shielded Eddie with my arm before I finally succeeded in smashing the glass. Without another glance, and completely ignoring the pain searing through my wrist and bloodied hand, I lifted Eddie and pushed him through the window onto the rain soaked lawn. Alexander and Alexandria followed behind him; not a word was said between us. We had come to an understanding and all knew we needed to get out immediately.
“Alex? Allie?” a man’s voice called from the rear of the house.
I scooted myself out of the broken window, trying desperately not to slice myself up any more than I already had. Upon hearing my husband’s voice, I jerked toward the sound and the next thing I know a searing pain shot through my right cheek as it connected with a jagged piece of glass.
“Crap!” I lost my balance and fell out of the window backwards, smashing my head against an errant stone.
When I opened my eyes, everything around me was fuzzy and pulsated.
“Annie, are you ok?” my husband cooed. “Are you ok, Annie?”
“Mmhmm,” I forced myself to mumble.
I closed my eyes and felt the cool rain hit my face, numbing the pain on the right side of my face.
“She got it pretty good,” I heard a strange voice murmur. “She didn’t get bit by any of ‘em, did she?”
I heard the kids say ‘no’ in unison.
“Your dog did a number on the kid upstairs, and it doesn’t look like he turned that long ago, he was still a fresh one.” The strange voice continued.
I felt someone lift my arms and began the agonizing chore of pulling the shards of glass from my hands and wrists.
“She’s pretty banged up; she’ll need to go to Morton.”
“I figured as much. Her head took a beating hitting that rock too. I’m surprised she’s got any blood in her left.” I heard my husband say.
“These damn zombies! I don’t know when the squad will get rid of them all. Don’t they realize life it hard enough as it is without freaking zombies roaming the world?”
“I guess they have a soft spot for ‘em,” my husband stated, dabbing something soft against my cheek. “They were human once upon a time.”
“Well sheesh, look how many were in your yard! There had to be at least six of ‘em out here, not to mention the kid upstairs. What if you didn’t come home in time?”
I felt my husband’s body tense beside me. What if he hadn’t made it home? Would we have been ok in the safe room the entire night? Would he have been ambushed by the hungry, man-eating crowd?
“I don’t even want to think about it man,” my husband groaned.
Before they could say another word, a siren pierced the night sky and blinding lights flickered around us.
“Stay where you are!” a gruff voice ordered. “Get up slow and turn around.”
“Are you infected?” a woman’s voice asked.
“No,” my children, husband and the strange voice answered one after another.
Within minutes the Zombie Recovery Squad taped off our property, inspected our yard and house, and collected the six or seven zombie carcasses.
“What about my wife?” my husband yelled after the squad, as they packed up and began to leave.
“Emergency personnel will be here shortly; keep her comfortable.” One man shouted.
Seconds later the sirens blared again and the flickering lights disappeared, leaving us in the pouring rain and glistening streetlights.
“Go figure,” the strange voice snorted. “The ZRS would be here faster for the dead, before any ambulance would ever get here for the living.”
I pressed the mute button on the remote and waited, hoping to hear something other than the nasally sound of Fran Drescher’s voice. I had been watching the Nanny after all. I couldn’t hear anything but the violent patter of rain hitting against the storm windows, and figured I must be losing my mind.
The shadows danced slowly across the hallway wall, increasing in size as they fanned toward the living room. The only time that happened, and I knew for sure, was when someone was on our side porch and the porch light reflected a person’s image through the kitchen window.
Hadn’t I turned off the porch light and closed the curtains?
A sinking feeling sat in the pit of my stomach, and I gulped nervously. By now Deuce’s head was up in attention, but he still lay across our red, leather loveseat. That feeling of dread only exacerbated when I could hear a low growl rumble from his throat. His tail twitched and his nose sniffed at the air.
“What’s a matter, boy?” I whispered.
The low growl increased and his tail twitched faster. I watched him closely as he darted his eyes toward the hallway and stood up on all fours; his nails digging deep into the leather loveseat.
“Deuce? Who’s there, boy?”
He ignored me as his body trembled. His growl grew louder as he opened his mouth, bearing his teeth.
He got me thinking. I got up from my rocking chair and opened my daughter’s bedroom door. Upon seeing her peaceful expression, I was comforted with the knowledge that she was still asleep despite the hard rain pelting her windows. I left her room, mindful of keeping her door open, and walked into the boys’ room. They, too, were sound asleep. I slowly breathed out and decided I would double check the kitchen, which was just to the right from the boys’ room, through the hall.
I passed the door that leads out into the main hallway of the three family house we own and, before stepping into the darkened kitchen, I peered into the room from behind the corner. I wanted to peek out of the window first, in case anyone was indeed on our porch. I had previously drawn the blinds and closed the curtains, but it appeared that the street light shined brighter than ever in the glistening rain, and did cast an eerie shadow across the kitchen and down into the hallway.
But where were the shadows coming from?
I skirted by the windows to our front door. It was hard to see well in the dark, but I didn’t dare turn on the light. I placed my hand upon the cool surface of the wooden door feeling for the deadbolt; to be sure the dial was turned to the left. It was. I sighed with relief and stepped away from the door, nearly tripping over Deuce, who had click-clacked his nails across the kitchen floor behind me.
“It’s locked,” I whispered, burying my face into his soft fur. His entire body trembled and his tail swished nervously.
“Let’s go back into the living room.”
I rubbed his neck, hoping to calm him, and ran my fingers through his mess of fur, but his body continued to shake. It wasn’t until I could hear his low growl again that I decided to take a peek out the window to see what was going on outside. Obviously something was getting him riled up.
With a deep breath, I knelt beside the window closest to the front door and drew back a corner of the green and yellow striped curtain. Peeking from my covert position, I could see the rain coming down in glistening sheets. Not a breathing soul appeared to be outside. At least I thought that until something caught the corner of my right eye.
I slowly released the air aching in my chest and switched sides of the window, to get a better view into my backyard. I pulled the curtain away from the windowsill and looked out beyond the porch, squinting, hoping to see whatever it was that had passed my peripheral vision. A gasp escaped my lips as I watched a black, huddled figure bent over our walkway over by our garbage barrels. I couldn’t make out what it was kneeling over, but the figure seemed to be thrashing at it and stuffing pieces of it into its mouth.
The fur on the back of Deuce’s neck bristled and he growled menacingly with his nose bumping the front door. He knew someone was out there.
Without another thought, I flung open the bathroom door and standing on the toilet seat cover, I peered through the slated wooden blinds hung over the bathroom window. It had the best vantage point into the back yard and I was curious to see what this figure was actually doing. Without making a noise, and comforted with the thought that Deuce was snuffing at front door should this figure even attempt to step one foot on our side porch, I stared hard into the darkness hoping to gain sight of this stranger in my yard.
The figure continued kneeling over whatever it was kneeling over, completely oblivious to the rain that fell hard against it and the stone tiles of our walkway. I moved the heavy wooden blinds aside and pressed my face against the cold glass of the window; I just had to know what the heck this person was doing. Were they going through our trash looking for scraps? Was it a bear eating a neighborhood stray?
I scoffed at the last thought, knowing it wasn’t a bear – this was the city for cripes sake. How the heck could it be a bear?
I watched as the figure lifted whatever it was picking at to its face and chomped down hard. I swear it sounded like bones cracking, even over the echo of the rain hitting the aluminum roof of the side porch.
“What the…” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I could finally make out what the figure was. I stood there on the toilet seat cover, my knees quivering, in complete shock.
The red-haired kid that lived diagonally across the street from us was huddling in my yard with what looked like a dead cat hanging from his mouth. I gasped again and let the heavy wooden blinds fall back, which slapped hard against the windowsill causing the sound to reverberate along the walls of cold bathroom tiles.
The sound must have jolted Deuce because he began to bark and growl, scratching feverishly at the front door. I didn’t bother trying to calm him hoping his raucous bark, which was loud enough to shake the glass panes of the kitchen windows, would deter the red-haired kid from continuing further onto my property.
“Good boy, Deucey, good boy!” I praised him with a hushed voice, and tip-toed toward the kids’ rooms to check on them again.
Just as I was about to pass the middle hallway door, I could hear footsteps pounding up the wooden steps of the side porch. I stopped dead in my tracks and slowly turned around. Was I just hearing things? Did that punk actually come onto my porch? Did he have a death wish or something?
I pushed aside the cans of paint and plaster my husband had stacked in front of the first window, and knelt on the floor, ignoring the pain of the metal heater grate digging into my soft flesh. I pulled back the corner of the green and yellow striped curtain, and stared out. Even with the storm windows down, the rain violently smacking the pavement and the aluminum roof, I could hear the red-haired kid grunting and panting as he stumbled up the porch’s wooden steps.
Oh no – oh no he didn’t!
I continued to watch, biting my tongue to keep myself from cussing him out, and couldn’t help but notice the rigid, jerky movements he made just to climb the stairs. Similar to a deer in headlights, my eyes focused on his disheveled appearance. His black sweatshirt was soaked and covered in a thick film of grimy mud. His normally curly, red hair was plastered to his forehead, despite being partially covered by the hood of the sweatshirt. The dirt didn’t bother me as much – no, it was the blood smeared across his normally pale face, dripping from his partially opened mouth, that got to me. It was the blood that sent flares and warning signs flashing in my brain. Something was really messed up with this picture!
Deuce was going ballistic; barking and sniffing, and clawing at the front door. I dropped the curtain and booked it into the boys’ room. I needed to get them up immediately and head to the ‘safe’ room upstairs in the attic. Not really a panic room, per say, but the prior owner back in the early 20s had been so wary of banks he created a room with thick metal walls and a two sided locking mechanism. With how the world was turning these days, my husband found it appropriate and instructed me to bring the children up there at the first sign of trouble.
“Come on, Squish!” I urged my oldest son, Alexander. “Throw on your robe and slippers, we need to get up.”
My son opened his eyes and grimaced, “What time is it? It’s still dark out.”
He groaned when I threw his bathrobe on top of him, but I ignored his question focusing on my objective and went off to wake up my daughter, Alexandria.
She still lay on her bed, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the … the thing, that stood on our porch – apparently banging something against one of our storm windows. I think it was his lunch; whatever it was, it made a sloshing sound as it smacked against the Plexiglas.
Alexander came up behind me, his eyes wide in horror, as he tugged the belt to keep his bathrobe closed. “What the heck is going on?” he whispered.
I tried to keep the tension and panic from my voice, “This isn’t a drill.” I began through gritted teeth, “Please wake your little brother up, and get him into his slippers.”
He backed away slowly, clearly unnerved by my tone. I pointed my finger towards the door and turned my attention to Alexandria.
“Wake up, Princess,” I whispered into her ear. “We have to go upstairs, and I need you to get into your robe and slippers, ok?”
She rubbed her eyes and sniffed, “What is that awful smell.”
I lifted my head, unaware of the smell she was detecting. “I don’t know, but I need you to hurry, ok? Get into your robe as quick as a jackrabbit.”
I opened her closet door and tossed her the pink and purple Mr. Potatohead bathrobe she got for Christmas.
I didn’t bother turning off the tv and only kept an ear out for any changes in Deuce’s bark, just in case the red-haired kid somehow managed to get inside through the window. The banging and sloshing noise hadn’t stopped, so I only assumed he hadn’t beat through it yet.
I returned to the boys’ room and checked to make sure Alexander was getting little Eddie into his slippers. Both boys looked up at me with solemn eyes. Even little Eddie, at only three years old, understood something serious was going on.
I bent my index finger toward me and in a hushed tone, “We should probably go up the front steps to the attic.”
Alexander nodded.
“What about Deuce?” Alexandria asked sleepily, as she entered the boys’ room.
I hadn’t thought about that, but didn’t have time to think rationally. My goal was to get the kids upstairs to the attic, where they could be safe – at least until my husband got home.
“He’ll be fine, he can protect himself,” I whispered, ushering them out of the boys’ room into the living room, through the pocket door entrance of my bedroom, and finally out into the front hallway where the front door was.
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Alexandria murmured as she clung to the back of my shirt.
We ascended the staircase toward the front door of the front apartment on the second floor. On tip-toes we walked through the empty, partially renovated living room and then out the rear door into the side hallway toward the attic entrance. This was the same hallway that if you went down the stairs, would lead into the hallway of our downstairs apartment.
I gently nudged the children up the last flight of stairs to the attic floor, and I stayed behind for a minute to listen to Deuce’s barking, which rattled the floorboards beneath my feet. His bark was intensifying, meaning the red-haired kid must’ve made some kind of progress with the storm window.
“Go to the metal room,” I instructed Alexander.
“What about you?” he asked with a hint of apprehension.
I pointed to the ‘safe’ room again, “I’ll be right back. Go with Alexandria and Eddie.”
He looked as though he was about to cry. Even ten year olds get scared from time to time, and this was definitely a scary situation. Imagine you’re ten and your mom woke you from a dead sleep, to hear your dog barking like a maniac and someone violently banging your windows. You’d probably be scared too; probably pee your pants! I know I would; even at nearly thirty, that’s how I would’ve felt!
I gave him a wan smile, trying desperately to convince him everything was going to be ok, “I just realized I forgot the phone and I need to run down into the kitchen to grab it.”
I took his hand into mine and gave it a quick squeeze. “It’ll be ok, I promise. I’ll be right back.”
“Should I lock the door behind us?”
I nodded.
“But how will I know it’s you?”
I cocked my head to the side and grinned, “You’ll know it’s me silly! But just in case, I’ll knock like this,” I knocked lightly on his hand part of the Spongebob theme song.
“Ok.”
Turning on his heels and with great reluctance, he proceeded into the ‘safe’ room. I watched as Alexandria tried to push past him and little Eddie stood there unsure, sucking his thumb.
“What about Mom?” Alexandria cried out as Alexander closed the door with a heavy metal clang.
I couldn’t hear Alexander’s reply; instead I focused on Deuce’s bark again. Breathing in and out slowly, trying to build up some confidence in myself, I stepped down to the second floor hallway. Deuce’s bark continued to rattle the floorboards beneath me, which made me feel a little better that the red-haired kid hadn’t made it into the kitchen just yet. I was waiting, waiting for that high pitched squeal dogs make when they’re hurt. Not that I want my dog to get hurt, not at all, but it would be a sure sign not to proceed further downstairs.
I slipped on tip-toes through the front apartment’s rear door again, into the living room, and down the front entranceway’s staircase. Still trying to control my breathing, my heart thundered in my ears and nearly deafened me. I entered my bedroom and into the living room where the tv was still on, still muted. Needing the light to help me see, I left it on and quickly walked into the hallway.
The red-haired kid hadn’t given up. He was still banging on the window, only this time it was the window closest to the hallway. The sound reverberated against the walls and in unison with my heartbeat. He wasn’t using the soft, sloshing-sounding, thing anymore. It sounded like he was smashing his head against the storm window. Head butting it over and over. Deuce was, of course, at the window snarling and barking like a fierce protector. He had knocked the shades and curtains down, lighting the kitchen completely.
I gulped. Tension caused cramps in my calves and my head was killing me from the blood rushing through my brain. No amount of controlled breathing was going to help me with this anxiety. Bracing myself for whatever was going to come, and my one thought being on my children and their safety, I rushed into the kitchen without looking through the exposed window. I grabbed the portable telephone from the charger by the bathroom door and ran straight for the hallway.
Hearing Deuce’s bark and knowing the worry my children had for his safety as well, I stopped short of the hallway and retreated back to the front door where the dog’s leash was hanging on the key holder. I tried to whisper for him to come to me, but he was obviously deterred considering the circumstances. I didn’t want to see the red-haired kid again, but knew if I was going to leash Deuce properly, to get him upstairs with us, I was going to have to stand in front of the window and clasp the hook myself.
Gritting my teeth and feeling like my heart was going to pound right out of my chest, I stepped over to Deuce and pulled him down from the windowsill by his collar. I couldn’t close my eyes, no matter how much I wanted to, and fumbled with the clasp to his leash trying to connect it with the loop on his collar. He wasn’t making it easy for me either, foaming at the mouth, his teeth bared and his eyes wild with fury. He lurched forward and gagged slightly as I tried desperately to hold him back just enough for me to get the leash connected.
While I finally got the clasp connected to the loop, I made the mistake of looking up and saw the red-haired kid staring back at me through the window. He seemed to shake there, unmoving for a split second, and as soon as he realized I was standing there he roared and once again struck the storm window. Much to my chagrin, he succeeded in creating one long jagged crack. It was only a matter of seconds before he was going to be through it and I knew it. I dragged Deuce through the hallway, the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. He didn’t fight me, which was definitely a miracle. Just before we reached the attic entrance, I could hear the downstairs kitchen window burst into shards of tinkling glass. He made it into our kitchen.
Cuss words streamed through my subconscious. Deuce and I ran up the attic stairs and I pounded the Spongebob theme on the metal door.
“Open the door! It’s me! Hurry up!” I cried out, looking behind me, unsure of how fast the red-haired kid was going to make it up the stairs.
Alexander pulled open the metal door and I clambered in with Deuce following behind me. When he shut the door, I slammed my back against it and twisted the three bolts that had been installed by my husband. The prior owner had two bolts installed, but they were accessible from inside and outside; the ones my husband installed were only accessible from the inside.
“Did you get the phone?” Alexander asked nervously.
Trying to catch my breath, I nodded.
Alexandria and Eddie sat huddled in the furthest corner of the room, by a window that had four layers of plexiglass. Eddie had his face burrowed in Alexandria’s lap and rocked violently back and forth. I could see tears streaming down Alexandria’s face.
“Are we going to call Dad?” Alexander asked.
I nodded again. My heart was still thudding against my rib cage, but my breathing was starting to even out. Deuce licked my face and padded over toward Alexandria and Eddie. I wiped the mixture of dog saliva and foam from my cheek, and stared down at the black portable phone in my hand.
“Well, are you going to call him?”
I breathed in and out another time, trying to gain my composure before dialing my husband’s cell phone number.
5-0-8-5-5-5-1-2
Deuce began snuffing at the air again and hunched his back. His eyes darted toward me and he dug his nails into the plywood beneath us.
“Oh crap!” Alexander called out knowing why Deuce was starting to twitch and growl.
I mashed the last two digits of my husband’s cell phone number and held the phone to my ear, trembling.
Ring … ring … ring … ‘Hey, it’s Jim. Leave me a message.’
Upon hearing the beep signaling to leave a message, I blurted, “Jim! You need to come home right now! The red-haired kid is in our house. He’s covered in blood and mud, and was eating … a cat, or baby, or something – I don’t even know what he was eating, but he’s in our house and we’re in the attic. Hurry!”
A scraping sound from outside the metal walls confirmed our worst fears – the red-haired kid had made it into the attic and was now outside of the room.
Alexander and Alexandria screamed as Deuce began barking and snarling at the door behind me. He pushed me with his nose and scratched at the door, which filled the room with the sound reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard.
“Shhh, it’s going to be ok! Everything’s going to be ok.” I drew my children to me and held them tightly to my chest. Their sobbing shook us and soaked my shirt.
I rubbed their backs and tried desperately to calm them, but Deuce’s behavior had them terrified.
I nuzzled them and kissed the tops of their heads. “Shhhh …” I whispered.
We all jumped, startled by the phone ringing in my lap. As they kept tight to me, I managed to pull the phone free and hold it to my ear.
“Hello?” I asked weakly.
“Honey?”
A huge breath of relief escaped my lips, “Oh, Jim! You don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice.”
The red-haired kid began to bang against the metal walls. Clang … clang … clang. Deuce continued his ballistic barking, clawing at the door and foaming at the mouth.
Pulling the kids to the opposite side of the room, over by the only window, I nearly dropped the phone and accidently pressed a button I shouldn’t have. Immediately the dial tone buzzed in my ear when I held it up.
“Crap!” I cursed out loud.
I turned the phone off and just as quickly turned it back on, hoping my husband would be there – but no – only dial tone.
I pressed his cell phone number onto the keypad and held the phone to my ears again, but it immediately went to voicemail.
“Call me back!” I cried out.
I trembled where we sat; feeling sick to my stomach. This is not a world I wanted to raise children in. Not what I had imagined my life to be. I could take care of myself, but three children ten and under? How was I going to do this and have us all make it out alive?
“Why won’t Daddy call back?” Alexandria bawled.
“He will, Sweetie, he will.”
Clang … clang … clang.
“What is really going on, Mom? Who is doing this? Who's here?” Alexander asked trying to make sense of the fear that was coursing through him
I shook my head. “Don’t worry, Squish.”
He buried his head on my shoulder, into the crook of my neck. “I’m so scared, Mom.”
I felt hot tears spill from my eyes. They stung as they rolled down my cheeks and dripped down my neck. “I know,” I kissed his head. “I know, but Daddy will be here soon.”
I stared down at the phone willing it to ring. Please ring!
Clang … clang … clang.
The red-haired kid continued banging against the metal walls unrelenting.
Please ring! Please ring! I screamed silently.
When my husband didn’t call back, I hit the redial button on the phone and put it on speaker.
‘Hey, it’s Jim. Leave me a message.’
I pressed the off button. Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Why was it going right to voicemail?
Feeling hopeless and without any other choice, I dialed 9-1-1.
“911 emergency, please state your emergency.”
“I need help!” I cried out.
“What kind of help?”
Without thinking, I went into detail describing everything that had happened and was happening.
I just about finished what I was saying when I realized the three kids were once again sobbing and convulsing on top of me. Crap!
“We’ll send a squad over right away,” the operator stated. “Where did you say you were?”
“We’re in a panic room in our attic.”
“A panic room?” the operator repeated.
“Yes. A metal room that was built in our attic years ago,” I answered, trying desperately to control my voice.
“Stay in that room until I call you back!” the operator instructed.
“Ok, we will.”
I pressed the off button and sat with my back to the corner of the room. My head banged slightly against the two walls, as the kids and I rocked back and forth.
“It’s going to be ok.” I repeated over and over.
Suddenly there was silence outside of the metal walls. The red-haired kid was no longer banging against them, but Deuce continued to bark. I swear we were all going to go deaf with the sound echoing along the walls.
After a few more minutes Deuce backed away from the door and his barking stopped. Only a low toned growl continued to bubble from his throat.
Did the kid go downstairs? Is he dead from smashing his head against the metal walls for so long? Did my husband make it home and rescue us?
As if to answer my question, three pop-pop-pop sounds echoed through the window beside us. They reminded me of firecrackers being lit on the fourth of July. They were instant, one right after the other – another set of them went off again, pop-pop-pop.
Then silence.
The kids looked up having heard the noise too, and stared up at me with questioning eyes.
“Over?” little Eddie asked. A little pout creased his tearstained cheeks.
I ran my fingers through his short, blonde hair and nodded, “I think so, Eddie. I think so.”
“Do you think Dad’s here now then?” Alexander asked, peeping up from my shoulder.
I nodded. “Either Dad’s here, or the squad came over super fast.”
“Can we go downstairs now?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not until the operator calls us back. She said she’d call back when the house has been cleared.”
“I hate zombies,” Alexandria whispered. I felt her little body shudder against my legs where she laid.
“Me too.”
“How do we know he was a zombie though? He might have been trying to get Deuce. Maybe he’s got rabies or something.”
The seriousness in Alexander’s tone made me smile. “That’s not what happens to a human when they have rabies, Squish.”
“How do you know? Maybe it’s a mixture of the zombie virus and the rabies virus. Like a super virus.”
I shrugged my shoulders, “I guess I don’t know then.”
Riiiiiiiiiiing!
The welcoming sound of the phone ringing played like music to my ears.
“Hello?” I asked, feeling a smidgen hopeful.
“Hey, Beautiful! Why don’t you open the door and give me a hug?”
“Jim!” my face lifted in a teeth bearing grin. My heart felt like it was going to explode, but this time out of pure love. My husband had rushed home to rescue us!
I threw the phone to the floor and flew through the door into the attic expecting to see my husband standing there with open arms. Unfortunately that is not what happened. No – not what I expected at all.
Before I could scream, Deuce barreled out of the safe room and lunged at the throat of the red-haired kid who stood in front of me. I watched in horror as Deuce completely tore apart the pale faced kid whose skull was already half caved in. Blood spewed everywhere and drenched the plywood floor. The red-haired kid gurgled and moaned, sending mucous and bile filled chunks spewing all over himself. It dribbled down his face and splattered to the floor with slick ker-ploink sound.
My stomach churned with the horrid smell of decaying flesh and blood. I pulled Eddie into my arms and gathered the other two children down the stairs as fast as my jellied legs would allow me. We ran down the middle staircase and, forgetting the hallway door to our apartment was locked, I pounded with my bare fist upon the only window. I turned the kids’ heads and shielded Eddie with my arm before I finally succeeded in smashing the glass. Without another glance, and completely ignoring the pain searing through my wrist and bloodied hand, I lifted Eddie and pushed him through the window onto the rain soaked lawn. Alexander and Alexandria followed behind him; not a word was said between us. We had come to an understanding and all knew we needed to get out immediately.
“Alex? Allie?” a man’s voice called from the rear of the house.
I scooted myself out of the broken window, trying desperately not to slice myself up any more than I already had. Upon hearing my husband’s voice, I jerked toward the sound and the next thing I know a searing pain shot through my right cheek as it connected with a jagged piece of glass.
“Crap!” I lost my balance and fell out of the window backwards, smashing my head against an errant stone.
When I opened my eyes, everything around me was fuzzy and pulsated.
“Annie, are you ok?” my husband cooed. “Are you ok, Annie?”
“Mmhmm,” I forced myself to mumble.
I closed my eyes and felt the cool rain hit my face, numbing the pain on the right side of my face.
“She got it pretty good,” I heard a strange voice murmur. “She didn’t get bit by any of ‘em, did she?”
I heard the kids say ‘no’ in unison.
“Your dog did a number on the kid upstairs, and it doesn’t look like he turned that long ago, he was still a fresh one.” The strange voice continued.
I felt someone lift my arms and began the agonizing chore of pulling the shards of glass from my hands and wrists.
“She’s pretty banged up; she’ll need to go to Morton.”
“I figured as much. Her head took a beating hitting that rock too. I’m surprised she’s got any blood in her left.” I heard my husband say.
“These damn zombies! I don’t know when the squad will get rid of them all. Don’t they realize life it hard enough as it is without freaking zombies roaming the world?”
“I guess they have a soft spot for ‘em,” my husband stated, dabbing something soft against my cheek. “They were human once upon a time.”
“Well sheesh, look how many were in your yard! There had to be at least six of ‘em out here, not to mention the kid upstairs. What if you didn’t come home in time?”
I felt my husband’s body tense beside me. What if he hadn’t made it home? Would we have been ok in the safe room the entire night? Would he have been ambushed by the hungry, man-eating crowd?
“I don’t even want to think about it man,” my husband groaned.
Before they could say another word, a siren pierced the night sky and blinding lights flickered around us.
“Stay where you are!” a gruff voice ordered. “Get up slow and turn around.”
“Are you infected?” a woman’s voice asked.
“No,” my children, husband and the strange voice answered one after another.
Within minutes the Zombie Recovery Squad taped off our property, inspected our yard and house, and collected the six or seven zombie carcasses.
“What about my wife?” my husband yelled after the squad, as they packed up and began to leave.
“Emergency personnel will be here shortly; keep her comfortable.” One man shouted.
Seconds later the sirens blared again and the flickering lights disappeared, leaving us in the pouring rain and glistening streetlights.
“Go figure,” the strange voice snorted. “The ZRS would be here faster for the dead, before any ambulance would ever get here for the living.”
