Carol had one fist pressed to the top left corner of the mirror in a tight fist, the other hand spread, fingers splayed about half way down the right side. She looked to the black heart tattooed on her wrist with Sophia's name in it and let out a sob, slamming her fist into the glass, which splintered under her hand. It didn't break, just blurred and marred her reflection as cracks spidered down it.
She'd been home, when this all started. She'd burned Ed's dinner and he'd backhanded her to the floor when the screams started. Carol thought they were her own and expected a fierce beating. She scrambled back and, after a moment someone burst through the door. Carol thought they had come to save her, and was relieved for a moment. But then terror took over.
The woman who had come into her home was dead. Her eyes were sunken in, there was a deep, bloody mark on her neck and her intestines spilled from the pink dress she wore. She was dragging one of her feet, it had to have been broken, that was facing the wrong way. She had stringy brown hair, matted with blood and there were bits of flesh between her teeth. Carol wondered, briefly if she was unconscious and having a nightmare. This couldn't be real. It wasn't. Was it?
Carol was on the floor, partially hidden by the couch, so the dead woman stumbled towards Ed, who was busy screaming at Carol. "You ugly, fat, stupid bitch! Burned my dinner! I'll tell you what, gonna whoop your ass and teach ya how to treat a man!" He was going for his belt when the dead woman latched her teeth deeply in the junction where his neck met the massive flesh that was his shoulder.
The fat, drunken man cried out and tried to push the zombie away, but she just came back again, biting into him and ripping a chunk from his arm. Carol, who was being ignored, pushed herself to her feet and ran past the horrific, bloody scene of a dead woman feasting on her husband, picked up her daughter from the lazy chair she'd been laying in and ran to the nursery, slamming and locking the door behind her.
She set Sophia on the changing table, stuffing diapers, ointment, bottles, pacifiers, and tubs of formula into the biggest baby bag she could. Ripping open the wardrobe she added onesies, booties, hats, winter clothes, till the bag was nearly full, the closet almost empty. She grabbed a few toys for the baby and zipped the bag up, dropping to her stomach and reaching for the loose floorboard under the crib. Pulling, she cried out when a jagged nail sliced deeply into her hand, but the board came free, with a wince she threw it away and pulled up the one next to it.
She grabbed the duffle bag inside the empty space beneath. It held her photo albums from her childhood, a coffee can fill of money and a week's worth of clothes and food and water. Shouldering both bags she swaddled Sophia, kicked the screen out of the window and crawled out, full out sprinting to the truck.
Settling Sophia into the car seat she took off, the doors locked. Carol Peletier didn't look back at the house, or the man she'd left there. She didn't even feel upset about it. Looking around she was sickened by the destruction and fear around her. The screaming was definitely the worst.
Bodies lay everywhere, some were getting up, or were up, wandering aimlessly. Some were being fed from, cleared clean down to the bone. Carol felt nauseous, but just kept going. She drove over people, half alive, half dead some worse off than others. So many screamed for help, screamed for to stop or save them but she couldn't. Carol was a mother now, and her baby was her only love in this life. She had to keep her little girl safe.
Carol drove till nightfall, stopping at a gas station that seemed to have been abandoned previously in the day. It hadn't been raided well so Carol stocked up on pain killers and first aid supplies, just in case. Settling Sophia in a large, empty, potato chip box she finally took a long moment to look at herself.
She hadn't even noticed she was covered in blood until she saw it staining Sophia's blanket. It soaked and stained her hands, making her sick. She disinfected the cut on her hand, wrapped it in sterile gauze and taped it firmly. It stung like a bitch so she popped a couple of pain killers.
She heaved into the toilet in the bathroom, when the smell of blood got too much for her, and filled the bowl with water from a dirty bucket after she was done, till it force flushed automatically. She settled a mass of her clothes down on the floor, pillowing her head on her duffle bag, and tried to sleep but ended up just nursing a bottle of tea. After a while she dozed off her daughter clutched to her chest.
His chest was heaving as he took the stairs two at a time. The walls, walls he'd grown up touching and passing every day, once a pretty cream color were now splattered and smeared with blood and clumps of what looked like flesh. She shouldered open the pink door, Bethie had thrown a fit till pa finally got around to painting it, and looked around, eyes wide and fearful. He grabbed the nearest duffle bag and jammed her clothes in it, her photos and anything nearby. He picked up her favorite photo album and her stuffed giraffe that rattled when you shook it without taking the time to really look at what else he grabbed. Tears were streaming down his face which was streaked with his mother's blood and soot both smearing when he wiped them. Shawn zipped up the bag and looked out the window, to the dead stumbling toward his house: he couldn't believe he losing everything. He would make sure Beth was safe, that was his number one priority above all. He'd made a promise to his pa and would do his damnedest to keep it.
Shawn grabbed Beth up, literally, grabbed her right up from her bed and took off running, his baby sister in one arm, swinging his metal baseball bat pop had given him with the other. He loaded her, blankets and stuffed animals all, into the truck cab and grabbed the bag of emergency stuff he always kept in the back of the bed. He'd been planning for this for an embarrassingly long time. Climbing in the cab he took out another zombie, Mr. Chang, a man who worked at the dry cleaning place downtown. Shawn got one look at him, his face a mesh of blood and meat, before his bat smashed into the side of the dead man's skull with a sickening crunch. He kicked the body away and got into the cab, slamming the door with a squeak.
Fumbling, he jammed the key into the ignition and took off down the road, away from his farm, his family, his life. Everything was gone. All he had left was his little sister, who was barely fifteen. Hell, he wasn't even twenty yet. Now the weight of the world rested on his shoulder and he didn't know if he could handle it.
The farm had become overrun with the dead less than an hour ago, he'd watched his pop hold his dying mother in his arms and scream at him to get to Beth. Maggie had disappeared in the shed to tend to the horses, a few hours before things had gone to shit, so there was no knowing if she was alright or not.
As he drove, weaving through some of the dead and plowing into others, he looked to his baby sister, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes. She was still mostly asleep and Shawn wanted her to stay that way as long as possible. He flicked on the radio, the same station Beth had always listened to help her sleep, but there was an emergency broadcast blaring.
Shawn wanted to turn it off, not wanting to wake her. but he knew it could very well save their lives. He turned it down and listened intently to the distinctly male voice speaking through the crackling static.
"Word from the nation's top scientist about the zombie virus that started just a few days ago. Be advised the symptoms to watch for are aggression and unbelievable hunger, be advised the only way to take them down is to shoot them in the head. Once bitten or scratched you will turn. Avoid the infected at all costs. The army strong hold in Atlanta is hosting a refuge center. All healthy survivors are advised to head there."
The message began repeating itself and he flicked the radio off. Taking the back roads he only saw a few of the zombies and felt the tensing in his shoulders slowly leave him. As long as they stayed away from populated areas they were sure to be alright, or, at least, he hoped so. The radio had said there was a guarded strong point in Atlanta and Shawn decided to head there. The city was a strange place, but he didn't want to risk missing a safe zone.
"Don't you worry Bethie, I promised pa I'd take care of you and I'm going to. We're going to Atlanta, the military will protect us." He pulled his little sister against his side and kissed her head, driving with one arm. He didn't notice the arm around her was trembling and bloody. She was still asleep, snoring lightly, the blankets tucked securely around her. He'd have to tell her what had happened, while she was asleep, but he didn't worry about that yet. Shawn just hoped she slept till they got to Atlanta, where they'd be safe and he could explain to her rationally.
Shawn spoke to Beth as he drove, soothing her and swearing he'd keep her safe, no matter what. He told her they'd be safe in Atlanta, and that this would all blow over. He knew she was too asleep to really hear him, but he was doing it more for himself. He needed some reassurance too. They were just kids, how would the survive this? He sent a prayer that Atlanta really was a strong point.