This is the part where I make my big disclaimer, or whatever. Um, obviously, this being a Dawn of the Dead fanfiction, this is really not intended for the little ones. Unless your little ones love bashing zombie skull, then by all means, let 'em read.

A/N: I did not base this from any of the characters fromeither Dawn films. Frankly, due to the setting, it would be better suited in a Night ofthe Living Dead category, but this site doesn't have one. So...tough titty.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dawn of the Dead or any of the affiliated movies. (Though, I wish I did. George A. Romero's a bloody genius.)

Enjoy. Or don't, if you're not into zombies.Feedback is always welcome.

A dark figure lazily stumbled down the dark, dusty, county road which cut through many tracks of land. It stopped at the fork farmhouse. It continued along, slumped forward, dragging its feet and groaning unintelligibly. It neared the house.

40 yards.

There was somebody standing on the porch. A woman.

30 yards.

The figure shuffled forward. The woman looked out from her perch, "John? John is that you?" The figure didn't respond. Now, almost frightened by this silent intruder, she called again "John, that had better be you." Her voice began to quiver. John never walked home. He always took the truck. So, who was this?

A small, 40-watt light bulb lit the tiny porch, illuminating only her. Her image was eerily reminiscent of one of the faces small boys would create with a flashlight if they held it beneath their chin and shone it upward.

20 yards.

She could hardly see anything. Only the silhouette of this strange visitor against the faint light of the weak crescent moon high above them both was visible to her. She could, however, clearly hear him stepping and stumbling up her dry and dusty driveway. He did not walk at one solid pace. He would take a few slow steps, stumble, regain balance and continue to drudge forward.

10 yards.

She was still practically blind to anything existing off of her tiny porch; her sanctuary from the surrounding, threatening darkness.

5 yards.

She was nearly hysterical. "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU! WHAT DO YOU WANT!" the figure reached the porch. It stepped up, and as it did so, she took a step back, nearly falling off.

Stepping into the light, she could see it was her husband, John. He was quite late and quite drunk. The stench of cheap gin hung over him like a cloud. Hardly coherent, he looked up. "Jeeeeezis honey...you're a real scaredy cat, arent'chu?" He laughed obnoxiously.

"John, if that's your idea of funny, then you are FUCKED UP IN THE HEAD." spouted the now, angry Shauna. In a huff, she stormed back into the house. The light, screen door slammed closed with a resounding crack.

Looking around, at their distant neighbors' homes, he wondered if they could have heard that. And if so, would they have known anything that was happening in the DeCardia house. "Oh, come on, don't be like that..." pleaded the drunken hubby. "Shit." he muttered. Awkwardly, he opened the screen door and stumbled into the house.

"God damn it, John." Shauna, leaning next to the counter, said with an obviously exhausted and quite irritated tone to her voice. "This is the 4th time this week you've come home drunk."

"It hasn't been THAT bad. You're exaggerating." scoffed John.

"No, I'm not. I've kept track. Every night after work, you insist on staying in town, to have 'a couple drinks with a few buddies for a couple hours'. Well, you know what, those 'couple drinks' turn into a lot of drinks. And those 'couple hours' turn into half of the fucking night." She glared at him. "Half of the fucking night, John. Half of the night spent, waiting for your eventual drunken return. I wait up for you, worrying about whether or not you'll drive off of the road and into a ditch or tree. I worry about whether or not you'll know to swerve before the oncoming headlights reach your car. I love you, okay? And I hate seeing you do this to yourself." She gently placed her hand on his cheek.

"Baby, I love you too." He was in no mood to fight this out. Too drunk. Too ill. Too god damn tired. "I'm sorry for everything. Really. Let's just call it a night, eh?"

She nodded and slowly walked for the bedroom. She turned around, halfway there, and asked him "Honey, before you come to bed, be sure to shut and lock the inner, wooden door. I don't want anybody coming in here while we're asleep and robbing us blind and murdering us, or anything like that. I watch the news. Those kinds of things happen, you know."

"Sure thing...I'll be there in a minute. I've really gotta' hit the head." He motioned toward the bathroom. She nodded and disappeared into their bedroom. After taking care of his business, John, while heading to bed, casually and drunkenly, neglected to close the door. "Who the hell would come here? Our neighbors? Ha. They couldn't hurt anybody even if they tried. Gentle as lambs, ya' know." scoffed John, standing there in the middle of his kitchen looking at the door. "Robbery and murder may be regular fucking occurrences in the city, but out here, that type of thing just doesn't happen. People are different here." he hazily thought as he shuffled off to bed.