This is part 2. Blah, blah. Not for kiddies. Now, we get to meet our first (but certainly not the last) zombie in the story; Ella. No explanation is needed really. Anything in italics is speach occuring in John's mind. Just to clarify.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dawn of the Dead...You know the drill. Don't sue.
The next morning, the couple awoke to the sun streaming in through their window, the sounds of the bugs and birds outside sounding off, and a scratching at their bedroom door. "What the fuck?" said John, as he sat up, slipped his pants on, then his socks and shoes and stood. He cautiously walked to their door and placed his ear to it. The sounds of faint moaning and scratching could be heard. Could it be one of his friends from the tavern the night before? "But why would-"Not knowing what to expect, John decided to climb down onto his hands and knees and peek under the door. There was one-inch clearance. Enough for him to see two bare, feminine feet standing on the other side. "What was a woman doing here?" Just in case, he grabbed the aluminum baseball bat Shauna had him keep under the bed in case they should ever encounter an intruder. "Ha. A shitload of good a bat'll do against someone armed with a fuckin' semi-automatic." he mockingly told her. Regardless, the bat was still there, per her request. Gripping the smooth handle with one hand, he placed the other on the doorknob and turned it.
Cracking the door, and peeking out, what he saw would burned into his mind and soul. There, clad only in a simply white, yet bloody nightgown, stood their neighbor, Ella. Her hands were clawed and scratching at the door, as a dog stuck outside in the bitter cold would. Her face carried the dead, vacant, stare that caused a flood of memory to rush over him.
"Johnny! Call a doctor! I'll take care of mommy!" he could hear his dad shout with a feeble confidence forced, so as to not scare the children. "Mommy's going to be fine, Johnny. Don't worry. Just go call 911 for me!" his voice quivered.
"She's not fine!" the terrified boy thought to himself as he stared as his overweight, italian mother, with her cheek resting upon her plate. Her mashed potatoes acting as a sort of pseudo-pillow as shestared off blankly with that dead, vacant gaze. It was almost as if she could see him. As if she was staring into his soul.In that moment, he did not see his mother. He saw the contorted face of a pained soul wretching for the last time.
Back in the present, there was Ella in her bloodied nightgown and with her grasping fingers.
Around her mouth, there appeared to be what looked like fresh blood. Her neck was sporting a fresh and still dripping wound. "What the fuck!" cried the shocked man. He stepped back in fear in surprise, not realizing he had left the door cracked.
Ella pushed it open. Catching sight of him, she stumbled, almost drunkenly forward. She was not drunk. No...He knew drunk. This was something else. Something entirely different. Arms extended, fingers reaching, and drooling from her bloodied mouth, Ella moved toward the terrified John as he backed toward the outer wall. He hit it and was trapped. "Jesus Christ! What the hell happened to you, Ella!" he shouted. She did not respond. She simply moved forward. Only a few feet away from reaching her prey, John finally remembering he was holding a weapon and deciding that Ella wasn't there to borrow a cup of sugar, John acted. I butted her in the stomach with the front of the bat and she reeled back a few feet from the impact. This did not deter her, however. Immediately, she continued onward as if nothing had happened. As if that would-be crippling blow never landed.
"Ella, what is wrong with you!" He asked. And once again, no response. By now, Shauna was awake due to the shouting.
"Honey, what's wrong?" she asked, while reaching for her glasses on the bedside table by the door. "Who is that? Ella? Ella, what are you doing here?" she asked the intruder. Now, fully aware of the other party in the room, Ella turned to attack the still blind, Shauna. She snarled. "Ella, what's wrong?" She slipped her glasses into place. The sun from the window shone in enough for her to see the blood, the wound, the vacant stare on her face. "OH MY GOD! JOHN! JOHN!" Now, utterly frightened, Shauna leaned backward against the wall to distance herself from her neighbor. Ella moved toward the bed now.
"Don't you fucking touch her!" screamed John as he brought the bat up and then down upon the back of his former neighbor's skull. She fell with a sickening thud. Once again, she slowly rose to her feet. Fearing for his wife, John continued to bring the silver weapon down upon Ella's form. Primally grunting from the effort, he could hear the bones breaking. First her ribs, then her arm as she clawed at the bed. After striking her head for the final time, he heard a horrible sound; the sound of her skull caving in. She stopped moving. A puddle of blood had formed; as had a few splattered marks on the bed, table, wall, and even on himself. "He collapsed to the floor. Oh my god…what have I done? I just killed our fucking neighbor!" He began to sob.
Shauna cautiously moved off the bottom of the bed and peeked down at the pile of blood and bone and flesh lying beside her bed. She crouched down in front of her husband who was leaning beneath their window."I don't know what that was. But it sure as hell wasn't Ella. You did what anybody else would do." She said has she held his shoulders to calm him. It worked.
"I suppose you're right." He looked down at the once silver bat resting in his hands. It was now tainted a strange shade of red. "What else could I have-" he looked up to see another one just a few feet behind Shauna. "Oh shit!" shouted John.