Loss of a Loved One

On the table were a bit less than a dozen plates containing nearly everything. This would be our last dinner eating on the ground floor, and all of us had helped make it. As we hadn't gone shopping in a bit, it was a leftover buffet.

My mom had been feeling sick with a headache, and had lost her appetite. I knew the feeling. She was upstairs taking a nap. I'm not sure whether her "no guns at the dinner table" rule would have been maintained if she were here, but as long as she wasn't eating with us it wasn't. In front of us were my dad's shotgun and my rifle. We each had pistols holstered. My friends had been complaining for a while at their lack of weaponry, but for the time being my mom wouldn't let them carry guns.

All of us were ravenous for having missed lunch, except for my sister who hadn't eaten much at all. She sat there with bits of half-eaten meat on her plate, occasionally glancing nervously at the glass doors, black as the night on the other side of them. She wasn't normally a big eater, but this was worse than normal. My dad was concerned. "You feeling alright, Sam?"

"Yeah", she said quietly, looking down at her plate.

"You haven't eaten much."

"I don't really like it."

"What's wrong with chicken?"

"The skin tastes funny".

"Well, you should eat. We're running low on meat, and I don't think the Dominion's open."

Regardless of whether Sam would have decided to eat or not, she suddenly lost the opportunity to. We had a few guests come knocking on our back door. There was still time to get some food upstairs, and we started on that quickly. Alex jumped out of his chair with such a force that his knife was thrown behind him. He and Sam both headed away from the doors. Dad immediately took control of the situation. "Go, Sam! Go wait with mom! Alex, get back here." Dad grabbed my rifle from me and aimed it at the head of one of our visitors, which was clearly visible behind the table and fridge. It was difficult to tell how many of them there were, over five at least. He didn't shoot, though. I guess he wanted the glass to last as long as possible, which wasn't going to be too long. It was strong, but when human strength is combined with a lack of pain, glass isn't much of an obstacle. There were smatterings of blood on the constantly expanding impact cracks.

We had planned what was to happen in this situation. In front of the fridge was a plastic insulation box, left open. The freezer was filled with bags of ice and a box of meat, another box in the fridge held the rest. We threw all this in to the thermos box, snapped the lid shut and began dragging it towards the stairs while my dad stayed behind, guarding the door. I climbed the steel ladder and rested the shotgun on the carpet next to my sister, who was sitting on the floor and watching intently. Alex climbed midway up the ladder, and Xiran passed the thermos box up. Once we were all safely above the main floor, I yelled to my dad. "Dad!" A shot echoed through the house. He had had enough of watching. "Let's go! Get up here!" Two more shots. I watched as he rounded the corner, nearly slipping on the debris created by the destruction of the staircase. He passed up the .22 to me, climbed up the stairs and pulled up the ladder. I could hear glass shatter and a loud thud, they had knocked the fridge over. Alex's breathing slowed down and he sat down against the wall. "Shit. Do you know how crazy that moaning is going to drive us?"

"Good idea", I replied. "I'll go put some music on."

Xiran didn't like this idea. "But you don't have anything good."

"Well, it's Christmas music or zombies." I picked up the rifle and went to my room to turn on the stereo. My friends followed me, and my dad and my sister went to see how my mom was doing. I opened the door to see Hobbes rush by my feet, meowing agitatedly. I quickly scooped him up into my arms and scratched his tummy. He would be staying in my room for the next long time. Even if they didn't eat animals in the movies, that never made much sense to me. Hobbes was just another mammal, equally tasty if they didn't mind the fur.

Then came the zombies. Before climbing up the ladder my dad had had the foresight to turn off the lights so we wouldn't have to look at them. This made them a bit difficult to see at first, but they announced their presence with that awful moaning of theirs. I could see them as dark silhouettes lurching around the corner, noticing us, and trying desperately to climb up to us. I was initially worried about the few planks of wood that we left sticking out of the wall from the staircase's destruction, but then realized that it wouldn't be a problem. They did not grab at them or attempt to use anything in particular to pull themselves up, they just feebly jumped and clawed at anything and everything, straining to reach us.

I could see the sparkle in their eyes caused by the light of the chandelier. To imagine what they looked like, start with a normal person. Rip out chunks of hair and flesh, take most of the pigment out of his skin and give his eyes a glazed over look. Then to top it off, add some blood at the mouth and bits of broken glass in the face and forearms. This is exactly what was trying to climb up at us. They really were some ugly bastards.

My friends and I jumped on my bed and grabbed controllers. One of the necessities that we had brought up from the soon-to-be-infested basement was the XBOX and wireless online connection. All of us played compulsively, so this was definitely important. Alex laughed. "Wow. Look at this. There's zombies downstairs, I'm scared out of my fucking mind and we're playing video games." Xiran didn't seem to see this as being at all abnormal. "Thank god for Halo."

Unfortunately, our Halo would have to wait. Mom was definitely not okay. Sam ran screaming out of the master bedroom and rushed into hers, slamming the door behind her. I immediately plucked my gun off the bed and went out into the hallway to see my dad push the door shut and aim his shotgun at it. His eyes were wide and watering, his breathing was heavy and laboured. He had a crazed look about him. Then the pounding on the door started, and my worst fears were realized. Mom wasn't just sick.

Dad's back was towards what used to be the staircase, which was an eleven foot drop to the ground, and a three foot drop the outstretched arms of the zombies. I raised my rifle at the door, and alerted him to the danger of his position. "Dad! Watch out for the drop!" He looked behind him and he looked like he was about to lose his balance, but regained it and stepped off to the side.

In the movies, when a character has become a zombie those who knew them often want to help them, and hope that there is some of the person they once knew in there. What saved our lives was the fact that both of us knew otherwise. Before I could start to think of what to do, my dad already had. He dropped the shotgun. "Justin, stand back." This was unnecessary as I was already meters away, but I backed off further. Whatever he was doing, it stood out immediately to me as a bad idea. "What are you doing?"

"Just trust me. Shoot us both if it goes wrong."

A lump found itself in my throat and tears started to run from my eyes. I kept the gun aimed at the door, watched and waited.

Dad positioned himself in between the door and the drop, and put his hand on the doorknob. He waited, and pulled it open. My mother, looking much like she once did came out of the room with her arms reaching for dad. The moan was almost a shriek. There was an angry and lost look in her eyes that was intent on food.

My hands shook as I tried to aim the rifle at her head. Without hesitating, he ducked under her grip, got behind her and pushed her off the drop. She fell on two zombies, temporarily crumpling them. All three of them then righted themselves, and she joined them in the desperate and untiring attempt to reach us.

Dad retired to the master bedroom and shut the door. I told my friends to play halo without me, and they did wordlessly. I closed the door to them. I looked down at my mother who I had known all my life and she looked back, though not in the manner I had grown accustomed to. I raised my rifle at her, faltered and dropped it. I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes and looked to the ceiling with my cheeks growing steadily wetter. I then decided to go lie down on the floor of the computer room. I had some mourning to do.

And all the while, "Joy to the World" as performed by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir rang joyously throughout the house.