Hour 3: Safe House

“As long as it’s safe, you can stay here.” She tells the man.
He is breathing heavy, gun shaking in his hand, peering out the windows.

They are filling up the once pristine lawn.
They must have followed him.

“My ex-husband was paranoid. Even though we lived in a decent neighborhood, he turned this house into a fortress.”

His trembling begins to stop.
He hasn’t had much time to process what’s been happening these last few days.

He woke up, like he hopes to do every morning. General morning routine: shower, dress, breakfast, coffee, brushes his teeth, more coffee, drives to work.

Except that morning, he ran someone over.
But the person got back up, limping on twisted limbs, and attacked him.

He managed to escape, luckily, and found the entire neighborhood was covered in blood and zombies were everywhere.

“I have enough food to last us a few months, we should be fine, as long as they don’t get in. Which they won’t.”

He looks at the pictures on her mantle. Her ex-husband was handsome, quite a bit older, but handsome.

She follows his gaze and quickly turns the picture frames facedown.

“I don’t know why I’ve kept those up. I don’t even like thinking about him.”

A loud cracking sound.
They both jump.

A silhouette on the heavy drapes. A body pounding on the windows, leaving streaks and small cracks.

“It’s okay. Double pane glass. They won’t be able to get through.”

He’s starting to relax.
She cooks them dinner.

“Hey, listen, I’m so thankful for you helping me. I thought I was the only one not like those things outside.”

The power goes out.
They sit in the dark, staring at each other as more bodies pound on the windows.
The once-people outside are howling in anger and hunger.

He tightens his grip on the gun.

Upstairs, they stand at large bay windows, looking down on the carnage in the front lawn.

“Without electricity, most of the locks and security measures won’t work. I think we’ll have to leave.”

Her voice shakes but he can’t tell if it is with fear or anger.

There’s a loud crash downstairs.

“They’re in. I thought the glass was supposed to hold. That’s what he said.”

They make their way down the stairs. Slowly. One step at a time.

He surprises himself with his own reflexes. Barely had they turned the corner and seen the zombie when he raised his gun and shot the zombie right in the forehead.
The zombie dropped.
The house went quiet.

They ran for the door that leads to the garage.

Shuffling, moaning, glass breaking behind them.

“Give me the gun, you drive, I don’t think I can drive like this.”

He hands her the gun, opens both front doors of the car and she opens the garage door.

“Ready?”

He’s about to duck into the car when she shoots him in the knee.

He screams.

From the ground he can see that the zombies heard him.
They start to run towards the garage.

She shoots him in the other need.

He screams again, cursing her.

She drags him out onto the driveway then runs back to her car.

“I’m sorry. I need a distraction. If they’re eating you, I can get away. With all of this shit happening, the only one you can trust to help you survive is yourself.”

She pulls out of the garage, tires squealing. The smell of burning rubber fills his nostrils. He thinks he recognizes the zombie that’s about to bite down on his arm. He’s seen him before, in pictures on the mantle inside.

He tries to fight, but there are just too many of them.

All he can do is scream.

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