Dear God,

Why wonder where you are?

Aren’t you always always near?

Written words worth the world

Telling me to take the truth

Without worry, wondering, or wandering

How God, can I do that?

Faith

The faith of a child

Playing, pouncing, not pondering

God, what happens when we grow up too fast?

We lose the faith because of our past

A tragedy can take my trust

Turn my faith to rust

I’m fighting Lord, is that okay?

Or will I be punished for it today?

I know God; you want me to let you in

But I need time before I can do that again

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Amen

Chapter Fifteen

The world seems muffled, continuing like we haven’t just lost a three-year war. I am faintly aware of the sound of breaking glass down the hall. I hear Emily scream, but my body does not react to it. We all continue to stare at Mom, our eyes streaming tears. Her hand lies on top of her tumor from when Tom took her pulse. Her fingertips are yellow compared with the rest of her hand. I hear feet running up the hallway. Then there is shouting, but I can’t make out the words.

I feel numb, everywhere numb. I feel a pain that I haven’t experienced before. It is as if someone has put a hot drill into my chest. It feels worse the longer I stare at Mom, but I can’t make myself look away. Dad leans over and takes Mom’s hand and holds it, just holds it. I look up and see Carl has silent tears streaming down his face, as he unblinkingly looks at Mom’s face.

There is a shotgun blast in the hall. Dad pulls away and leaves the room, but Carl and I remain. Someone else can fight the battle now.

The door to the living room opens slowly. Dad must be coming in again. I close my eyes and lay down on Mom. I wrap my arms around her spindly body.

A second or two passes and I hear a scream; a scream like the one Mrs. Shoe made in my front lawn. I open my eyes, my head still down on Mom’s still chest. Emily is standing in the doorway, eyes glazed over. Her right arm has a swollen bite mark above the elbow. She holds a kitchen knife in her left hand still frozen from her last defense.

She lets out another scream, dropping her knife as she moves toward Carl and me. I stand up from the bed, but my feet won’t move. My best friend has her arms outstretched toward me, closing in on the ten feet distance.

Suddenly all the noises come rushing to my ears. I hear ATVs racing around outside the bay window, war cries from Tom upstairs, gunshots outside and down the hall. Carl looks to me from his seated position, expecting his sister to kill her friend, I suppose. He is right; it’s my job.

I take the old man’s pistol out of my pants. I aim at Emily, now at the end of Mom’s bed. She stops for an instant, or so I think. She screams, but to me this one sounds less animalistic and more like a sadness as her friend points a pistol at her head.

“Zoe!” Carl screams. Emily looks at him with nothing but hunger in her eyes. I pull the hammer back and fire. She drops a foot away from my brother.

I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. New sobs escape me, louder than before. I fall on my mom and weep, making a tear stain on the blanket. I want the comfort of my mother, something I will never have again.

Carl walks over to me. He stands behind me for a second then puts a hand on my back. Like me and Dad though, he is impatient, after a few seconds he shakes my shoulder, “We have to go, Zoe.”

I turn and look up at him, “Are we just going to leave Mom and Em?”

“I’m sure Dad won’t do that unless we have to. He doesn’t want this house to be their graves as much as the rest of us don’t, but he’ll have to dig more graves if we don’t move out,” he looks at the pistol in my hand and nods.

I wipe my tears on my shoulder and I stand up next to my brother. My mother lay dead to my right, and over the edge of the bed I see the side of my best friend’s head that remains intact, but pale and blood streaked. I look at Carl and he walks over to the couch where he had set his gun and his machete. Together we walk out into the hallway and shut the door behind our mother.