Regrettable Memories

Sitting alone reminiscence is inevitable

But why are so many regrettable?

So many times you said

Me just walking in the door was something that you dread

I didn’t mean to say it

You pushed me all the way

I’d crack and more than hearts were broken

Why were the fights a family routine?

Threats made true were a common scene

But now that you are gone, your memory makes me want to scream

I miss the fire in your eyes

The laughter and the comfort following the cries

You taught me how to tell a lie

Mommy why’d you have to die?

Sticks and stones may break my bones

But you threw more than that

I look all the time where we’d sit and chat

A list a mile long

Of everything I’d done wrong

Screw the dishes

Screw your wishes

Screw my friends?

Widen your lens

Screw this shit

For the night I’m out

You would scream yell

You were the King Kong of our personal little Hell

Despite it all

Our family had a strong wall

You provided any need that you saw

You were proud of us

After a fight

You’d make a fuss

Regrettable memories

Make the good the better and the better best

Chapter Sixteen

There is a banging to my right down the hall. I see the front door is starting to bow. The banging is forceful and clearly purposeful, which means it isn’t zombies on the other side. I don’t see anyone, not Dad, Lila, or Tom. I hear a four-wheeler revving outside the door and the pounding ceases. The ATV noise sounds like it is getting closer.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

There is a crash. The front door cracks open in a wonder of splinters. There are what appear to be four crowbars bursting through the wood all evenly spaced out. The ATV switches gears and the crowbars are backed out of the door. The revving is repeated and the crowbars smash through the door again along with the front of the ATV. Carl looks at me and points to the stairs. We run up together before we can be seen. From somewhere outside the house I hear someone whistle and Persistence bark.

At the top of the landing I look back and see three very tall men kicking through the splintered door. Two wear black leather jackets, and the third is wearing an old worn camouflage-hunting coat. All have long brown hair, and the taller one in the leather has an American flag bandana loosely pinning his hair back.

I turn to see Carl waving me into the last bedroom at the end of the hall, Dad’s room. I bolt and we lock the door behind us.

“If they touch Mom, I will kill them,” Carl says through clenched teeth.

“I’m going to kill them either way,” I say, and I can’t believe I said it. I’ve never killed a living human being before, but I feel the desire to now.

Carl gives me a strange look, but nods his head in agreement.

“Where do you think everyone is?” I ask.

“No frigging idea. I could understand Tom and Lila running, but Dad should be here. He wouldn’t leave us.” We hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Two sets by the sound of it.

Carl points to the small window situated above a dresser. It is small, barely big enough for an adult to fit through, but we have no choice but to try. Carl walks over to the window and opens it. He crawls up on the dresser and swings his legs around to rest on the tin roof outside.

The door handle wiggles and I run to the dresser and stick my legs out as I hear a kick on the door. It shakes but stays locked. I begin to wiggle my body out of the small window, and I get to my hips when my gun gets caught. It falls between the wall and dresser below the window. There is another kick at the door.

“Zoe hurry up!”

“I dropped my gun!”

“Leave it, damn it.”

I back up so just my calves are out the window and I turn so my stomach is down. I push on the dresser to make enough room for my hand to reach down. I hear a few muffled swear words outside the door. My hands finally reach my gun.

I hear the click of a shotgun being snapped just as I turn myself back around. There is a bang and the door handle flies off. Carl grabs my feet and pulls me. My back scrapes along the frame. He pulls me to the side of the window out of sight, as the door swings open.

We begin to crouch low and run along the roof to round the corner. On the other side we are facing the front lawn that touches the field. We sit with our backs pressed against the short white wall that contains the attic. I feel my back sting along my spine where Carl dragged me over the window frame. I feel my shirt sticking to my body, and I know I am bleeding.

Overlooking the yard I feel my stomach sink. I can’t swallow my saliva that is heavy in my mouth. There are zombies everywhere. A few lay dead, but most mill around, the frenzy that brought them here is already out of their minds and they seem calm in a way, like cattle grazing in a field. I scan for anyone not dead. I suppose it may be possible for them to have run. It is a big yard, so if they were quick about it they could have dodged zombies and been out of sight and out of mind.

Carl nudges me with the butt of his shotgun; he nods his head to the right, and we begin a slow crawl again. On this side of the yard we are facing the shed that contains the kittens. I think of Mom, and my eyes begin to water. We keep crawling until we reach the corner of the roof. I wipe my tears.

There is a windmill, a small decorative one that reaches only a few feet above our heads. Carl inches towards the edge of the roof and swings his legs out. His steel-toed boot makes a ringing on the old metal poles that crisscross down to the ground. He freezes and looks around. The corpses below us are too far away to hear.

He attaches one leg and does a small gangly leap to get his hands a few feet over to the metal. He begins his descent as I crawl to the edge of the roof. I put my leg out, my toes barely reach the windmill, but somehow I manage to use that as support as I put my body as close to the edge of the roof as possible and reach out with my hands. I give one small push and my fingers latch on, barely. I feel the shaking in my palms. I look down and Carl is waiting on the ground by the house out of sight of the zombies.

I am halfway down. I could probably jump the rest if I wasn’t shaking so bad. I look around me instead of at the ground. I am able to see into the kitchen window from where I am. I see the kitchen table, and then I see the movement behind it. A scope is pointed at me.

Before I have time to react I hear glass shatter, and I feel pain. My shoulder feels searing hot, and my fingers let go of the windmill. I fall the remaining 10 feet to the ground. I land with my feet below me, but they crumple and the main force is on my back.

I hear menacing laughter, and I see Carl in front of me holding his hands out, but the world behind him is spinning. The laughter is coming from behind me, from the window where the asshole shot me. It is a deep, nasal laugh. He sounds drunk.

My vision stops spinning, and I feel Carl trying to grab my good arm to pull me up. There are about fifteen zombies coming our way now, alterted by the gunshot and breaking glass. I am standing now, but I feel rooted to the spot. My arm is killing me; I feel the warm blood dripping down my left arm.

“Zoe! Run!” Carl shouts at me. He takes his machete and runs forward and slices through an oozing neck. “I said run, dammit!”

I look around me. Carl blasts one away as it gets close to me, and that brings me back. I run on instinct without even thinking where I am going.

I want to run forever, away from my dead mother, away from my lost friends, away from the pain in my arm, away from the dangerous men, and away from the horde of zombies that just won’t give me a break. I run across the field and across the road. My breathing is heavy, my lungs feel hot, and my legs feel like jelly. I stumble over the uneven earth, but I don’t fall. I vaguely hear Carl behind me. I run across the road where our SUV is still parked. I run through the next field and into a tree line.

Suddenly I can’t run anymore. I stop behind a giant oak and lean against it. The support feels good. I look at my wound; it feels numb though I can see the hole on the top of my pale shoulder where the bullet went through about a centimeter below the top. My head is swimming. I hear Carl shouting something, but he sounds far away even though I can tell he has been on my heels the entire time.

I blink once and it is hard to open my eyes again. I see Carl standing in front of my face. I blink again and don’t open my eyes.