"Stay calm, Becky... We can get through this. We just have to turn off all the lights and go hide. If they think we've left then they'll leave too." I say, but my words to phase shake her at all. She's lost all sense of what's going on.
"They can smell your fear... They can smell the blood that runs through our veins and as long as our hearts still beat they'll be out there." She says, her breathing ragged and skin sweaty. Another loud bang at the door startles her and the gun slips out of her sweaty hands. I take this chance to grab her gun and run in the kitchen. Becky, completely frightened and crazy, just stands there with her hands to her mouth, silent praying to some god that probably doesn't exist. I know there must be some crazy religious people out there that might think that God, or whoever, is purging the world of it's sin, but I think that there is no such thing as God. He's just someone we use as an excuse to not blame ourselves for things. At least, that's what most people do. They cheat on someone or hurt someone and they just go to confessional and ask for forgiveness, like that fixes anything.
When I burst into the kitchen I see almost the same thing. Carol is leaning over Chris's motionless body, mouthing silent prayers. She wasn't much of a religious person, which is one of the things I like about her, but the sight of death can make even the least religious person believe. It gives them something to hold on to. They don't want to die and that be it. They want something more, because they're scared of it just being the end. If you asked me what I think the whole world has in common, I would say that everyone fears death at one point in their life. I'm petrified of it. A window on the other side of the kitchen shatters, which brings me back into reality, and little arms are grabbing at the air as they look for something to cling onto. "Carol, come on we..."
"I know, Tommy... Just give me a minute." Her voice is shaky and her knees quiver as she stands up. Her hands lay on Chris's chest for a few moments more, which is all it takes. The door behind her bursts open and the rotting, little bastards come charging in. Carol doesn't have enough time to react as a little girl with one eye, which is hanging out of her socket, and no arms bites down into her calf. What little skin the young girl has is covered in dark spots. Carol screams in agony and takes a swing at her. Her fist lands right on her head with just enough force to dislodge her, but a few of the little bastards teeth are stuck in Carol's leg. "Tommy, what are you doing? Run! I'll do what I can here." She says, taking Chris's hand in one of hers and just swinging away with the other. Tears cascade down her face as she tries to take down as many of them as she can, but another one sinks it's mouth into her hand and she just goes down as more crowd around her. The sound of her screams tear at my ears and the smell of the rotting feels like I've been punched in the stomach.
Painfully, I turn away and go back into the living room. Another swarm of infected are chomping into Becky, who's yelling at the top of her lungs "God help me!" For a second I feel bad for her, but as the kitchen door swings open behind me and others in front of me look up, I panic and bolt upstairs. As I run into the first room I get to, I can feel the hot, stinky breath of one of them and as I shut the door I can picture the little monsters ripping open Carol's stomach and pulling out her guts as she screams from the shear agony. If she's lucky she'll hopefully go into shock. She doesn't deserve to feel that much pain. As I'm locking the door I notice that I still have the gun in my hand... The gun.
"I could have done something. I could have stopped this or at least saved them. Why does this happen every time?" I whisper to myself. There's a bang at the door as they finally reach it. I take shelter in a corner, hoping that maybe I'll blend in or something. "I'm sorry Carol... Chris..." The door bursts open and the time and everything around me seems to go from super fast to slow motion. I can smell every little inch of rotting flesh the second the door opens. The first one I see is a really young boy, probably around seven. He skin is completely burned, he has no tongue, the whole right side of his body is bleeding for some reason, and he's covered in vomit. Just the smell of it all makes my head start to spin. I get as small as I can in my corner as they slowly, and painfully, make their way to me. The closest one to me starts to make a gurgling sound and a fresh wave of vomit spews from its mouth and almost hits me. The floor upon which it lands on starts to sizzle as if the vomit was acid.
They're inches away, my visions is blurry and I can't hear anything over the pounding of my heart. In my last attempt for survival, I raise the gun in my hands, pray that it's loaded, because in the heat of everything that's one thing I forgot to check, and just as it's about to latch onto me, the gun goes off.