Should we head up Cobi Place?”
“Yep.”
“All right, you’re sure?” asked Adam.
Jesse nodded and walked toward Cobi. They walked in silence, checking the tree line for reanimates. Ahead of them, an SUV was upside down on the side of the narrow road. It was covered in dents and safety glass was scattered all over the asphalt. All the tiny prisms of light reflecting off of the glass created a majestic aura around an otherwise gruesome scene. Dark marks lined the asphalt from when the driver swerved, to avoid something or someone.
“That’s a shitty way to go,” said Adam. “It’s the illusion of safety.”
“If not here, then it would have been 250 miles down the road when the gas tank ran out.”
“Or that mess on Newberry Hill.”
“Or there.”
They had learned not to dwell too long over the death of strangers, or loved ones. All tragedy had to be dealt with in a matter of seconds, or more tragedy followed on its heels. Before long, they were in front of Jesse’s childhood home: the quaint, suburban house turned into family tomb by a swarm of reanimates. The garage door sat bent on the concrete floor of the garage. He stepped on its panels and went into the house.
The house reeked of mold, the same as Eric’s house, and similar stains, tears, and bullet holes marked the interior. He grabbed his mother’s small pistol off the floor and checked the magazine. Empty. He discarded the piece with a grunt. There were no bodies. He kept his field of vision high. He did not have the heart to look at those ignoble dark stains. He walked to the staircase and took pause at the missing baluster. There were no bodies, not even of the reanimates. He and his father had killed many of them, but they were gone just like the bodies of his family.
“They eat each other,” he said to himself. He felt no sorrow in that moment, only growing rage.
His father’s pistol was lying on the dark carpet with the slide open. The magazines were empty, but the boxes of bullets that he had brought down for his father were still there. He ejected the magazine, and loaded it with seven hollow point rounds. The box only had another ten rounds, which he dumped into his pocket. He went upstairs into his old room to grab some winter clothes for himself and Adam. The mirror on his closet door provided Jesse with an unwanted sight: a bearded man in filthy clothes. Earlier in his life, Jesse had remarked on how stupid people sounded when they said they did not recognize themselves when they looked in the mirror. Now, he understood the reality of those words. Missing was the handsome, clean cut wrestling champion and scholar. What he saw was an angry hobo with a sad story and a head full of rage. After a discomfiting minute, Jesse threw open the closet door. The force of the action sent the door crashing into the wall and off the runners. He ripped two jackets, two shirts, and two pairs of pants off their hangers. He also grabbed a handful of mismatched socks and underwear and went downstairs.
Adam faced away from the house keeping watch when Jesse came out with a pile of clothes in his hands.
“Here,” said Jesse. “Change.”
“Ah nice,” said Adam. “Why didn’t we ever grab clothes at the stores?”
“It was summer when this shit happened . The stores hadn’t gotten their winter shipments yet.”
“Ah, yeah,” said Adam . He took of his wet, rank clothes. “It’s summer forever at the Silverdale mall. Hey, that could be a slogan. I’ll remember that once the ad agencies get up and running again.”
“Don’t hold your breath on that one.”
They took turns changing to make sure neither was caught off guard. As Jesse was zipping up his old winter coat, a loud, distorted scream cut through the trees to the west. Adam was trying to put the second leg of his new pants on when the scream ripped through the still air. He fell onto the asphalt.
“Ah fuck!” he said. He pulled the pants on, zipped them, and drew his
“Yep.”
“All right, you’re sure?” asked Adam.
Jesse nodded and walked toward Cobi. They walked in silence, checking the tree line for reanimates. Ahead of them, an SUV was upside down on the side of the narrow road. It was covered in dents and safety glass was scattered all over the asphalt. All the tiny prisms of light reflecting off of the glass created a majestic aura around an otherwise gruesome scene. Dark marks lined the asphalt from when the driver swerved, to avoid something or someone.
“That’s a shitty way to go,” said Adam. “It’s the illusion of safety.”
“If not here, then it would have been 250 miles down the road when the gas tank ran out.”
“Or that mess on Newberry Hill.”
“Or there.”
They had learned not to dwell too long over the death of strangers, or loved ones. All tragedy had to be dealt with in a matter of seconds, or more tragedy followed on its heels. Before long, they were in front of Jesse’s childhood home: the quaint, suburban house turned into family tomb by a swarm of reanimates. The garage door sat bent on the concrete floor of the garage. He stepped on its panels and went into the house.
The house reeked of mold, the same as Eric’s house, and similar stains, tears, and bullet holes marked the interior. He grabbed his mother’s small pistol off the floor and checked the magazine. Empty. He discarded the piece with a grunt. There were no bodies. He kept his field of vision high. He did not have the heart to look at those ignoble dark stains. He walked to the staircase and took pause at the missing baluster. There were no bodies, not even of the reanimates. He and his father had killed many of them, but they were gone just like the bodies of his family.
“They eat each other,” he said to himself. He felt no sorrow in that moment, only growing rage.
His father’s pistol was lying on the dark carpet with the slide open. The magazines were empty, but the boxes of bullets that he had brought down for his father were still there. He ejected the magazine, and loaded it with seven hollow point rounds. The box only had another ten rounds, which he dumped into his pocket. He went upstairs into his old room to grab some winter clothes for himself and Adam. The mirror on his closet door provided Jesse with an unwanted sight: a bearded man in filthy clothes. Earlier in his life, Jesse had remarked on how stupid people sounded when they said they did not recognize themselves when they looked in the mirror. Now, he understood the reality of those words. Missing was the handsome, clean cut wrestling champion and scholar. What he saw was an angry hobo with a sad story and a head full of rage. After a discomfiting minute, Jesse threw open the closet door. The force of the action sent the door crashing into the wall and off the runners. He ripped two jackets, two shirts, and two pairs of pants off their hangers. He also grabbed a handful of mismatched socks and underwear and went downstairs.
Adam faced away from the house keeping watch when Jesse came out with a pile of clothes in his hands.
“Here,” said Jesse. “Change.”
“Ah nice,” said Adam. “Why didn’t we ever grab clothes at the stores?”
“It was summer when this shit happened . The stores hadn’t gotten their winter shipments yet.”
“Ah, yeah,” said Adam . He took of his wet, rank clothes. “It’s summer forever at the Silverdale mall. Hey, that could be a slogan. I’ll remember that once the ad agencies get up and running again.”
“Don’t hold your breath on that one.”
They took turns changing to make sure neither was caught off guard. As Jesse was zipping up his old winter coat, a loud, distorted scream cut through the trees to the west. Adam was trying to put the second leg of his new pants on when the scream ripped through the still air. He fell onto the asphalt.
“Ah fuck!” he said. He pulled the pants on, zipped them, and drew his
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