A Father's Love

Blake sat safely in the living room of his inner house, or, at least what was his living room at one time, listening to the scraping sounds coming over the speakers from the outside monitors. He was crying, holding the silver heart-shaped locket his wife Devin had given him after Ashley was born, back before the “Cure” destroyed everything. He held it for a moment then opened it to look at the pictures he had crammed into it, then took it out to look at the strands of hair laced through it.

He held the locket in his hand, his thumb rubbing over it, while he was resting on the top of his rifle, also a gift from his wife about a few years ago. It was a surprise to him; she didn’t like guns much, but she thought him having one would be a good idea, especially after things started to change. He usually laughed her concerns off, telling her that he appreciated the gift, but didn’t think the world would be going to hell anytime soon; he was so wrong.

Blake's attention snapped back, the scraping sound at the door behind him, bringing him back to the situation at hand. He missed his wife; she was always the one to see things from both sides, then make the informed choice, whereas Blake was more impulsive, usually just reacting and hoping to God he didn't fuck it up in the process. She didn’t like guns, but she loved doing things for him, especially because this gift would also serve the rest of the house as well...

Blake stared at the door silently, his thumb steadily, nervously rubbing the locket. He could hear the noise inside the other room, but he tried to ignore it, afraid he couldn't do what it would take to quiet it down. The scraping sound outside told him things were getting worse; there were more of the Dead walking around his house than he could imagine. This was his fault, this was all because of the sound in the other room. He wished Devin would have been here, she would have made the process easier, he thought, at least easier for him.

Devon had long since passed an unfortunate victim when the first wave hit before they knew that their “Cure'' was actually causing more damage than help. Unlike some of the others he had heard about, hers was quicker and less painful. Blake was at least thankful that it came quickly and painlessly. A year later their son would also become a victim of the “Cure'', his death coming as collateral damage, passing in a much more violent way, having been attacked by some of the surviving victims of the first wave, those who had already turned; some of them not so lucky ones, the Dead.

Christopher was one of the first to go during that zombie phase of the “Cure”, shot mercifully by one of Blake's neighbors who, once bitten himself, then took his own life. He and his daughter, Ashley soon were the last two left in their neighborhood, secure in their panic room; also another “Devin” idea he had scoffed at originally but was so glad he listened to her.

The warning horn in the main screening room had sounded, it was common lately, especially after the first breach. He’d always fix it in the morning and they’d do it all overcome nightfall. Blake looked at the screens, as they panned through each side of the house and then each room. He recognized most of the Dead; neighbors from a neighborhood that no longer existed. Pressing the button, the screen in front of him was flashing the outside, then the rooms inside. It showed Ashley’s room and Blake paused it as he felt tears beginning to well up again. He knew what he had to do, just not now.

Blake just did not have the heart to help her, to set her free. The pounding at the door grew louder, more frantic. He clicked the safety on the rifle, looking over at the door and listening to the clawing sound on the other side. The longer he sat there, the more intense the sound became. The sound tore at his heart; he could hear it but he knew he didn't have the heart to make it stop.

“That was my little girl,” he thought, bending over to pick up the picture of Chris and Ashley on some rollercoaster, smiling and screaming, “She'll always be my little girl and there's no way I can do this.”

Blake could hear the outer door rattling and beginning to splinter. Behind him, he could hear her door rattling as Ashley was kicking and screaming. He listened as Ashley banged and threw her body violently against the door. He listened and all he could do was cry because his little girl was hurting herself and there was only one thing he could do to stop it.

Blake remembered having to let up the safety as he walked towards the door. He called her name, crying, knowing she had no idea who he was anymore or even if she could even actually hear him for that matter. He wanted to open the door and join her, hugging his daughter one last time, but he was afraid; his will to live was even stronger.

Blake shook it off, clearing his head of a tragic fantasy. He had to go on for his wife's sake, his son's sake, hell even for his baby girl, especially now. He opened the door slightly, Ashley immediately banged against it, almost knocking him backward. Putting the barrel of the gun into the gap, instinctually or through some newfound habit, his daughter bit down on the gun, growling and gnawing on it. Seeing his child like this, like any other father, he just watched her, tearing up as he tried, but he just couldn't do it. He pulled the barrel from her mouth, taking a few of her teeth in the process, then, after kicking the teeth into the room, he pushed her back and closed the door.

Crying, Blake sat in the chair, crying and absentmindedly squeezing the locket in his hand as it dangled from his wrist. Looking up, watching as the ones outside started to push the remnants of the outside door in. Blake just sat there staring at the other door, wondering if he would ever have the nerve to do what it took.

The outer door had already collapsed; he could hear them beating on the inner metal door, but he didn’t care, that one would take them much longer to get through. He kept wondering, staring at his daughter's room.

“Can I do this; should I do this? She's my last hold on to this crazy-ass world. I don't want to be alone,” he said, crying, wiping the tears as he picked up a pair of scissors, listening to the sound of the heart-shaped locket as it hit against the scissors.

Looking at the screen, Blake knew daytime would be coming soon and if he didn't act soon it might be his last time to see it. He walked towards the door again, this time opening it all the way. Ashley came running at him, only to have the chain around her waist snatch her back the moment she got to the door. She fell back, banging her head on the floor as she dropped to the ground. Blake looked at her, feeling the cold reality of the moment; had that been anyone else, they would have passed out or at least bled from hitting the floor so hard.

“But she wasn't anyone else anymore, she wasn't a person,” Blake thought as he cried and thought to himself; his little girl was gone, this was just a sick representation of what he had already lost; what the “Cure” had taken from him. He felt like he should cry some more but that last thought had really burned into his mind. It pushed everything into perspective as he went towards the thing that once was his daughter, he hoped, one last time.

She clawed at the barrel of the rifle, pulling against it, trying to pull him closer. Blake simply went silent and closed his eyes. He prayed, even though he wasn't a praying man, he prayed anyway and waited as his words gave him a sense of absolution. He reached for it, took out his scissors, and then closed his eyes, the memory of the last Labor Day outing at the waterpark playing in his mind. He smiled; the smell of sea air and hotdogs and burgers cooking in their small portable grill on the beach, Devin had on her one piece and the thought of what they’d be doing later went through his mind. Ashley was annoying her brother and Christopher was headed their way to tell on his sister...

That was all gone; without provocation, he pulled the trigger...

Blake woke up as if from a terrible dream. He sat there listening to the still and silence and wondered if everything would be okay. He got up and slid the metal shield away from the window slit, looking out and seeing nothing or no one out there. The heat was intensely unbearable for most, especially for the Dead, and he only had a few hours before the coolness of the night returned. He went to the door, slid back the lock, and walked out towards the place where the outside door used to be. He looked back at the panic room, and sighed as he turned; he missed his baby girl.

Blake stepped out into the day, the blazing sunlight quickly making its presence known, closing what still hung of the door. Hiking his backpack up, he knew he was good for the trip; he had enough supplies for a few weeks and, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, he knew the “Cure” didn’t have any effect on the animals, so he could at least hunt. Sighing as he was walking towards the sunset, the chain from the locket wrapped kept time as he walked, his fingers rubbing the familiar, comforting heart-shape, stuff with strands of hair.

Blake smiled as he walked, dropping the bloodied scissors, the metallic sound as they hit the broken, overgrown concrete, sounding like a final bell on this chapter of his life, the feeling of the strands of hair blowing against the back of his hand as he walked sweeping away his last feelings of helplessness.