End Days: Zombie short

Brock Jensen

Brock was walking back from Big Red's place. This was his second choice when it came to buying weed. Otis Drake, his first choice, left the city a couple of days ago.

Letting out a chuckle, "The dead eating the living? Now that was some horror story bullshit. Fake news."

Brock padded his pocket to make sure his stash was secured.

He was almost to his car when he heard growling. And what sounded like a wounded animal. As he got closer a man was laying on the ground.

Something was over him,tearing out his insides. The man lifted his arms to protect himself. But it only took a bite of that too. That's when Brock realized the thing was human too.

"What the hell?" Brock said with a start. "No fucking way!!"

The thing hunched over the dying man, jerked its head towards Brock. It stood to his feet. The infected charged toward Brock with outstretched hands. The man on the ground began to move. But it tripped on his intestines when it tried to stand. Viscera and blood poured through the open cavity

The man opened his maw. The moans made Brock's hair stand up straight.

"Oh shit!", Brock took off running in the direction of his car. "This ain't real." Played over and over in his head.

Brock made it back to his car. Dead hands pounded on his window. What did he just see? Brock turned the key. The radio was blaring an emergency notice.

"Portsmith Memorial will no longer take in any new cases of the virus. The hospital does not have the staff or security to handle any new patients.

"Pam," he said aloud. His wife worked at the hospital. She tried to warn him that this thing was bad. And he just blew her off.

Brock dialed his wife's cell. "Pick up, pick up, " he said into the phone. It went straight to voicemail. He tried again. This time, Danielle, his daughter, answered the phone.

"Daddy! Mom is hurting Chloe!"

He heard a scream before the line went dead. He fanatically call back. No one was picking up. Brock sped through the Brookstone housing development. When he reached his home,Brock nearly crashed into the front porch. On the steps leading into the house he saw a pool of blood. The front door was open. Blood stained the frame and glass.

Brock busted through the door. "Pam!" Brock yelled, "Chloe!"

Crouching on the floor was his wife, eating what remained of their youngest daughter. "Oh my God,Chloe?"

The sound of his voice made Pam pause. What used to be his wife made a jerky move to her feet. She launched herself toward Brock.

Staying out of arm's reach. Brock called out for his oldest daughter. "Danielle, where are you?!"

Danielle stuck her head out of the pantry door. "Daddy?" Pam's head whipped around and ran toward the new sound. Danielle screamed and slammed the door back. Pam rushed towards the screaming child. Hitting the door full force,cracking the frame.

Pam's veins oozed under her skin. Her eyes wept tears of blood. Brock grabbed the rolling pin from the kitchen counter. The blow landed on the side of his wife's head. Sending her to the floor. She was trying to get back on her feet. He brought the rolling pin back down again and again on her head, crushing her skull.

"Danielle!" Brock called his daughter's name again.

Danielle slowly opened the door. "Is it safe?"

"Danielle! Go grab some clothes, you know what to do. Hurry!"

Danielle stepped over her dead mother running to her room. Brock always told his girls to be ready. But he wasn't expecting anything like this.

Racing around the house, he was throwing items in a bag.He can hear the screams in the distance. Then gunshots ring out through the night.

Minutes later Danielle was running down the steps. Brock closed and locked the front door. He pointed toward the backyard.

"Head to the shed," Brock said.

Inside, Brock sled back a false wall that led to an underground bunker. As he shut the door, it cut off the screams of the night.

Brock

Brock has been in his underground bunker for about a year now. Has it been longer than that? Sometimes the days run together. His nerves were fried. That was the main reason why he smoked. It calmed his brain. He could function. Danielle didn't like him smoking in the bunker. But the last of his stash was gone anyway. Now he only had the hateful stares of his teenage daughter.

Brock crawled to the window of the shed that hid in his underground bunker. The streets were mostly clear of the infected.

Danielle turned to her father."We need to go on a supply run."

Brock watched his daughter sharpen her knife. He turned to face Danielle.

"You know we can wait for a day or two. We don't have to go right now," Brock said.

"I think if we leave now while it's clear. We will be behind the pack." Danielle said, not looking at him.

"You're right, '' Brock said.

He didn't want his daughter to know that he was scared. Brock still has nightmares about Pam eating his youngest daughter Chloe. He could tell Danielle was getting upset with him.

Yes, the bunker was safe from the infected. And the people who just turned mean, but Danielle wanted to find other survivors. She wondered if any of her friends survivored.

"Two more days. That's it if it's nothing more than a supply run." Danielle placed the knife in its holder. Before returning to the bunker.

Brock agreed, but he didn't think he'd ever be ready.

Brock

Danielle! Wait up! Brock's daughter outpaced him by two strands. He always thought he was physically fit. Now Danielle could outrun, outshoot him, in just about everything now. He was supposed to protect her. He was the father. Fathers protected their children. She saved him twice. His mind hasn't been right since the night he killed Pam. He knew she was already dead. The thought of his wife eating his daughter haunted his dreams. Danielle later admitted that she went back into the house and finally put her sister down. She was just standing there in the kitchen motionless. When Danielle opened the door. Her sister slowly turned her head. She charged Danielle. Her arms stretched out trying to grab her.

Danielle sidestepped her sister. Before she drove the screwdriver in her head. From then on Danielle wasn't afraid ever again. She laid her head on her pillow that night and she finally cried for her mother and her sister. Danielle finally laid them to rest, if only in her mind