Betty Winters sat on her couch with her knees pulled to her chest, watching the eriely claming glow of the TV. All the channels had been the same for the last two days. An old-time warning symbol representing the Emergency Broadcast System with scrolling text. Five days ago, it had interupted her watching the latest episode of American Idol. Something had happened, and the dead where coming back to life.
Five days ago, the recommendation was to try to evacuate. When that failed, four days ago, they recommended that everyone try to get to localized areas. Her mom had refused to leave the house, so her dad went to go get supplies to come back and hunker down. On day three of the outbreak, her father returned injured, bitten and scratched. That same day the recommendation was to stay inside. The message had been the same ever since. Late on the third night, her dad died. On the fourth morning, she woke to her mother screaming. Her dad was attacking her, and Betty's mother was defending herself with a knife. He almost killed her - he would have killed her - but Betty intervened. Grabbing her mothers pistol from their bedroom closet, Betty fired on her father through tightly shut eyes. The round amazingly found its mark, piercing her father's heart...
Betty looked to her right. On the recliner laid her mother, her breathing shallow and nursing the bullet wound to her gut. The shot had gone through her father and into her mother. She sighed, knowing her mom wouldn't be long for this world. Other zombies had come calling, attracted to the noise, but her dad had fortified the house on the first two day. Apparently the zombies where attracted by noise, so Betty had muted the television.
The warning this morning was that the best way to kill them was to take off their heads. She wimpered as her mother began to cough, her already labored breathing becoming more shallow as the fit ended. Betty onlyknew she had to do something. She had to get out of this house, to go find help. She needed someone else to help her. She couldn't do this alone. She got up and kissed her mom on the forehead. "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back, mommy." Her voice caught in her throat. "I love you..." she whispered as she walked out of the room.
She walked down the hall, past the bathroom and into her bedroom. She put a black zipup hoodie on, and changed from her sweats into her favorite pair of jeans and a pair of slightly used cross-training sneakers. She grunted as she put on the poorly recieved gift from her uncle, his way of hinting to loose some weight. Grabbing her backpack she made her way to the kitchen and grabbed what little water and food she had left. On the kitchen table she grabbed the half used first aid kit and her mom's pistol. Checking the chamber, she saw that she only had three rounds left in the 9mm.
She looked down the hall and frowned. To her left was the master bedroom, and she could see her dad's lifeless feet in the room. Off to her right she could see the somehow peaceful blue glow in the den, where her mother lay dying. Reaching up, she grabbed the hanging ball and pulled down the ladder to the attic. "I love you," she whispered again as she climbed up into the attic and cralwed over to a set of vents over the garage. Kicking hard, she popped them out and slid her pack of provisions onto the roof of the garage and took a couple claming breaths before squeezing through the very tight hole to the world outside.
Standing on her garage, Bitterwood was frighteningly quiet. She wished silently that Sally hadn't moved and then rebuked herself. If Sally had been here, she would be caught in this nightmare too. But then again at least she wouldn't be alone. Her eyes filled with tears, and she sank to her knees under the weight of the enormity of the situation. She looked back at the vents and then out to the city. The last time she had seen any "community gathering" locations broadcast, they had said to go to churches or schools.
The church was three miles to the east, her high school was only two miles north-west. She looked at the vents again. Home was so familiar, but she knew what waited for her inside. Bittertown High was familiar too, but she hated every day she spent there. The other kids had never accepted her, none of them - except Sally. The church might be safe, but her family wasn't the god-fearing, bible-reading, church-going folk that would likely be assembling there. Who knew if they would accept her. No one else seemed too...
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