Homebound

The shrill tone of the alarm abruptly woke Mike from yet another nice dream. The memory slipped from his mind quickly, but he was able to lay in bed for a moment and bask in what was probably some of the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks. After a few minutes, he sighed and slid out of bed, careful not to wake his wife, Michelle. School was out for the day, so she was able to sleep in for once. The principal had been riding her hard lately about grades, among other things, and Mike wanted her to enjoy this moment of peace. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to get ready for work today as there was a seminar he didn’t want to go to, but nonetheless, he had himself a shower and made a nice quick breakfast of fried eggs, toast and coffee. As he finished his meal, young Willow and Max both pushed into the kitchen. “Morning.” Mike said as the groggy young ones prepared themselves their respective bowls of cereal.
“Hi, Dad.” Willow muttered. He could barely see her face through her disheveled, pink-striped hair. It was very early for them, but they were used to having to get up for school. “Going to work?” She asked.
“Yeah. Sadly I’m not off like you guys.”
“That sucks.” Max said as he tipped the box of crisp rice into his bowl.
“Max, you’re what, seven? Little early for that kinda language from you.” Mike said, sternly.
“Sowwy, Daddy.” Max put the cereal down and walked over to his father, hugging him tight. Mike loved how loving Max was. It was a nice contrast to the pre-teenage angst he’d been dealing with lately from Willow. He still loved them equally. He hugged Max back and then took a sip of his coffee as he walked back to his chair and poured a small amount of milk into his bowl. It came to life with a series of snaps and pops. It was Max’s favorite part of breakfast. He dove in with his spoon. Willow was already halfway finished with her own cereal. “So when do you get off?”
Mike put his mug down, “Later on tonight. It’s probably gonna be a long day, so don’t expect me home until about dinner time.” Willow sighed, took her last few bites of cereal, and then dropped her spoon into the bowl. “That does suck.”
“C’mon…!” Mike exclaimed. “Where do you kids pick up this language anyway?”
“It’s 2015, Dad. Need I say more?” Mike chuckled a little to himself. She was 12, but she was also right. With the Internet at their fingertips and what felt like a lax in general morality (or perhaps uptightness), kids these days were saying the craziest things imaginable. Luckily, his were still respectful and didn’t give in to the allure of childhood profanity.
“Fair enough. Just watch it around Mom, got it?” Willow parted her hair and smiled. “Alright, kids, I gotta get going. I’ll see you later, okay?”
They both moved in to give Mike a big hug. “Love you, Dad.” They both said.
“Love you, too. You be good, okay?” They nodded and went to the living room. Willow grabbed the remote and turned on the television. For some reason the programming was off. The screen solid blue. “Hey, Dad, I think there’s something wrong with the TV.” Mike stopped just short of the door and turned to see what they were talking about.
“Hmmm…well, I don’t have time to play around with it. Maybe there’s a loose connection or something. Either way, you can play on your tablets, too. There’s options.”
“Okay, Daddy. Have a good day!” Max waved as Mike walked out the door.

The streets seemed relatively empty as Mike walked to the car. Normally, there was a fair amount of traffic on the road, but today it was as if everyone but he was taking a break from getting out. “Lucky bastards.” He muttered. The dash chimed as he stuck the key into the ignition then closed the car door. He quickly pulled out onto the road and switched on the radio to keep him company during his relatively long drive to work. As he pulled out of the neighborhood, he saw a small group of people, three by his count, running down the road in the opposite direction. A man was walking behind them, though he seemed a bit off center, as if he were limping. Odd he thought to himself, but nonetheless continued on towards work. Surely traffic was going to pick up and he wanted to beat it.
It didn’t.
It felt as if it were earlier than it had been. There were no cars on the road, though there looked to be an abundance of vehicles that had run off into the dirt and ditches, which was strange as there had been neither rain nor snow for weeks. Mike chalked it up to shitty drivers he would no further concern himself with. In this part of Tennessee, it wasn’t anything uncommon to see a few cars here and there on the side of the road, but today seemed as though that concept was being taken to the extreme. Maybe there’d been a party he missed out on. Oh well. There was still plenty of time until he made it to work, traffic or not, so Mike switched on the radio. Immediately, his ear drums were assaulted by the saccharine sweet tune of a bubblegum pop song on the last station he’d left it on. It sounded as if it were almost done, so he attempted to tolerate the noise. Several seconds in, he changed his mind and began flipping stations. There had to be something better on at the moment without having to suffer through a reminder of the 80’s. A horrible reminder of the 80’s. Most of the stations were static. Few had some tunes playing, mostly country or gospel. He stopped on a talk radio station. It sounded like an interesting debate on the concept of the afterlife. One debater spoke almost like a minister in favor of belief that there was something after death. Both sounded their opinions with flair.
There were no other cars in the parking lot as Mike pulled in. He checked his watch. He was surprisingly forty-five minutes early. “Well, hell, where is everybody?” He was used to being able to at least enter the building before his shift began, but today, with nobody there and himself lacking the proper key, he was stuck waiting in his car until someone else showed up. Mike sighed and turned up the radio. He tilted the seat back a little and decided to close his eyes for a little while. He was still tired from waking up and leaving early. He was a workhorse in his office and it was catching up with him. With his eyes shut, he fixated on the radio program still playing. He hung his arm out the window of the car. There was a gentle breeze blowing that caught the hairs of his arm just right. It was almost hypnotic.

As Mike tuned the world out and the breeze blew, he drifted further and further away. The grass behind his car rustled. He ignored it for what it is, weeds blowing in the wind. Suddenly he felt something grab his hand. Try as he might, he couldn't pull it back. Before being able to turn and see what was going on, he felt a sharp pain on his forearm, followed by an intense burning sensation. He yanked his arm back as hard as he could, releasing it from the grasp of whatever it was holding him. His heart skipped a beat then raced when he looked and saw the blood rushing from the wound, the bite wound, burning on his arm. He kicked the door open, knocking it into something, whatever it was, just outside.
Before he tried to get out, Mike reached over with his still good arm to search for a weapon on the floorboard of the car. He almost immediately gripped something dense and long. The tire iron from the week prior when he had to change a flat. He kicked the door one more time with a hefty grunt. This time it swung all the way open. He jumped from the car to see a body laying on the ground. Upon closer inspection, he could see the body was a male. It was a person. A person who’d bitten him. There was a gnarly gash on his forehead with a slight pool of dark red blood forming on the asphalt below. There were still no other cars in the parking lot. Mike clutched the tire iron tighter as he examined the body. It was covered in dirt, as if it had been perhaps buried. The bite throbbed more and more on his forearm. He held the wounded arm close to his chest, partially to slow the bleeding. The body lay still on the asphalt. Its mouth agape, blood coating the teeth and lips. It looked as if it’d been in the ground for quite some time. Like…a corpse. What the hell was going on?
Mike looked up toward the building he’d been waiting to enter. There were still no cars, no traffic. Something was wrong. He ran through the parking lot up to the double doors. They were locked, as expected. He looked around. There was not a soul in sight. He cocked back and swung the tire iron at the glass as hard as he could. It bounced right off, nearly ricocheting at his own head. At that moment he cursed his company’s dedication to employee safety and security. He needed a phone as quickly as possible. His arm throbbed. He decided to try to find another way in. There were doors around the side that sometimes other employees would sneak out of to smoke pot and drink. Perhaps they’d left one open over the weekend on accident. He ran around the building trying door after door. They were all locked tight. Suddenly, as he was rounding the corner of the building for the final time, a bit of movement in the distance caught his eye. It seemed to be a woman. A shambling woman. She was far away, but Mike could tell something wasn’t right about the way she was moving. Then there was more movement. This time, closer. He looked up to see several more people, corpses, shambling and crawling toward him. One was even close to the building he’d just circled. What was once a young man was now a shell of his former self. Near-aimlessly lurching forward, as if guided by loose strings. His clothes torn and tattered. The walking corpse moaned and shambled further, closer. Mike froze in place. These creatures had come seemingly from nowhere. His arm throbbed. This shifted his mood from fear to anger. As his arm burned, so did his anger. He was pissed. He gripped the tire iron harder and rushed the shambling zed. The dense metal crashed into its skull with a loud CRACK as he swung as hard as he could. The monster fell to the ground, twitching and writhing. Blood gushed from its now sunken in skull. It would never get up again. Mike looked over to his car. The door was still open, the zombie that had originally bitten him still lay on the ground, unmoving. Several walking cadavers had begun to struggle their way out of the bushes nearby. He knew he’d have to fight his way through to get back to his car. He looked down at the zed near his feet then at his arm. He was ready to kill.

The roads were still clear as Mike pulled out of the parking lot. He’d been bitten one more time when a zed ambushed him from behind, but besides that, they were all dead. The tire iron, coated with blood and gore, sat next to him in the passenger seat. His body burned and his head throbbed, but he fought through the pain. He wanted to get home and see his family. They were all that mattered. Screw the job site. Screw the pain. Most of all, screw these fucking zombies. As Mike sped down the highway, he began to get lightheaded. The throbbing worsened with each mile. His body began to go numb. He was bleeding pretty bad, becoming more and more pale with each passing second. He had to make it home, there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. He had to make it home. It became harder and harder to keep his eyes open. With each blink it felt as though another weight was added to his eyelids. Unfortunately, those weights became too much for him. As the car blazed down the asphalt, Mike lurched forward and passed out onto the steering wheel.

Mike woke to the smell of fire and earth. He’d been ejected from the vehicle as it careened off the road, through the ditch, and into a nearby clutch of trees. It burned in an inferno not far from him, but he did not feel the heat. He was numb, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. At least there was that. He groaned as he tried to pull himself up from the ground. He felt so much different. Not a good different, but in a way that scared him. It was hard to control his motor functions. He jerked and pulled himself to his feet and then forced himself to try to walk. He was still near the highway, not too far from the turn off home. Perhaps he could make it by foot. Foot. He looked down. His ankle was turned around almost completely, but he didn’t feel a thing. Part of him wanted to try to twist it the right way, but the rest of him didn’t care. He was beginning to feel…hungry. In a way he never had before. More importantly, he needed to make it home. He began to walk. No, shuffle. His foot was still twisted around, but he was able to walk. This didn’t feel right, though nothing felt in the classic sense. His worry only grew. He pushed through the weeds and trees as he could, ankle be damned. He was going to make it home no matter what.

As he cut through the foliage, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. The hunger was taking over him, along with an unusual buzz-like feeling. The numbness still resonated within him, though he was beginning to feel the burning sensation again, this time centered in his gut. He wanted to think about food. He wanted to think about burgers, sandwiches, a bowl of cereal. He wanted…flesh. Raw flesh. Human flesh. He shook his head violently. “No!” he hoarsely screamed to himself. What the hell was wrong with him? Where had that thought come from? He leaned against a tree and looked down at his wounded arm. It was already beginning to fester. Blackened veins streaked and twisted around the teeth marks. Dried blood crusted and caked. He was finding it harder and harder to focus. Mike shook his head again. He had to focus on the task at hand: making it home. He clawed his way out of the wooded thick to find his shortcut off the beaten path had brought him closer to his destination than he’d thought. He was closer to home. His worry was partially relieved. At least until he realized he wasn’t alone. Up the road, there were more shamblers and crawlers making their way, albeit slowly, into the neighborhood. He immediately began to push harder. His twisted foot would not slow him down. This hunger would not keep him away from his family. He was going to make it home and they weren’t going to stop him. He lurched forward with great resolve until he came to the road. Just as he stepped onto the pavement, a van blew by, nearly clipping him. He didn’t budge. He strangely didn’t care. He had always brought his kids up to look both ways, to be cautious, but now none of that mattered. He would make it home at any cost.
When he finally crossed the road, he could see more into the neighborhood. Since the time he’d left, chaos had broken out. He could see some homes boarded up, though haphazardly. He continued walking. Through the windows of one house, he could see zeds had broken in. In the front door, a female body lie still as a small clutch of the undead feasted on her entrails. Mike shuddered then fell to his knees, though he barely felt it. Is this what he was to become? Was there no choice in the matter? No. He wouldn’t allow his thinking to be clouded with these issues. He was going to make it home no matter what. He was so close. He could almost hear his children’s voices again. He imagined embracing them at least one more time before…before…no. It wasn’t going to end like that. He forced himself back up, clutching his ragged arm. He was going to make it, come Hell or high water. Again, he pressed forward. He was only a few streets away from home, judging by the houses around him. He couldn’t bring himself to focus on the street signs as he’d prefer, but he knew his surroundings just as well. Slowly, but surely, he was getting closer.
Just as he was crossing over to the next block, shots rang out in the distance. Up the road, he could barely make out a small group of residents who appeared to be fighting back. Fighting back. It was as if there were some sort of invasion going on and they were the last of the survivors. No, his family had to be around. They were home and he just needed to make it there. But now, he had to find another way. Between him and his destination was this group of fighters. This group of people killing the things he was becoming. He hated the sound of that: what he was becoming. But could he blame them? They were only doing what they knew best to take care of the ones they loved. He was doing no different. He wanted to be home, to be with his family. He ducked down a more quiet side street. If he was lucky, he’d be able to cut between his neighbor’s houses and get home quicker. Either way, he’d have to watch out for those with weapons. Those who would do harm to him. He found it increasingly hard to think straight. He wanted to find the quickest way home, but the sounds of the rifles and shotguns firing made him think about the dead. He wondered how many there were. How fresh they were. He began to salivate. He wanted to move, but he was stuck in the mindset. He thought about rending the flesh from their bones. It disgusted him, but he found himself more and more drawn into the thought of tasting of their life force. He tried to shake the thought from his mind, he was so close to home, but it stuck like glue. Harder and harder the thoughts crept into his head and harder and harder he found it to concentrate on making his way home. He was so close. It was then he realized on that side road he stood. He’d been in his own head for a while now, stopped in his tracks. He wanted to continue his trekking. So close. More shots rang out. He found himself drawn to the noise like a moth to a candle. He turned around and began heading back the way he came. Back to the chaos.
Things were becoming hazier by the moment, but he could still make out shapes and voices. Blurry images. It was the noise. The noise that attracted him. CRACK! Another shot rang. He stumbled faster toward it. As he came around the corner, he could barely make out what was left of the group he’d seen before. Two faster moving spots headed in his direction. Behind them, several other smears of red and white. Blood and pasty skin. Ambling, but moving, nonetheless. The two spots drew closer and he was able to focus better on them. They carried guns. One, a rifle. The other, a shotgun. He moved quickly at them. He had no choice. He was drawn to the killing grounds. The two turned to unleash more shots on the crowd behind them: CRACK-CRACK! A smear dropped. Another lurched back and then continued after them. They drew even closer. Their backs were turned, focusing on taking out the large amount of zeds that were following them. Mike moved quietly. Though he dragged his foot behind him, it was muffled by the noises of the monsters chasing the few living. He blinked and the two were almost upon him. He tensed up. It was time. He pounced just as one turned to see him. He landed on the back of the other. He could smell the sweat, the fear. It was a male. The woman who had been traveling with let out an ear piercing scream as Mike dove into her companion. He tore at his neck, ripping flesh, spraying blood. He went down immediately, gurgling and choking on his on life fluid. The woman scrambled with her rifle and took aim. Mike didn’t care the gun was trained on his head, he only felt the hunger. He tasted the flesh and felt the satiation coming over him. CLICK. Either the rifle jammed or it was empty. She threw it down and continued running. There was no chance to grab her mate’s shotgun with the marching dead at her heels. She screamed as she ran down the street, away from the carnage. Some of the shamblers stopped and began to feast with Mike. The rest continued with the chase.
Internally, Mike couldn’t believe himself or what he was doing. He couldn’t believe he’d taken a life, and for that matter was gorging himself on it. But he couldn’t stop. It tasted so good. He tried to tear himself away from the gruesome display, but found himself wanting more and more. Until he heard it. The song of another firearm. It was coming from the other side of the block. His family. He stopped chewing and looked down at the gore beneath him. He tasted the blood. The flesh fell from his lips. He didn’t have time to pity the horror, he had to get to his family. He slowly stood up and began hobbling back around the corner as he’d tried before. This time, he succeeded. He rounded the other corner of the road to see a small clutch of zeds ambling and shambling down the street towards the other side of the block. CRACK! A zombie fell. He hobbled further down the road. He knew he was getting closer to home. CRACK! The shot knocked another off its feet. He could just barely make out his house. He stood for a moment and looked it over. It was still pristine, though he could not see through the windows. They looked to have been boarded up. He wasn’t sure. He was beginning to get hungry again. He shook the thought from his head as much as he could, but it still lingered in the back of his mind. Lingered like a festering boil. Itching and burning uncontrollably. He took a few steps forward and then suddenly found himself on his back. His body was still numb, but he could just barely feel the sharp, niggling pain in his shoulder. He tried to get up, but found it difficult to move. “Oh my god!” He heard shout from above. As he rolled over, blood and sinew simultaneously dripped from and clung to his shirt. He had been shot. By the time he’d made it to his knees, he could hear the sound of two familiar voices. “DADDY!!” They yelled at the same time. It was Max and Willow. Even in his current state, he couldn’t help but recognize his young and they, him. Inside, something stirred. He rose to his feet as they ran towards him and then stopped in their tracks, horrified.
“Daddy, what’s wrong with you?” Max asked. His curiosity had always gotten the better of him. Willow slowly backed away just as Michelle came running out the door gripping a rifle. “KIDS!! NOOOO!!” She yelled as she ran across the lawn. Nearby, a couple of zeds caught wind of the commotion and began to amble towards his children. Mike wanted to speak, to warn them, but his throat was now dry and somewhat swollen. It was a wonder he was able to swallow at all. Instead, he lunged. Just before the first zombie fell upon Max, he tackled it to the ground and began pulverizing its head with his fists. He felt an anger well up inside of him that he’d never felt before. Nothing would hurt his children, no matter what state he was in. He pulled himself up from the bloodied, twitching corpse beneath him. CRACK! Michelle put a bullet through the zombie closest to Willow, who was cowering in fear, her back nearly pressed against the fence next to the house. The zed lurched to the side and let out a dry howl. Mike grabbed it from behind, his hands holding the creature’s mouth agape and pulled with every ounce of strength he had left in him. With a spray of blood and gore, the zed fell to the ground, its tongue hanging out, wagging around. Mike looked at the bloody upper mandible and skull and then threw it to the ground. CRACK! Another shot rang out. The rest of the zombies had already made a beeline to the other side of the neighborhood, chasing the screaming woman. The final zombie in the area fell to the ground, blood streaming from the gaping wound in its forehead. Next, Michelle trained the rifle on Mike. “MOMMY, NOOO!!!” The kids screamed together. Little Max ran forth and hugged on his dirty, bloody, broken father. Willow rushed forward and did the same. Mike, in his decrepit state, put his hands on their backs and moaned. Michelle lowered the rifle and began to cry. She feared for her children’s lives, but deep down, she knew he would never hurt them. Mike dropped to his knees and used ever ounce of strength and self control to hug his children, if only one last time. A single tear streamed from his now graying face. He’d made it home.