I try to raise my gun but my arms refuse. All I can do is just stand. Stand and watch as they spill through the door. My son stands at the top of the stairs, firing his gun. Once, twice, then a hand grabs his ankle. He never stops firing even as they pull him under the weight of their bodies.
He never screams and dies when he places the final round in his mouth.
A car horn blares outside, please let that be her. If there is any hope left in this world, please keep her safe. The horn goes off three more times; just like we practiced and then the tires squeal peeling away from the fallen safe house.
A cold, tired breath escapes my lungs as the house quiets down to sounds of the dead feasting on my son.
“Honey, come on, we have to leave.”
No, no, no. She should be in the car far from here.
“I couldn’t leave you behind,” she hisses as she sneaks into the foyer from the kitchen, “Kiara took off with the kids, so come on.”
Strength returns to my legs and I take my first step.
Then my second and third.
Why did she comeback? Why for someone as lost as me? She is the best wife that I could have ever asked for.
She screams as I drop my gun in my sprint towards her.
I didn’t want this, it shouldn’t have been her…but I’m so hungry.
She dies with my already forgotten name on her lips as I rip out her throat.
