Careless Observations
Careless Observations
Outbreak. Still a word I can’t quite get over hearing. That is, when and if we do hear anything on the radio. I can’t believe this is happening.
I’m sitting out on my roof watching the night world unfold around me. Everywhere I can see walkers. But that can’t be.
They’re supposed to be dead.
Wait, what’s this?
God dammit. Fucking Fowler from across the street. T hat’s what. I can’t believe him! Why has he got his living room light on? Even I can see clearly through that big, welcoming living room movie screen. If he’s not careful he and his family are gonna be dead. For God’s sake he’s got a 6 year old!
Oh. My. God.
I see it but it’s not registering fast enough. The walkers. They’re flocking towards the light. Like moths. Fowler doesn’t know what he’s just done.
The news reports told us to stay inside. To barricade our doors and windows. To move to the highest level of our house and take whatever supplies we could. The government would handle it. Well, it’s been a week and still no government.
My head snaps back to reality.
I’m watching with silent, horrified fascination as the walkers converge on Fowler’s home. No, not converging. They’re swarming. It’s like their moans attract more and more of them. It’s disturbing.
The moaning won’t stop. IT WON’T FUCKING STOP!
They’ve broken the door. I can hear the screaming now. You ever realize how, in absolute terror, everyone’s screams sound alike. I can’t tell if it’s Fowler, his wife, or his kid.
Oh God. I can see through his window. It’s his kid. He’s running. He trips. That walker looks a lot like the principal at the nearby high school. I can see Fowler’s kid, Tommy I think his name is.
Jesus Christ he’s ripping Tommy’s head off with his TEETH.
I’ve never seen so much blood. And I’ve never seen it spurt so far. It’s splattering all over the window, but I can still see little Tommy struggling. The walker lifts him up and slams him onto the window, shattering it. I can see the limp, 6 year old form flop out onto the grass. It’s beset on all sides by shambling forms.
They never stood a chance. THEY NEVER STOOD A CHANCE!
And, oh God help me, I can hear the tearing noises from all the way here.
copyright2009 by Marvin Catarata
