by Jimmy Bird
He reached down and picked up his dad’s shovel. Letting his anger flow, he repeatedly hit the zombie’s head with the back part of the shovel. He didn't stop until he had successfully bashed in the back of the zombies' head. Once the zombie's head was smashed in he stabbed downward with the pointed blade part, disconnecting the head from the body at the neck.
Cleo admitted that he couldn't remember how many times he swung the shovel down, but stated that it was enough that the head was separated from the body. As I stated before, Cleo's not a serious type of person, but he was so caught up in the moment that as soon as the head cleared the body he began stabbing the head with the shovel, over and over. He struck it with enough force that he got close to cutting the smashed in head into two pieces. He shamefully admitted that his anger got the best of him.
His rage continued to fuel him as he turned around and prepared himself for the zombies that were coming toward him from the house. He made some smart remark that "they must have thought that he had forgotten about them" as he swung the shovel as hard as he could toward the closest zombie's head.
With his adrenaline pumping he easily made quick work of the zombies. When he was done, he stood over the zombies panting while leaning heavily on the shovel. Cleo didn't realize how much strength it actually took to repeatedly swing a shovel. His arms felt like weights.
His body started to shake uncontrollably as his bloodlust and anger slowly dwindled from his eyes. He head was spinning as he slowly regained control of his consciousness. He blinked in confusion. Where was he?
He began looking at the carnage around him. Who could have done all of this? He realized that he was leaning on something. He looked down at his hands. It was his dad's shovel, the blade was covered in blood and other disgusting stuff.
Disturbing first person point of views of images began appearing before him. Cleo compared it to watching a horror slasher film, where you were the killer. His eyes watered as he blinked a few times hoping that it was all some sort of nightmare.
The sequences of what happened to him slowly came back to him. He replayed the disturbing memory in his head, hoping for some kind of clue that would make sense. Why couldn't he remember any of it? Cleo realized that he must have blacked out or something. The last thing he remembered was seeing a zombie chewing on his dad's head.
Pops! How could he have forgotten about his dad? His eyes surveyed the bodies until they found his dad. It all felt surreal. His fading feeling of rage made way to tears. He dropped the shovel and stepped over the other bodies in order to get to his father's body. Once he made it, he dropped to his knees.
He wanted to reach out and touch his father, but noticed that something was off. He began to see small movements. The movements were so small that if he wasn't that close he would have missed them. His sadness gave way to hope as he saw the body of his father begin to twitch.
His hope began to rise even further as he witnessed his father begin to push himself up onto all fours. He was so overcome with joy from what he was seeing that without thinking he reached down and touched his father’s back. Cleo had planned on helping his father to his feet, but his excitement crumbled away just as quickly as it began, within seconds.
Cleo watched in horror as his dad slowly got to his feet. After Pops successfully got to his feet, he lifted his head up and looked directly ahead of himself. It was as if he was looking at some detail on the house facade. Without even looking in Cleo's direction, he reached down and grabbed his son’s extended arm. Just from the grip, Cleo could feel that something was wrong. That feeling was verified when Pops turned his head and tried to pull Cleo's arm towards his mouth.
Cleo reacted with lightening speed as he pulled his arm back. Unfortunately, Pops had a naturally strong grip or should I say an unnatural grip (most likely enhanced from his old military days). Something inside Cleo told him that he needed to escape. He quickly stood up and yanked his arm back as hard as he could. He wasn't sure if it was his fear or something else, but it worked, well mostly. He pulled back so hard that when his arm came free of his dad's grip that he fell backwards.
Cleo thanked his body for having the strength to pull away because the creature he saw looking down at him wasn’t his father anymore. The thing looked like his father, but the man behind the eyes was gone. Cleo compared his dad's look to that of a desperate, hungry predator looking for its first meal in weeks.
Lucky for Cleo, Pops' legs were still not functioning properly. It took him an extra few seconds to turn his body around to face Cleo. When he finally managed to turn his body, he reached out once again to grab his son. Cleo scooted backwards out of his dad’s reach. Actually, he kept scooting backwards until he touched the shovel handle.
Cleo knew what he needed to do and slowly stood back up to face his father. He watched in horror as the thing worked hard to walk towards him. Cleo took a deep breath and silently said goodbye to his father. His eyes moistened. It was going to be the hardest thing that he ever had to do.
When his dad was within a few feet of him, he swung the shovel sideways as hard as he could. It connected with the left side of Pop's face with a crunching sound. Cleo tried to ignore the sound of bone crushing.
The hit wasn't enough to put Pops down, but it was enough to stagger him sideways. Cleo took full advantage of the situation by reverse swinging the shovel up as hard as he could towards his dad's head. The second hit connected with the lower jaw of pop's head. Just like the first hit, the second only caused him to stagger backwards.
When the second swing didn't put Pops down, Cleo began swinging the shovel wildly up and down. He fought to stay in control of his emotions as he repeatedly swung the shovel at the head of the man who was once his father. Eventually, Pop's body collapsed to the ground.
Cleo literally swung the shovel until he physically couldn’t swing it anymore. His emotions took control as his eyes became blinded by tears. He was drained, both mentally and physically, causing him to collapse onto the porch next to his father's body. He sat there just staring at his father's body, hoping that it had all been some kind of nightmare that he would wake up from.
Cleo wasn't sure how long he sat there in his daze, but knew that it couldn't have been too long or at least he hoped that it hadn't. All he knew was that he was too exhausted to move. It was hard enough just turning his head to look over at dad. He wanted to reach over and hug his father, to comfort the soul of the man that had once been his father, but he didn't dare to move. He was too afraid that something bad would happen.
He continued to sit there staring at his father's body, unsure of what to do until a nagging feeling came over him. He looked around the yard, looking for the source of his uneasiness, but he didn't notice anything. He looked back over at his father's body, but still couldn't shake the feeling that something had to be done. It was as if he had somehow forgotten something, something that he needed to do.
He sat there trying to figure it out. The thought was on the tip of his brain, but it just kept escaping. That was until he heard what sounded like a child scream from a few blocks away. Then it was as if reality had just slapped him hard. He looked towards the front door and remembered that there were kids still hiding in his dad's house.
The thought of his dad caused him to take one final time glance over at his dad’s mutilated head. Cleo lowered his head in prayer as he silently told his father/best friend goodbye once again. When he was done, he forced himself to slowly stand up on unsteady legs. Lucky for him, he had the shovel for support.
It was as if he was in a physical therapy session trying to learn how to walk again. He had to use the door-frame to help hold himself up as he told himself to put one foot in front of the other. He had to use objects inside the house to help with his balance such as chairs, end tables, and even the shovel. He moved toward the familiar room at the end of the hall and stopped. He realized that with each step it was getting easier and easier to walk. His confidence had returned with each step he took.
He knew that his dad died trying to protect those kids and vowed to do the same. Cleo looked back towards the front door to make sure that no zombies had followed him inside. When he felt that it was safe to proceed, he reached out and knocked on the door. He tried to speak in a calm manor as he told the kids who he was and that he was there to help. He didn’t receive an answer, but could hear movement on the other-side of the door.
He looked down at the door knob and knew the answer to the question before he even ask. He figured that he would try it anyway just in case. He reached out and grabbed the knob. He tried to turn it and was reassured that it was locked. He told the kids to stand back from the door because he was going to have to kick it in. He took a step back and kicked as hard as he could. With a crack the door gave way causing a boy of about ten to fly backwards across the room.
Cleo was worried that he might have accidentally hurt the child and rushed forward to help the boy. Oddly enough, the boy was already trying to get up. As he raced over to the boy, he couldn't help, but think that it was odd that the boy wasn't making any kind of hurt noises. The closer he got to the boy, the more he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thought that it might have been his nerves and willed his feelings to pass.
It wasn't until he was kneeling next to the child that he realized why the boy wasn't crying. He could see that part of the boy's throat had been ripped out. Cleo scrambled backwards as fast as he could. He knew right away that there was no helping the boy. He was already a zombie.
Cleo jumped to his feet and immediately backed away. The boy was almost to his feet whenever a thought popped into his head. In the back of his mind, he could hear Pops tell him that there were three kids hiding in the room. So the question was where were the other two children?
With the question hanging in the air, he cautiously took his eyes off the boy and looked around the room. He noticed that two small frame bodies were laying on what initially looked like blood stained carpet behind the broken door next to the wall. They looked like they were covered in blood. No, it was blood!
Life wasn't fair! Pops had given his life to save these children and they ended up dead anyway! Cleo didn’t know what to think of the situation and was lost in thought until he remembered that the little boy had been close to standing up. The boy!
Cleo glanced back at the boy and figured that the children had already been attacked before they ran to his dad’s house looking for help. With all of the chaos going on, he figured that Pops was just trying to do what he thought was best to save them. While they had locked themselves in the bedroom, the boy must have turned to a zombie and attacked his siblings.
Cleo was deep in thought, but still managed to somehow keep an eye on the boy. Just as the boy started to make his way towards him, Cleo knew what he needed to do. His heart went out to the kids because he knew they would never know what it would be like to live a full life. He wanted to do something for them, but the only thing that he could do was make sure that they didn't return as zombies.
With his mind made up, he ignored the boy that was slowly making his way towards him and walked toward the siblings (a boy and girl) lying on the floor. He figured with the speed the boy was walking toward him, he had a few minutes to spare. Cleo figured that the siblings would return faster as zombies then the boy could reach him.
He stood over the girl's body with his dad's shovel ready to stab it downwards. He knew what he needed to do, but that didn't make it any easier. I mean these were innocent children. He was in the middle of an internal feud with himself whenever he remembered the boy. He slightly turned his head to see where the boy was. It was a good thing that he did because the boy was already reaching out toward him.
Cleo freaked out and instinctively swung the shovel at the boy. He hit the boy in the upper left side of his shoulder. He sent the boy flying sideways into the closest corner, where the dresser and the wall met. He fell face first to the ground with the dresser falling on top of his legs.
He didn’t want to take the chance of giving the little zombie time to get back up and rushed towards the boy. He stepped over to the boy's head and stabbed the shovel downward as hard as he could towards the neck. I guess the momentum of the shovel and the pressure from the blood caused the boy's head to come clean off. With blood squirting out in all directions, the head rolled underneath the bed.
Cleo knew from experience that time was running out to stop the other two kids from turning into little monsters themselves. With a new sense of purpose, he turned to face the other two children. He started towards them, but didn't get very far.
The other two children were already trying to get to their feet. He had been wrong about the time, it had already run out for them. He had failed to keep them from turning and knew that if he wanted to survive then he was going to have to put them down quickly. How? How was he going to do that without getting himself hurt in the process? He knew that he couldn’t afford to let both of them up so he raced towards the closest child. She had just made it to her feet and began turning around whenever he swung the shovel as hard as he could.
He told us that the whole event was pretty gruesome, but the image of the little girl turning towards him was something that would haunt him forever. She looked like she was around eight or nine years old. Her shirt and stomach looked like it had been ripped open by some kind of jungle predator, such as a lion or bear. When she was on her knees he stated that her stomach contents were touching the carpet and dripping with blood. By the time she had stood up her insides were now on the outside and still touching the floor.
Cleo claimed that he hit her so hard on the left side of her face that he could feel her skull fracture. She flew to her right a few feet into the bedroom wall before going down hard. He didn't even try to stop the shovel's momentum as he followed through with the swing, as if he had been swinging a baseball bat. The girl was a heap of body mass on the ground. He thought that he had killed her until her body started to twitch and move.
He forced himself to ignore the girl as he pulled the shovel back and got ready to swing for the boy (he looked to have been around six years old). The boy had just about gotten to his feet with his back to Cleo. Cleo thought that he had an easy kill and swung the shovel as hard as he could. Cleo's only mistake though was that he had misjudged the boy’s height before he had fully stood up. The shovel went flying over his head.
Cleo's momentum had caused him to spin around after missing the boy. Lucky for him, the boy didn’t know the shovel went flying over his head otherwise Cleo could have been a goner. The boy must have been focusing on his new self. Cleo silently thanked his dad for the assist as he regained his balance. He then pulled the shovel back and swung once again for the boy’s head.
All you heard was the cracking sound of the shovel meeting the back of the boy’s head. The boy went down face first into the wall before crumbling to the floor, it made a loud thump sound.
Cleo watched in horror as the boy's body began moving around. It wasn't big movements, but it was enough to freak him out. Cleo then glanced over at the little girl and noticed that her body was already moving around.
Cleo watched the boy and girl in odd fascination. He observed their behavior as he glanced from one to the other. They should have been dead or at the very least knocked. The girl's body kept twitching like it was in a looped seizure, while the boy's body appeared to go motionless. The girl's shoulders kept moving like she wanted to move her arms, but they just weren't moving. Her head moved slowly from side to side. Cleo looked back towards the boy, but couldn't tell if he was still alive or not. He wasn't curious enough to risk his life in order to find out.
He kept glancing back and forth from the boy to the girl. He was undecided about what he should do until he heard a noise come from down the hall. The sound of dragging feet brought him back to reality. He looked down the hall nervously, worried that the noise might have attracted more zombies. Terrified that he might have trapped hi
mself, he was afraid to breath or move. His fear went away when he realized that the noise was actually coming from the front door. Curious on what it could be, he jumped up and rushed out of the bedroom toward the front door.
He stopped halfway down the hallway when he remembered that he had forgotten to shut the door when he came inside. He heard another sound and froze in place. What he heard wasn’t exactly words, but sounded more like moaning. Fear gripped him as he turned around and rushed back towards the bedroom.
Once he was in the room he remembered that he had kicked in the door. It wasn't totally off the hinges, but it would never close all the way again. It took a little effort, but he managed to shut the door. He closed it just enough to give him an edge, a away that he could see down the hall without being seen.
Cleo dared not move, breathe, or anything that would draw attention his way. His heart started pounding faster and faster as the noise got closer to the bedroom. He feared that his heart was pounding loud enough to be heard by whoever was coming toward him. Luckily, that wasn't the case.
He almost fell over in relief when the left side of his fiance came into view. He took a step backwards from the door so he could open it and call out to the love of his life. But something stopped him. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, but he a nagging feeling in his gut. It was telling him that something was wrong with her.
Trusting his gut, he took a step back toward his hiding place and looked through the gap once more. He watched patiently as he took in every detail that he could until he noticed it. It wasn't visible at first, but the longer he watched her, the more he could see that she was favoring her right foot. It looked like her foot was slightly twisted. The crazy part was that she didn't even seem to care or notice as she slightly hobbled around the house.
