Afterlife (Book 1): Home Again

by Lonergan, Cai

  There's a leather tool belt hanging from the wall in front of me. With a sheath for a knife. I lift the belt off the peg it’s hanging from and hold it in my left hand.

  Coughing and waving my bat in front of me, I walk toward the door to the living room. The heat pouring into the garage is overwhelming.

  The roof over the study must have caved in, and there are two monsters cutting their arms to ribbons while attempting to pull themselves inside the house via the shattered living room windows. Beside the pair, near to the study is a giant hole where the collapsing roof pulled down the wall.

  Piles of burning lumber block the study entirely and the heat is so intense that I can barely stand to look into the living room. The heat is preventing me from getting to the front door, and even if I could leave I would be running naked back into zombie land. A loud snapping draws my attention to the hole in my wall, where a human torch is entering my house.

  I can't tell if it used to be a neighbor of mine; the entire top half of its body is aflame. The skin is melting and cracking off the muscles and bones underneath. As it steps inside, my living room ceiling blackens. It is stumbling over the burning lumber very slowly.

  The zombies clutching at shards of glass finally seem to notice the hole three feet to their left and immediately pull back their arms. The burning monster falls inside the entryway and is blocking the other two, trying to climb over each other and into the living room. I have to go now.

  I cinch the utility belt around my waist.

  "aaaAAAHHH!" I scream and jump diagonally out of the garage into the living room, clutching my bat and tool belt.

  The closest edge of the burning collapse is easily 5 feet away, but I feel like I am running through a solid sheet of flame. I throw my towel at the monsters crawling into my home and then dash up the stairs several steps at a time. I start to choke at the top of the stairs.

  Of course: smoke rises. I whip open the bathroom door and pull open the cabinet under the sink but don’t see the first aid kit. My parents would have taken it. Sure.

  I pull the brochure out of my shorts, lying on the floor, and then inspect the remaining contents of the cabinet. There are several bandages and a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I twist off the cap and pour the disinfectant over my shoulder.

  I am used to the sting of hydrogen peroxide and am not expecting the overwhelming pain that drives deeply into the several unclosed teeth marks left on my shoulder. My vision tunnels and my head begins to ache, but now I can hear footsteps on the stairs and my blood runs cold.

  I scream again and lurch out of the bathroom, bumping into the bannister opposite the bathroom door.

  A fairly normal-looking person with dead eyes and feet burned black is standing a few steps down. He reaches toward me and falls face-first into the hallway.

  "GetoutgetOOUUTTT!" I shriek, jerking backwards.

  I run back into my room and lock the door, then look around the room. My bed. The door begins bumping and rattling. My bedroom door opens inward, so the monsters are working with the hinges instead of against them.

  I pull the foot and push the corners of my bed so that it barricades my bedroom door. I toss the bat on the bed. I use an old workout shirt to wipe some of the soot off of myself and find that a large part of my hair has been burnt off over my left shoulder, from my shoulder blades almost up to my ear from when I jumped into the living room. The fine hair on my left arm is crinkled black and falls off after a light brushing.

  The door is still rattling, so I pull out clothes at random from my drawers and get dressed. It feels like sacrilege as I catch quick glances of mismatching colors in the mirror, but style has dropped a few notches on my list of priorities and I don't feel an overwhelming urge to struggle with my wardrobe. Panties, jean shorts...no, jeans, safer, pink bra, long-sleeved T, pullover hoodie.

  I throw the clothes I’m not going to wear in a pile on my bed. I look around for anything else I need to bring. I grab the box of tampons on my desk. I still have about a week left, but I have had enough of blood these days. I toss the box on the bed.

  Old hiking boots in my closet. I pull on a pair of athletic socks and the old boots, which are a little tight but seem safer than my tennis shoes.

  The door is being pounded on constantly now; there has to be more than one zombie outside my room. Much more unnerving is that my doorknob keeps rattling. They can’t use doorknobs, right? The top right corner of my door flaps stiffly with each new assault.

  There is a small crack near the top of my door; it’s been there as long as I can remember.

  I look for my suitcases, which are missing from my closet. Then I remember the state of my mom's room and realize where my luggage is. Sure. Make fun of me for spending money on brand-name suitcases and then take them when you want. Okay.

  I look through my closet for an alternative. Under layers of junk, I find a small My Little Pony backpack from middle school and flinch. The multicolored straps will not do wonders for my intimidation factor, but a backpack will probably be useful at some point. I toss it on the bed.

  I look around my room for anything else I can use.

  "Oh, a can opener! Our pantry!" So much food. Mistakes.

  The sound of splintering wood distracts my recriminations and a large triangle of wood splits from the top of my door and falls onto my bed. There are several flailing arms and bobbing heads through the gap, and since I can see them, they can see me. Smoke is pouring into my room and spreading out over my ceiling.

  The activity outside my room approaches a frenzy; some zombies pull at the jagged door while others push. I can hear the choking gasps of the undead.

  I have to leave. I don't have a suitcase. I have to go now. I try picking up my clothes in a pile and feel ridiculous. There's no way I can get back to my car and get on the road like this. The road. A bindle. My sheets.

  I grab the corner closest to me and flip it over my clothes. The smoke is choking me as I pull the bat from under the pile and it falls on the floor. I grab the opposite corner and tie them together clumsily. Knots, I don't know knots.

  A horrible crack from the door and now most of the middle section of the door is missing lengthwise. Smoke takes over my room and I cough violently. I have a few seconds left to get out of here before I pass out from smoke inhalation.

  I pull the bedsheet close to me so that none of the bastards can grab it and tie the other two corners together. This makes my clothes slightly more wieldy and I dump them next to the window. I pull the window up and look down. The roof I was planning on stepping out onto isn't there. It's gone.

  CHAPTER 5

  I waste precious seconds staring at my missing escape route, breathing fresher air. I am not planning as well as I think I am. Okay, no roof, there's no roof. I can...jump. I look down. There’s no way the ground can be as far away as it looks.

  No roof, and an insane horde of dead-ish ghouls outside my room. CRASH!

  My bedroom door crashes inward and is now a slab of wood propped up like a ramp against my bed. Zombies clamber over each other, tangled in each other’s limbs as they try to climb the door into my bedroom.

  I gag on the thick cloud of black smoke rushing around me out of the window.

  There’s no way the ground can be as far away as it looks.

  I lift and shove my clothes through the window, then throw out the baseball bat. I breathe in fresh air from outside, turn around and tie my bedsheet to the bedpost. I throw the rest of the sheet out the window.

  I look down at the ground and feel sick. My improvised rope ladder doesn’t look very secure.

  One zombie crawls over the tangle of burnt limbs and falls onto my bed.

  Time’s up. I climb out my window backwards and scrape my shins as I try to reorient myself.

  The first monster pokes his head out of my window and looks straight forward for a few seconds before noticing me a couple of feet underneath him. He leans down to grab me when I begin to fall. I scream and gr
ip the bedsheet even though I know the sheet is falling with me. Knots.

  I land hard on my feet and tumble around. My right ankle is crying out in pain and is heating up, but I feel okay otherwise. The ground is lumpy and soft. I fell on my clothes.

  I stand up, coughing as I try to catch my breath.

  I look up to my window and see smoke, but no zombies. I can guess why.

  I look at my pile of clothes briefly, then pick up the knotted ends of the sheet. I thread the thin end of my bat through the holes in my bedsheet and spin the entire bat around once. I crouch down and breathe deeply, trying to clean out my lungs.

  A zombie, covered entirely in soot, steps out of the burning hole in the side of my house. Patches of its skin are on fire and all of its hair has burnt off. One of its eyes is melted and the other is darting around wildly.

  The front half of my house is ablaze. If I was standing where the zombie was, I'd be cooking. I can smell the zombie cooking.

  I inhale deeply through my mouth, place the bat over my left shoulder and stand up. The load is lighter than I was worried about. I turn around and painfully hobble toward my backyard.

  I check the other side of the house, but there is a tangible, scorching heat wave flowing into the backyard, so I turn back to the fence. I look between the fence boards and examine my other neighbor’s house.

  A harsh choking from behind me. I turn around to find my undead stalker approaching from around the corner. I turn back and look through the fence.

  Their backyard, at least, doesn't have anyone trying to eat me in it, which is more than I can say for this side of the fence.

  I heave my clothes over the fence, and then myself. I consider myself an active person, but I don't have much experience jumping over fences and my raw palms are bleeding again.

  I leave my clothes near the fence to inspect the house in front of me, looking and listening for any signs of trouble. The zombie in my backyard is making choking noises and gurgling, but that fence isn’t going anywhere.

  I move down the side of the house and keep my eyes on the street ahead.

  A zombie walks slowly down the street in front of me and I crouch down, frozen.

  Unnoticed, I slowly creep down the side of the house, trying to stay behind a flowering Bird of Paradise. Two more zombies pass by and I try to watch for a pattern to their patrols, but nothing about these monsters makes sense.

  I don't think I've seen the same one walk by twice in ten minutes. There don't seem to be any pairs or groups of zombies, either.

  Maybe if I start running between two of the infectious passersby and stick between houses I can make it out of the neighborhood. Thinking of running reminds me of my ankle, which is throbbing and feels stiff.

  I partially stifle a new coughing fit, which burns my throat. I have to do something soon. Either the smoke or the undead will get the better of me soon.

  I put weight on my sore ankle and look at the street in front of me. I could make it to my car if I really pushed myself.

  Orrr I could hide?

  I look up at the house beside me.

  I sneak back behind the house. I’m their only neighbor whose house is on fire, and we’re separated by two long backyards without any plants larger than weeds covering both lawns.

  The living room is in the back of their house, with curtains over its two sliding glass doors. There is a small space between the two curtains, and while I can see inside the house there are no signs of life. I look at the fence between our houses; no sign of the thing that was trailing me earlier.

  I turn back to the mauve house, determined. I’m getting into this place.

  The two side doors and one back door are all locked, but a small bathroom window is unlocked. I push up the window. Success!

  A series of loud cracks and crashes echo through the neighborhood and my house collapses violently, thundering downward. Thick black smoke shoots out in all direction and billows around me as what was left of my home is destroyed.

  CHAPTER 6

  I instinctively drop to the ground to avoid the worst of the blast, but I can’t see a thing.

  The smoke follows me down to the ground and even when I pull my shirt up over my mouth, I can't breathe. I see a pair of feet walking up my side of the house toward me. My breathing grows shallow and I relax. It’s fine, I just need to rest.

  No! No, stay awake. Stay awake! My vision dims and blurs. I hear myself cough before passing out. I’m floating.

  Then a cough shakes my whole body and I open my eyes, which are stinging terribly. Not watering, though. Dehydration; I'm girl jerky.

  I can’t make sense of the various shades of grey covering everything. My eyelids are sticking to my eyes when I blink.

  I hear footsteps and look behind me. I can see two thin columns of gray coming up from the ground. They’re spinning around each other.

  Not smoke...legs!

  Something is walking back toward me. The smoke must have been too thick for it to see me lying on the ground, but now that I'm hacking up a lung and moving, I’m far more interesting.

  I look up at the bathroom window and struggle to my feet. My bat and clothes are over near the fence. Burned?

  I throw my upper body into the window and try pulling myself indoors but am so weak from suffocation and dehydration that every movement takes concentrated effort and far too much time.

  A middle-aged man with a baseball bat steps into the doorway of the bathroom and we both stare at each other a moment.

  He looks terrified, and is shaking. "God...dam-" he mutters, and lifts the bat as he steps forward.

  "Whoa no, I'm not a - " I yell out, and then begin coughing. He pauses in his swing and looks confused. I continue to push and kick my way inside, despite my stinging palms and the strong desire to return to unconsciousness.

  "Hey, hey, stop. Stop it!" he says.

  "Don't hit me, don't hit me, there's a zombie there." I choke and wheeze out my message, a couple words at a time.

  I fall inwards to the ground as the thing pursuing me reaches the bathroom window. The man in the doorway stumbles back.

  I push myself to my feet, coughing, and slam the window down.

  “Zombie,” I explain, and nod my head at the monster behind the glass. “There’s a zombie.” The zombie looks through the glass and begins reaching forward into the glass and walls, making dull thumps.

  "Hey what are you doing?" asks the old man. "Did he get your ankle, did he get you?" He backs out of the bathroom, pulling the door behind him.

  I wave my hands in protest. I can’t speak. I stumble to the sink and try to drink water. I’m thirsty, but I can’t stop coughing long enough to drink much. My tongue isn’t useless now, at any rate.

  "No!” I shout as the door closes to my right. I pull the knob, but the old man must be holding it from the other side.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Peachy!” I answer, and cough. “Except...zombie, outside the window!”

  The grotesque thing outside chooses this moment to start bumping its head into the glass, which sounds as cheap as it looks.

  I move to sit under the window so the thing can’t stare directly at me. It pauses for a moment and then continues bumping into the glass above my head.

  "Don't come out here. It bit you, didn't it? Bit you in the leg?" the man calls from outside.

  "No, it didn't...bite me! But it will if you keep me in here!" I yell weakly, frustrated at the man. I cough again from the exertion.

  "So hide then! I'll think of some way to test you." he calls through the door.

  I look around. The bathroom is the size of my closet. There’s nothing I can use to cover the window. There’s a shower with a curtain, but the zombie will see me move and don’t want to draw any more attention to myself.

  I don’t know if it still knows I’m here. The zombie continues to push against the glass and bump his head.

  I continue my scrutiny of the bathroom to no effect. Ther
e are no towel racks or anything else I can use as a weapon.

  Another few bumps. The zombie isn’t leaving. “Let me in! Look at my legs. We're talking, right now, I'm not a zombie!"

  "They aren't zombies; that's foolish!" calls the man.

  I gawk at the bathroom door. “What? They're dead, they eat people. Open the door!"

  "Take off your pants!"

  "Uh, no!?" I shout back.

  "I'll look at your legs! If you aren't bit you can stay here!”

  "Are you-okay, fine!" I shout back.

  I crawl over to the door and stay crouched down like a sprinter. "Okay," I call out, "I’m ready, open the door."

  The man opens the door a crack. I leap forward and slam into the door, then shove my way out into the hallway while the man falls backward. I can hear the zombie attach the bathroom window with renewed energy as I back up into the hallway.

  The man struggles back up to his feet, holding the door for support.

  "Zombie! Close the door! Zombie!" I yell.

  He slams the door shut, staring at me. He is clearly outraged and is shaking the end of his bat toward my jeans.

  "You're wearing pants!" he shouts.

  "I do that a lot!" I snap.

  From behind the bathroom door, glass shatters.

  CHAPTER 7

  "Ah!" the man shouts and looks behind himself, then at the bathroom door, and then back at me.

  "Quick! Go hit him!' I hiss.

  "I'm not going in there." he whispers back forcefully.

  "He's climbing in the window right now! He'll be vulnerable!" I say, gesturing toward the door.

  The man curses, still shaking the bat down the hallway at me.

  "Stay down there.” he says.

  "Not. A problem." I snap.

  The man curses and opens the door. He gasps and falls back, then pushes the door closed again.

  "What are you doing?" I hiss.

  "It's Mary!" he says. "From next door!"

  "Is she a zombie?" I ask.

  "She's sick." he answers. I sigh, which turns into a hacking cough. I feel nauseous, but the bathroom is occupied. I look at the old man, who is covering his mouth with one hand and has turned away from the door.