Zombie Invasion

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  April entered her house in a disheveled state. Matty had been full of surprises. Her quick in and out turned to several hours. Twice she tried leaving and succumbed to more money and stayed. Damn stockbrokers, they’re loaded. Finally, as he snored, she dressed in the dark. If she hadn’t drank so heavily, she would have been more than happy to wake with him to even more cash. She left her name and number on the hotel pad and drew a smile beneath them. After that, she tiptoed to the door and left.

  Brittany sat at the table eating breakfast cereal. April stumbled into the room toward their small brown couch and plopped down. Brittany didn’t bother asking questions, it happened so often it was no surprise. She made a quick check of her mother, looking for cuts and bruises. She found none and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “See,” said April, “all good.”

  “Are you hungry, momma?”

  “No, baby.” April’s head barely rose. The last of her strength was used to make it safely home with her fortune intact.

  Brittany gave her a careful look. After that, April raised her arms, their signal. Brittany stared at her.

  “Come on, baby. Help your old momma.”

  Brittany leaned her forward and unzipped the back of April’s dress. April struggled to lift her legs to ease her dress up and then over her head. The woman collapsed to her side. She moaned and sank into the couch cushions.

  “Comfy.”

  At six, the first time viewing her mother’s lower half was a shock, but now at sixteen, she neither flinched nor gawked at her mother’s nakedness. Instead, she went right to work. Brittany took her washcloth and cleaned her mother from head to toe as best she could. Her face remained blank. The challenge was to finish as quickly as possible and redress her. She went to the hall closet for a nightgown. Trials from the past had told her to never attempt to put underwear on the woman. With great care, she put the nightgown on her mother, tapping ever so often to produce the correct shift from the woman. They were better than the synchronized swimming team Brittany wanted to join when she was five.

  While her mother sat, the dutiful daughter poured hot coffee into a mug. She dropped two sugar cubes into the cup and added a heaping spoon of cream. She stirred and then blew on it, to cool it.

  After a quick taste, it was ready. She took it in to her mother. Brittany pulled out a bottle of pills. “Here, momma.”

  “What?” asked April, her eyes remained closed and she tried sinking deeper into the cushions.

  “Take your pill, momma.” Brittany pulled her up and put the pill to her lips. April opened her mouth and accepted the medicine. Brittany held the cup to her lips. April took two sips and stopped, shaking her head from side to side, frowning.

  “I don’t want anymore,” she whined.

  “You need it, momma. Open your mouth.”

  In role reversal fashion, April pouted. She reluctantly opened her mouth and gave her best frown to show her defiance. April tried stopping. Brittany lifted the cup higher. Her mother struggled. She looked every bit the drowning swimmer gasping for air. No matter. Brittany had her. The cup tilted higher and though she waved her hands about, April gulped and gulped until the cup was empty.

  “Let me get you into bed, I have to go to work,” said Brittany.

  April was groggy, feeling light-headed. She leaned on her daughter and walked into the bedroom. Brittany lifted the covers and her mother climbed into bed and fell fast asleep. Her last words, “you’re a good baby; I knew you would be a good baby.” Then she snored.

  Chapter Seventeen: Brittany