Fierce fighting broke out on the eighteenth floor of a Los Angeles high-rise complex. A tall black man rushed down the hall with machete in hand. A mixture of red and green blood flowed across his white long-sleeve shirt and blue jean pants.
Ahead, three zombies were banging at the door to apartment 1805. Frantic screams from the other side of the door were hard to separate from the zombie howls. Only the man could distinguish the two. His wife, daughter, and sons were on the other side. They were screaming.
Propelled by fear, he gave a yell and slashed into the back of the first zombie. It fell. He gave a second slash to take off its head before the others could react. He managed to slice the others and watch them fall at his feet. He knew he should stop and see about his family, but in frenzy, he continued slashing at the bodies at his feet. They had come after his family and no one comes after his family and lives.
It took time to gain control and restrain himself. He constantly heard the cries for help on the other side of the door. When he finally managed to stop his vicious hacking, he was out of breath and bent to breathe easier. He then knocked on the door. “Mirinda? Miri? It’s me, open up.”
“Franklin?” the voice held a note of worry and confusion.
“It’s me, baby, everything is all right. Open up and let me in.”
“No, no, no!” a young voice from the other side exclaimed.
Franklin assumed his wife went to open the door but was met with resistance. He was happy, that was the voice of his wise daughter, Hanya. She and her older brother, Jamar, were the stars of their small family. The brightest and most inquisitive.
“Hanya, baby. Can you hear me?”
“I hear you, Daddy.”
“Baby, I’m going to slide my machete through the mail slot in the door. After you have it, hold it to the door, and then let me in. If I appear infected, you know what to do.”
“No, Franklin!” Mirinda chastised.
Franklin ignored her and slid the heavy blade through. He listened for it hitting the floor. No sound came. Hanya must have grabbed it. He stood in front of the door, staring at the apartment numbers. When ready, he moved his hand to knock, then stopped. His eyes wandered down to his feet and the chopped up zombie bits. Kicking them to each side, away from the door opening, he was satisfied enough to tap on the door in their unique rhythmic fashion.
Two small clicks were heard. After a third, the door opened a fraction. A brown eye stared at him. He held up his hands to prove he held no weapon. He smiled, reassuringly. The door closed before opening wider to give him entrance.
“I’m okay, baby.” Franklin held his hands high. His eldest son held a revolver, while his daughter held the steel blade high, a look of determination on both teenage faces.
“Put those down,” said Mirinda to her children. “Frankie!”
Mirinda rushed past her skeptical daughter into the arms of her husband. She sobbed as she kissed him. The filthiness he and the others saw was lost on his dear wife. He looked a mess and he knew it. His wild bashing of the zombies wasn’t necessary. It made him look like a zombie. The others stayed clear of him. Franklin broke his wife’s embrace. He caressed her face and gave her a loving kiss. Then he turned to his children.
“I’m okay,” he repeated to them. The older son, Jamar, fifteen, didn’t move. The young son, Yileen, was eight. Yileen’s eyes took in the full view of his father. After some apprehensive gestures, he moved with caution. His mother rubbed her hand across his head. Tears began streaming down his indecisive face. With her touch as encouragement, he leaped into his father’s arms. The youngest boy would abandon all doubt, but the others would not. Jamar maintained his aim and Hanya held her blade high with tension. Franklin smiled at each, then turned to his wife while hugging his crying son. “Bring me a wet towel, please.”
She instantly left to carry out the task. Freeing himself of his son, Franklin stood before his skeptical children. Smiles will not deter them, he had to show them he was fine.
They were a decent family, people who took in strangers without question. One incident, a month back had changed their policy. A loving couple with their newborn spent the night with them. The couple had crashed their car and was on the run from zombies. They managed to flee the horde after the brave father killed two with a baseball bat. He and his family showed up with blood covering their clothes and a new Louisville slugger. They told their story and seemed normal. By morning, chaos spread through the small apartment. The woman had eaten her child in the night and chased her husband into young Hanya’s room, waking the teen. Her father came to the rescue and killed the woman, but the man had been bitten in the process and had to be put down as well. Since then, they never take in strangers and are weary of anyone with green blood on their clothes.
Franklin unbuttoned his shirt. He couldn’t believe how it stuck to his skin as he removed it and let it drop to the floor. Though he wasn’t afraid, he never broke eye contact with his daughter who remained as rigid as ever. Jamar had relented and come in closer, wanting his father to be okay, needing his father to be okay.
Mirinda returned with towels. The first was wet; she gave it to her husband and watched as he washed his chest. She then took a dry towel and cleaned him as best she could, while Jamar continued the wiping on his father’s back with the first towel.
The man turned from side to side when they had finished.
“See, Han, Daddy is okay,” said young Yileen.
Hanya lowered her blade. She walked into his outstretched arms and they shared a group hug.
“Is everyone packed?” asked Franklin.
“Yes,” they said.
“We have to leave now. The caravan will pull out shortly and zombies are blocking our path. Get your packs and weapons. We have no choice but to go.”
“We’re not supposed to leave until nightfall,” said Mirinda, looking uneasy over the change in plans.
Franklin fixed his gaze on her. His look was stern. Only she would understand his next words. “We lost the elevator, Miri.”
The words knocked the wind out of her. “H-H-How is that possible?”
She sat to keep from falling. He found the words stinging himself and sat. They had chosen a high floor for safety. Zombies swept through the area days after their arrival, turning them into live-in hostages. With great coordination and effort, the tenants banded together to vacate lower floors and disable five of the six elevators. The single elevator was used by an armed team that kept the higher floors secure.
Riding with armed guards provided peace of mind. A grocery store across the street provided plenty of food. With a timed run from building to building, the tenants flourished in their captivity. Now, a caravan was being assembled to take survivors to Camp Vix, a military haven. All able-bodied men were given weapons and would provide cover to see the caravan off. Franklin had secured passage for his family and needed to get there by a certain time or they would be left among the marauding flesh-eaters.
The way would be difficult without the elevator.
“That’s where I came from. Jamie and Stan, Paul and John, Felicia and Connie, all are dead.”
“Amaroo?” she asked.
There was a tremble to her bottom lip. Amaroo was their fifth-floor comrade who traveled with them from Canada. Franklin knew she would find the news hard to accept. She would hold out hope until the end. He would be patient. “Dead.”
“Grey Wolf?”
“Dead.”
He knew she was searching her memory for those on their floor, surely some of them would have survived. “Balun,” she said at near whisper level.
“Dead, all dead.”
“Even, Babber?”
Franklin swallowed the hard lump at his throat. Hanya brought him a new shirt. “Thank you, baby.” He turned back to his wife. “Babber was pulled from the elevator by so many zombies, I couldn’t count them all. I came up the stairs from the tenth floor. Zombies have the elevator and are getting off at different floors. It is only
by chance more of them haven’t arrived.” Perhaps the extra information would drive the point home. He had hesitated because of the children, but time was short.
The children stood by the door wearing backpacks and holding small handguns their father had given them. His wife was lost, reeling from the new information. “We have to go, Miri. Now!”
He gently coaxed her to her feet. Retrieving his machete, he took a deep breath, preparing to open the door. “Oh god! Wait!” fear enveloped him.
“What?” asked his wife.
“My papers, where are they?” he frantically looked around. Then, his wife handed him some papers she had in her pocket. “Thanks, baby. I can’t lose these.”
“I know,” she said.
“Ready?” he asked after tucking the papers away for safe keeping. Again, he took a quick breath before opening the door. They stepped over the carnage outside their door and made it to the door leading to the stairs. Franklin opened it and listened. The howling was barely audible, it meant zombies were far from them. With luck, they could descend the stairs and only come across a few of the creatures. That would be preferable to wading through an army of the foul beasts. Franklin took out the key to the stairwell door. He opened the door and down the stairs they went.
The family made it safely to the ground floor. When Franklin opened the door, they were met with only a handful of zombies who were busy eating fallen tenants. He praised god for his luck and eased his family by the marauders while they fed on their current meal. Outside, they rounded a corner and their luck ran dry. Before them, there stood too many zombies to count. If not for the thumping of his heart in his ears, he might have heard them before rounding the corner. The shock before him dashed his hopes. Odds of them getting to safety dimmed. He thought to formulate a plan. Before he could complete his thoughts, zombies saw them. They screamed and ran at the family of five.
“Spearhead!” shouted Franklin.
They immediately went into battle mode, acting as a unit to face the red-eyed menace. They spread apart to give themselves fighting room. As the zombies approached, Franklin lunged at the fastest two, his wife ran to assist. Each let out a battle cry as they swung heavy blades into the horde.
Hanya and her brothers knew what to do. They had used the same tactic many times. She and her brother took aim and waited for the flesh eaters to come to them. Neither was a great shot, but if the beast is directly in front of you, you need only point and squeeze. Each was old enough to carry out that task. They stood tall, brave, with an unwavering aim. As the zombies opened their mouths and lunged at them, they took aim at their heads and fired. A scowl was upon each face. They jumped back to avoid the creatures’ fall and took aim at the next three.
Franklin and Mirinda tore into the horde. They swung as if their life depended on it. Each blow was full force and decisive. The creatures fell at their feet as they twirled forward to engage the next.
“Come on!” yelled Franklin to his children.
As the parents sliced through the horde like a hot knife through butter, the children slowly moved forward, shooting zombies on each side as they advanced. The family formed the perfect spearhead: father in the lead, slashing to his left, wife to his right slashing to her right with each child advancing from the rear, Hanya behind and to the left of her dad and her younger brother in the center and older brother behind their mother.
No one knew how many zombies they killed. Franklin had told them their life depended on their ability to kill zombies. Each took the words to heart to ensure their survival.
Once free of the horde, Franklin led his family down and alley to a waiting vehicle. He and Mirinda placed their machetes on the concrete. They lifted the tarp covering the car, flinging it to the side. All stared at the vehicle that would take them to safety. Before they could enter, a zombie leaped from a high window onto the elder son. Another fell on the younger next to him, both boys yelped as they fell to the ground. Another zombie fell on the mother. Franklin grabbed his machete and killed both zombies on the sons. He hoped he had been in time.
He heard noise behind him. Lifting his machete, he turned. His wife was finishing the zombie that attacked her. She looked unsteady. He went to her. “Are you okay?” his frantic words to his wife.
She motioned him away, finding it hard to catch her breath. “Yileen! Check Yileen. I’m fine.”
“Yileen?”
He went to his youngest son. The boy had a gash taken out of his shoulder, but looked relatively healthy. He knew he shouldn’t consider it, but there was hope, if they could make it to the others. Franklin smiled at him. “You okay?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he said. He managed a small smile through his grimace.
Trusting him was wrong, but Yileen was standing, talking. It would take hours to get to their rendezvous, but he could make it. He nodded at the boy and moved on to his daughter, she too was standing. Ignoring her, he turned his attention to the last, Jamar.
He went to him and knelt beside his crumbled body. He shook his unconscious son. His face was bloody. A torn shirt proved he hadn’t been in time. Franklin saw deep scratches across his son’s chest. Heavy amounts of blood flowed from a deeper gash to his belly. Franklin was heartbroken. Still, he had hope. He shook him again. “Jamar?” he shouted.
“Daddy?” Hanya said. Her little face near tears. “Daddy?”
Franklin put his ear to his son’s chest to listen for a heartbeat. Sorrow showed on his face. He heard his daughter call his name again, but it was an echo, a sound on the wind he dismissed.
Wailing brought him back to reality. Not only was he clutching his son, so was his wife. His daughter held her hand over her mouth, crying silent tears. A feeling of foreboding came over him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
“To the car, quickly,” he shouted.
“What?” asked Mirinda, in disbelief.
“We have to go now. Hanya, go get your brother’s gun. I want you and Yileen in the back seat. Come on, Miri, we have to go.” He pulled her away as she screamed and cried. Zombies were howling and running down the street toward them. Without a second to spare, he broke her grip from their son and got her into the car. Franklin ran around the other side and sat in the driver’s seat. He turned the key and was grateful the car started with no trouble. He shoved it into gear and made the tires screech as he took off.
Franklin looked through the rearview mirror. There were only four zombies giving chase. He brought the car to a halt, throwing his passengers forward. He reversed the car and ran over the chasing zombies. The swishing sound felt like music to his ears. He continued driving backward a bit further. Then, he stopped the car. He grabbed his machete. Looking deeply into his wife’s eyes wasn’t easy. If she said no, he would stop. She hung her head low, giving him permission without uttering a word. Franklin exited the car with his machete. He wasted no time. It had to be done and zombies were on the move. He ran to his son’s body. With one swing, he severed his sons head in the nick of time. As he brought the machete down, Zombie Jamar opened its eyes. Franklin couldn’t have stopped his blade if he wanted to. He beheaded the zombie with a single strike. He picked the head up and threw it into one of the garbage bins in the alley. With no new zombies in the alley, he began his walk back to the car. He hoped his young daughter and son hadn’t seen what he had done, odds are they had. Suddenly, a shot rang out. His heart pounded. He ran to the car.
“What is it? What happened?”
The back seat revealed all. His remaining son was dead, a bullet hole in his forehead. The boy had distorted features and his bright-red eyes were open.
“He tried to eat me,” proclaimed Hanya. Tears welled in her eyes as she gave her explanation.
Franklin looked from her to his wife. His wife’s hands covered her face as she softly cried into them. He closed his eyes. Something had to be said. Hanya’s hands shook as she trained her gun at the dead zombie that once was her brother. Her father swallowed hard, then
opened the rear door. “You did the right thing, Hanya. I’m proud of you.” He dragged the corpse out of the car and gently laid it on the ground. He took the gun out of Hanya’s hands and laid it in the floor next to her. Franklin kissed her cheek to comfort her, she showed no reaction. She was far away and he knew it. He thought it best to leave her alone so he shut the door and took his seat behind the steering wheel. Putting the car in gear, they moved away from the scene.
He was so worried about his children hearing or seeing what he had done, it never occurred to him that they may be facing their own challenges. Franklin decided it was best not to mention it, at least for the time being. They all needed time to process. Silence would be golden.
As he turned the car onto a main street, he took in a shaky breath at the scene he saw. Cars and trucks were overturned and lying on the road as well as the sidewalk. Some were on fire, most had their doors torn off and all were smeared with blood. Everywhere they looked they saw people. Some of them were fighting the flesh eaters with what weapon they found, others were being chased. Most lay in the road near their cars—those unfortunates were being devoured by a swarm of flesh eaters. None would join him and his family at the rendezvous.
Franklin maneuvered through the chaos at an accelerated speed. The gruesome shrieks he heard were painful. He couldn’t take it for too much longer and knew his young daughter and wife were at their breaking point. He drove with reckless abandon, trying to clear the area quickly. They smashed into several cars, careening out of control. With a prayer and skill, Franklin was able to keep the car upright. He ran over his last zombie before approaching open road.