His eyes are milky white, his rasping is unforgivably grainy, and his demeanor has waned in flaunting color and vigor. Mason is gone. He’s been replaced by this terrible new being and I’m having trouble getting used to him. I fumble back, carefully trying to find a weapon before Mason rallies the couple against me. Too late, they’ve seen me long ago and are approaching the counter.
My hand grips a metal broomstick handle. I arc it forward pointing it straight at Mason. I stare at him for a bulging minute and I start to feel an entanglement of remorse. I abandoned him and let him do all the work. I also never bothered to ask him how he was feeling. He needed me as a coworker and I let him down. Everyone let him down. It seems like I was the only one who ever watched him truly struggle. As if he was yelling on the inside but no one could hear him.
“I’m sorry Mason. You were the most honest, hardworking employee I’ve ever met.”
The cold milky eyes stare at me, unregistered. I drive the pole end of the broom into his skull and he crumples down to the ground. Then I bolt before the couples can catch up to me.
A zombie apocalypse? I can’t believe it’s actually happening. I wanna curl up my lips and say finally as I do a type of jig. But there’s a deep lump in my throat. Is it fear? Is it the possibility that I could be the next one to die anytime in the near future? And then I remember Renae. Is she safe out there? Did she make it? I have to know.
I shuffle over to Soliya’s car and pummel the broomstick into her forehead. Five minutes later, after dragging the limp body out of the car, the engine roars to life and I’m zooming down the road. I only have a learner's permit so my driving’s really sloppy. Luckily I manage to stay in the lanes and follow the stop signs. The palm trees and the sinking pink view never get old as they appear through the window. There are also a few spire-like churches that spawn here and there. I drive down the road until I see an opened fence with a trail that slithers into a trailer park.
There’s a bunch of mobile homes scattered everywhere in a widespread lot, as well as a copse of palm trees and prickly cacti littered everywhere, especially near the entrance. The ground is tan and rocky, completely blanketed in sand. This place smells like garbage and dead fowls. The only redeeming quality that remains is the golden light that shines against the bristling palm trees. I have never met a single person here besides some kid with a horse. Well, I never really met him, I’ve only seen him.
I arrive at a dumpy mobile home that’s sitting on the left amongst a cluster of flat lumpy cacti. I slowly creep inside the small home. The room is dark and hollow and it still reeks of the burnt eggs that I left this morning. The only sound that I can capture is that of the spinning fan above me. There’s a painting lying stranded near the small broken tv. I can’t see what’s being drawn in the canvas, but I touch it. The paint is dry. Dust dry. And then I hear a creaking, thumping sound like someone is heavily walking on their feet. I see a limping silhouette coming from the looming kitchen.
My heart thumps and the deep lump in my throat gets heavier, falling all the way to my lungs.
“R-Renae is that you?” I shudder. The growing rasp says it all. The silhouette starts to get bigger and bigger as it scrambles towards me screeching like an apoplectic maniac. Overwhelmed with panic, I throw my broom at the creature, trip outside the door, and slam it shut. My breath is swelling in and out of me like I’m asthmatic. I don’t dare go back inside. But I already know. I already know it’s too late to save Renae.
I take out a small photograph of her from my pocket. Drops of tears fall down a picture of a braided black girl who’s standing in front of a red Pontiac. The elder sibling is buoyantly smiling at the camera. I try to force a smile back at her but it ends up slipping back down as I start bawling. I crumple the picture and I throw it. It’s too painful to carry.
“Are you cryin?”
I look up. It’s the annoying kid with the horse, and he’s relishing a broad grin. He’s tall and gangly with very long black hair that falls to his shoulders and a smooth unblemished face. If it wasn’t for his dirty white tank top, ripped jeans with laced boots, and his old cowboy hat, I would’ve assumed he was a girl. He has one of those feminine faces.
“Leave me alone, Sloan,” I say, smearing my eyes. I only know his name because I hear the neighbors constantly complain about the amount of ruckus he’s causing. It must have something to do with carrying a large horse around. I don’t know, just a suggestion.
“I ain’t never met a girl that cried before,” says Sloan. He has a high-pitched southern voice which doesn’t help in maturing his girly face. I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or not. If he’s trying to say hello, he has a strange way of doing it. I look at the dun horse beside him. It neighs in response.
“That’s Jet,” says Sloan, acknowledging my curiosity. “He’s my ride.”
I get up and walk back to the trail that leads towards the exit.
“Hey! Where’re you goin lady?”
“Anywhere but here!” I take out another cigarette from my pocket. The dun horse is prancing after me.
“It’s a new world now ain’t it,” says Sloan, pacing after me. “With everyone turnin and all? I just saw mines a few minutes ago, just like you did.”
I remain silent, puffing a raging white cloud. This kid is really annoying.
“I mean, it’s different now. Ain’t shit was goin on in our lives before’em, am I right?”
I stop. “You’re excited about this?”
“Anticipated more like.”
“Look, I kind of want to be on my own right now. Do you mind?” I don’t mean to sound rude but I’m just not in the mood for a midnight stroll right now. Especially right after my sister died. I whip back towards the sandy trail.
“Wait!” Sloan shouts. “There’s something goin on with Old Man Caleb. Something I’ve been meaning you to see.”
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