You kill them or they kill you.”
I’m getting ready, getting my center of gravity set up, spinning the hatchet in my right hand, deciding how I’m going to take down the two adults—they’re the ones leading the pack. I don’t remember committing myself to this fight, but apparently some deeper instinct that I’m not fully aware of decided for me, it’s kill them or let them kill the boy; I’m not letting them kill the boy.
Tasia steps in to help by trying to console the kid and keep him contained. She rubs his back and speaks in soft tones, but the quiver in her voice lets me know she’s just as shit scared as any of us.
I start trying to talk them down. Sure it didn’t work with Ms. Ruth, but that doesn’t stop me. These folks are sick, but they’re still human. That thing, that thing that makes…us…us, it’s still in there…it’s gotta be.
His parents are closing in fast. They seem to morph closer with each flicker of light in the hall. “What’s your pa’s name?”
The boy whimpers and squeaks something about me not hurting his family.
“What’s his goddamn name?” I’ve got the hatchet up and I’m ready to strike.
More whimpering.
“What’s his name, sweetie?” Tasia asks.
There’s no more time to wait. The boy’s father swipes for my face and flashes his bloody teeth, growling the same way Ms. Ruth did. I duck back and bring the hatchet down on top of his head, splitting it like a melon. The boy is screaming for me to stop, but I’m in survival mode and my focus is now zeroed in on his mom; her mouth is open and aimed directly at my windpipe. I punch her once in the nose, sending her stumbling backwards against her two kids, giving me enough time to dislodge my weapon from her husband’s skull. I come around on a backswing and take her head right off her shoulders.
The two kids at her back aren’t deterred by the death of their parents. Instead, they take advantage of the space that has opened up in front of them and continue to advance.
I hesitate, gritting my teeth.
These are kids!
Crazy ass kids with blood-drenched clothes, flesh under their fingernails, and wearing skin that seems to be sagging from their bones. Kids that I’m sure, if given the chance, would tear me limb from limb. But still, killing a kid, that’s some heavy shit.
All I keep seeing is my daughter’s face.
Could I do it to her?
What if she’s like this?
I jump back as the two kids snarl and snap.
Before I can finish working up the nerve, the boy breaks free from Tasia and throws himself between me and his brother and sister, shoving me hard in the chest. “No! Stop hurting my family!”
Desperate men are stupid men!
“No don’t!” Tasia, her motherly instinct on full display, tries to rush in to pull him out of harm’s way.
I wrap her up with one arm and spin her back against the railing. “There’s nothing you can do!”
The boy is screaming now as his sister tears his intestines from his side an inch at a time; she looks like a butcher with a set of sausage links. At the same time, his brother has his neck cranked back and is ripping into his jugular, sending blood squirting against the ceiling, where it beads and begins to fall back down like raindrops.
These aren’t children; these are rabid animals.
I don’t hesitate. I end it with two blows, one for each of them.
I drop the hatchet and catch the boy as he falls. The wound on his neck is still spraying blood with every beat of his heart, splashing the side of my face and dripping down and staining the neckline of my coveralls.
Tasia falls to her knees in front of me and presses her hand against the wound. “There’s got to be something we can do! We’ve got to call for help!”
“Who we gonna call? Phones aren’t working! Goddamn world’s falling down around our ears! Who we gonna call, Tasia?”
She’s crying, the blood from the wound escaping between her fingers.
The boy is thrashing in my arms, choking,
I’m getting ready, getting my center of gravity set up, spinning the hatchet in my right hand, deciding how I’m going to take down the two adults—they’re the ones leading the pack. I don’t remember committing myself to this fight, but apparently some deeper instinct that I’m not fully aware of decided for me, it’s kill them or let them kill the boy; I’m not letting them kill the boy.
Tasia steps in to help by trying to console the kid and keep him contained. She rubs his back and speaks in soft tones, but the quiver in her voice lets me know she’s just as shit scared as any of us.
I start trying to talk them down. Sure it didn’t work with Ms. Ruth, but that doesn’t stop me. These folks are sick, but they’re still human. That thing, that thing that makes…us…us, it’s still in there…it’s gotta be.
His parents are closing in fast. They seem to morph closer with each flicker of light in the hall. “What’s your pa’s name?”
The boy whimpers and squeaks something about me not hurting his family.
“What’s his goddamn name?” I’ve got the hatchet up and I’m ready to strike.
More whimpering.
“What’s his name, sweetie?” Tasia asks.
There’s no more time to wait. The boy’s father swipes for my face and flashes his bloody teeth, growling the same way Ms. Ruth did. I duck back and bring the hatchet down on top of his head, splitting it like a melon. The boy is screaming for me to stop, but I’m in survival mode and my focus is now zeroed in on his mom; her mouth is open and aimed directly at my windpipe. I punch her once in the nose, sending her stumbling backwards against her two kids, giving me enough time to dislodge my weapon from her husband’s skull. I come around on a backswing and take her head right off her shoulders.
The two kids at her back aren’t deterred by the death of their parents. Instead, they take advantage of the space that has opened up in front of them and continue to advance.
I hesitate, gritting my teeth.
These are kids!
Crazy ass kids with blood-drenched clothes, flesh under their fingernails, and wearing skin that seems to be sagging from their bones. Kids that I’m sure, if given the chance, would tear me limb from limb. But still, killing a kid, that’s some heavy shit.
All I keep seeing is my daughter’s face.
Could I do it to her?
What if she’s like this?
I jump back as the two kids snarl and snap.
Before I can finish working up the nerve, the boy breaks free from Tasia and throws himself between me and his brother and sister, shoving me hard in the chest. “No! Stop hurting my family!”
Desperate men are stupid men!
“No don’t!” Tasia, her motherly instinct on full display, tries to rush in to pull him out of harm’s way.
I wrap her up with one arm and spin her back against the railing. “There’s nothing you can do!”
The boy is screaming now as his sister tears his intestines from his side an inch at a time; she looks like a butcher with a set of sausage links. At the same time, his brother has his neck cranked back and is ripping into his jugular, sending blood squirting against the ceiling, where it beads and begins to fall back down like raindrops.
These aren’t children; these are rabid animals.
I don’t hesitate. I end it with two blows, one for each of them.
I drop the hatchet and catch the boy as he falls. The wound on his neck is still spraying blood with every beat of his heart, splashing the side of my face and dripping down and staining the neckline of my coveralls.
Tasia falls to her knees in front of me and presses her hand against the wound. “There’s got to be something we can do! We’ve got to call for help!”
“Who we gonna call? Phones aren’t working! Goddamn world’s falling down around our ears! Who we gonna call, Tasia?”
She’s crying, the blood from the wound escaping between her fingers.
The boy is thrashing in my arms, choking,
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