Free Zombie Fallout by Mark Tufo

garage solemnly, too distressed to even comment on the bird shot that peppered my passenger side quarter panel. This night just wouldn’t end. It was 10:30 p.m. and I still hadn’t had a shower.

CHAPTER 7 - December 9th 6:45am
    Journal Entry - 7
    I woke up with a start. I had to pry myself off the bed. It wasn’t just that I was still bone-weary, which I was. I was stuck to the comforter I had plopped down onto the previous night, where I had immediately fallen asleep. I didn’t even want to linger on what was keeping me so affixed to the quilt. I was trying to convince myself that I had fallen into a vat of cotton candy. That illusion, however tenuous, was broken when a bit of bone fell out of my hair. My eyes were adjusting to the vestiges of light that were seeping in from and around the drawn shades. Tracy was not here. I sat up with a start. ‘What was going on?’ Then it hit me! The putrid stink of death! They had made it past Jed’s barriers and were now in the house! My gun was right next to me. I jumped up and out of the bed, anxious to see who, if anybody, could be saved. Fear gripped my chest in a vise. I could let air escape but I didn’t have the capacity to let any in. I was on the verge of panicking. All that I held sacred in this world was in trouble, and my worthless ass had been sleeping. I could hear no sounds of disarray, but that did little to stem the rising tide of trepidation that threatened to dash me against the rocks of sanity. The living dead don’t make much noise. I heard crunching! Bile involuntarily rose in my throat. I would choke on vomit long before I was able to help anyone. I flew down the stairs, turning the corner of the landing in one deft move. Henry greeted my heaving body, bone in his grinning mouth, short stubby tail wagging a mile a minute.
    “Well, hey there, sleepyhead,” my beautiful, beautiful wife said from the kitchen as she sipped on a cup of coffee. Dark rings circled her eyes, but I don’t think I had ever beheld such a sight. I laid the rifle down, approaching my wife for a hug and kiss of reassurance.
    “Oh hell no!” she said as her eyes lit up in alarm.
    I stopped dead in my tracks, what was amiss?
    “There’s no way you’re hugging me, smelling like that,” she laughed. “Your stench is what made me wake up this early. Go take a shower, and if you can at least get to the point where you smell better than Henry, I’ll think about kissing you.”
    Henry looked up to my wife with a hurt expression as if to say, ‘Don’t compare me to that guy, he stinks.’ And then went back to the delightful chore of chewing on his steak bone. Relief poured, no GUSHED through my system, a wave of euphoria momentarily made me lightheaded. Thankfully I was already halfway back up the stairs. What the hell was going on with me? I was having feelings , I had sobbed and now I was swooning, a couple more days of this crap and I was going to need some Tampax.
    I took a brief but intensely hot shower, hoping that I would be rewarded with a renewed and cleansed soul to go with my clean body. When I emerged from the steam and swept my hand over the mirror to wipe away the condensation, I noted that I looked a whole lot better than I felt. Last night’s ordeal had aged me beyond my years. I looked to all concerned to be 43. I, however, felt to be about 63. No more time for reflection. I walked out of the steamy bathroom into the relative coolness of our bedroom. The reddish glow to my skin lit the way. I dressed quickly, delighting in the feel of my t-shirt NOT sticking to my neck, back or arms. I wanted to revel in the cleanliness a little longer but I was already running late for the town hall meeting. I grabbed my jacket from the hook at the bottom of the stairs and was about to head out.
    Tracy yelled from the kitchen. “Do you want some breakfast before you go?”
    “No time,” I shouted as I turned back to get my rifle; it wouldn’t do to go anywhere without it