Free Winter's Salvation by Jason Deyo Page A

now Mr. Cooks home just look a little off from the current main road.  Looking from the main road a huge garage is hidden by the rest of the house.  The front roll up entrance to the garage along with the driveway was moved to face the back of the house. 
    “I shot those things right in the chest and they just kept coming.”  Mr. Cook said as he took Naomi’s hand and helped her up the front steps to the kitchen porch.  The sound of multiple small dogs barking followed them as they moved from the once front of the house, that faced Naomi’s, to the new front that faced the road.  “I saw it on the T.V. these people going crazy and you shouldn’t trust anyone, but since they were coming after you I just assumed you two were not a part of the crazies.” 
    G asping for breath Naomi thanked him as he led them into the kitchen.  He pointed to one of the kitchen chairs with the tip of his rifle, “Grab that chair for your momma, darling.”  As soon as they took their first steps into the house, three small fluffy white dogs came running up to them barking and jumping up, fighting one another for their attention.  Mr. Cook tried shooing them away, with no results, so he slid one of them with his foot, just hard enough to send it sliding across the yellow linoleum.  He then hollered something unintelligible to it and all three backed away to the edge of the kitchen and sat wagging their tails frantically with excitement.  
    The kitchen was the exact same dirty yellow color as the siding on the house.  Everything in the kitchen was designed with the same theme and that theme was the color yellow.  Lemon wedges lined the boarders of the walls and yellow sun magnets littered the old refrigerator.  On the sink was a green frog with a coarse yellow sponge sticking out of it’s mouth.  Everything in the kitchen had some yellow design to it with the exception of the rolling chairs.  The cushions are a hard brown plastic material that Naomi heard crack into hundreds of small pieces as the hard chair contoured stiffly to her body.   
    Mr. Cook looked out the front kitchen window over the sink and said, “They got into the damn yard again.  Those first two just pushed in my gate and now I see another one w andering in.  That one I shot is getting back up too.”  He ran his fingers over his balding head as if he were running them through thick flowing hair and then looked to his rifle.  “I’ll be back.” He said as he left the kitchen. 
    “You can’t go out there.” Naomi said spinning in the rolling chair.   
    “Honey, I’m going to kill those things then lock the gate.  I saw those things on the news and those things aren’t human.  They’re likely to kill us if we don’t kill them.”  With that he turned and took a closer look out the kitchen door’s window.  “I’ll be right back.”  He turned and walked out of the kitchen and down a dark hallway.  Hollering through the house, “On the news I saw one guy biting people.  They said if anyone has any scratches or open wounds not to let them into your house.  They even said turn away family.”  He returned and put a box of bullets on the table and started loading the magazine from his rifle.  His hands were shaky, but found a undeniable comfortable skill when loading each round.  “They said they can infect you with their virus if they bite or scratch you.  Can you believe that, turn away family?”  Smacking the magazine in the M1, he pulled back the bolt action, loading his rifle, and again looked out the window.  “I’ll be back in a second.” 
    He opened the door and looked out as if he were going to walk across a street ; he looked left, right and then left again.  Satisfied with his surroundings he brought the rifle to his shoulder, looked down the sights, stepped out onto the porch and fired. 
    Sam and Naomi thought they heard him whisper after that shot. “Now stay down mother fucker.”  That was followed