Free Life Among The Dead by Daniel Cotton Page A

been listening to their pitiful sounds for what seems like forever. Time has no meaning up here. She has her head to her knees just listening to the intruders wail and creak in the hall.
    The moaning is subsiding. Becka picks her head up from its resting place and believes she can hear them on the stairs. She believes they may be leaving. The friendless cheerleader waits. She stays as still as can be until she no longer hears the creaking floor and the moans become barely audible before she creeps through the insulation to the hatch above the hall.
    The hall is empty. She cranes her neck down the opening for a better look being careful to avoid jagged boards and stray nails. The air below feels 20 degrees cooler, she breathes it in deeply trying to alleviate the suffocating feeling the crawlspace gives her. From her point of view they seem to be gone. The relief she feels is fleeting. She knows she has to check the bedroom, the thought of that makes her stomach cramp.
    Slowly she allows the bedroom to come into view as she stalks towards it. Stevie is down there. She sees his body, half naked from the waist down. He had landed on one of the bedposts. The sharp wooden stake pierced his body just below the ribs, running him through. Becka lets out a ragged sound of horror as all the air leaves her lungs. Her hand goes to her mouth in an attempt to stifle any crying, or words pleading for the boy’s forgiveness. Her eyes are unblinking as they take in what she had done. She pushed him, stabbed that post into his side. She allowed those things to eat him.
    Flesh has been torn from his bones that glisten white. The once tan bedspread is drenched red. She can’t look anymore. She forces herself away from the hole. The girl’s head swoons. She wants out of this attic. Out of this house. Out of the reach of those things. She moves through the well-trampled fluff back to the hatch.
    This square hatch, the hole, and the crawlspace are what her world has been reduced to. She places a hand on either side of the opening and begins to lower herself down. She hangs there for a few seconds as she builds up her courage. Her legs swing slightly in the cooler air. About to drop she has to cling a little longer. Crunching sounds are coming from down stairs, broken glass being walked on.
    Her fingers strain to keep her suspended. She attempts to pull herself back up into the safety of familiar darkness, but she can’t summon the strength. Her arms shake as the cheerleader’s foot finds the wall in hopes that it will help her climb. Glass crunches again.
    Becka frantically wants to get back into her crawlspace, her sweaty hands betray her. Her fingers lose their grip on the wood and she falls.
    She lands on her back with a thud. The stunned girl lies there, waiting to hear if the stairs creak from zombies coming to claim her. She waits, but hears nothing. Not even the sound of the glass.
    Slowly Becka sits up and turns to look down the stairs. There’s no movement. Ignoring the pain in her back she stands. She knows this house well. Besides the master bedroom there is a bathroom and a smaller bedroom, Billy’s room. Billy is Derek’s older brother. He’s a weird one, the loner type, who dresses all in black, reads conspiracy books, and is into the martial arts. She reads a sign on Billy’s door: Keep out.
    Becka walks to the door despite the prominent cautionary signage. She moves slow, not wanting to make too much noise on the whiny floor. Every step makes a sound as the old boards below the carpet rub together. She puts her hand on the knob praying it is unlocked. She knows inside this room she will find a weapon of some sort.
    The knob turns in her hand and she looks in. She can’t help being overly cautious though Billy is away at college. There shouldn’t be any danger in here. Behind the stealth cheerleader a moan mournfully calls out.
    Becka spins with a frightened gasp. She turns so she can face her attacker, but the hall is