Life After The Undead (Book 1) (5 page)

Dad
grabbed
the
pistol
from
his
waistband.
“We
’v
e
got
to
help
her.”
He
turned
and
walked
to
the
door.

“There’s
no
reason
to,
Dad.
They
surrounded
her,”
I
said.

He
came
back
to
the
window
just in time
to
see
the
group
converge
on
the
woman,
who’d
tripped
on
her
remaining
slipper.
One
of
the
people
grabbed
the
neighbo
r’
s
bottom
lip
between
his
teeth
and
ripped
it
clean
off
her
face.
Another
took
a
sizable
chunk
out
of
her
arm,
and
the
third
tore
off
an
ear.
I
shuddered
and
turned
from
the
window.
Dad
sank
heavily
onto
the
floor.

I
turned
to
Mom.
She
swayed
back
and
forth.
Her face
was
white.
I
grabbed
her
before
she
fell
and
eased
her
to
the
floor.
In
the
bathroom,
I
wet
a
washcloth
before I returned and
gently
dabbed
Mom
’s
forehead
while
Dad
held
her
up.

“What’s
going
on?”
Mom
whispered.
“Why
did
they
attack
that
woman?
Please
tell
me
she
’
s
part
of
the
prank.
Please.”

Dad
shook
his
head.
“This
is
not
a
prank.
I
don
’t
know
why
they
killed
her
, but
we
can’t
let
them get
in
here.”

The
sound
of
shattering
glass
echoed
up
the
stairs.
I
ran
to
the
window
and
peered
out,
but
couldn’t
see
anything.
Dad
ran
to
the
door
and
opened
it
a
crack
before
slamming
it
shut
a
second
later.

“They
’r
e
in
the
house,”
he
whispered
loudly.

Mom’s
eyes
grew
wide
and
she
scrambled
to
her
feet.
“They
’r
e
in
the
house?
They
’r
e
in
the
house
?”

Dad
clamped
a
hand
over
her
mouth
and
moved
her
toward
the
closet.
I
followed
them
in,
and
he
pulled
the
string
for
the
attic
stairs.
I
climbed
as
fast
as I
could,
then
turned
to
help
Mom
up. Dad
followed
behind
and
pulled
the
stairs
up
after
him.
We
crouched
in
the
dark
and
waited.

More
glass
broke
and
footsteps
thudded
up
the
stairs.
Mom
grabbed
me
and
backed
into the
corner
farthest
from
the
door.
The
muffled
sounds
of
things
breaking
drifted
into
the
room.
I
placed
my
arms
around
Mom
’s
waist
and
buried
my
head
on
her
shoulder.
Mom
wrapped
her
arms
around
my
head,
and
I
felt
her
cheek
on
the
top
my
hair.
It
reminded
me
of
when
I
was
little
girl,
waking
in the
middle
of
the
night
from a
nightmare.
I
used
to
have
dreams
about
being
chased
by
dinosaurs.
They
always
caught
me
and
ate
me. I
’d
wake
up
screaming,
and
Mom
would
come
into
my
room
with
a
glass
of
water. She’d
hold
me
and
hum
until
I
fell
back
asleep.

Every
crash and
thud
made
my
entire
body
jerk,
and
Mom
shook
beneath
me.
This
was
almost
like
my
dreams
. The
creatures
would
eat
us
if
they
caught
us,
but
unlike
my
dreams,
there
was
no
waking
from
this
nightmare.

After a
while,
it
was
quiet. I
assumed
Dad
remained
by
the
door,
his
gun
in his
hand
ready
to
fire.
Mom and
I
slowly
uncurled
from
the
corner
and
went
to him.
We
moved
carefully
so
we
wouldn
’t
make
a
sound.
When
we
were
close,
Dad
gathered
us
into
his
arms
and
we
sat
hugging
by
the
door.

“It’s
all
right.
I
think
they
’r
e
gone.”
Dad’s
voice
was
almost
inaudible.

“What
are
we
going
to
do?” 
Mom
whispered.
“We
can
’t
stay
up
here
forever.
We’re
going
to
need
food,
water.”

Dad
pulled
away
and
the
attic
light
clicked
on.
I
squinted
at
the
brightness
and
held
up
my
hands
to
block
the
light. Mom fumbled
for
the
cord.

“What
are
you
doing?
They
’r
e
going
to
find
us,”
she
said.

Dad
grabbed
her
hands
and
calmed
her
down.
“It’s
all
right.
They
won
’
t
be
able
to
see
the
light.
Even
if
they
got
the
closet
door
opened,
they
can’t
get
in
here.
I
locked
the
attic
door.
They
’l
l
need
an
axe
to
get
us.”
He
glanced
around
the
room.
“We
’v
e
got
to
see
if
there
is
anything
in here
we
can
use.”

My
eyes
adjusted,
and
I took
in
our
surroundings.
Boxes
full
of
Christmas
decorations,
old
clothes,
and
stuffed
animals
were
everywhere,
and
I
doubted
any
of
it
would
be
useful.
Dad ripped
open
a box
and
pulled
out
some
strings
of tinsel
and
a
few
ornaments
before
stuffing
them
back
inside.
He
moved
to
another,
opened
the
top,
and
peered
in.
He
knocked
the
box
over.
Glass
ornaments
skittered
across
the
floor
and
a
few
shattered
into
red
and
silver
shards.