Scribbled Tales

12. "Atleast We Have Each Other"

“Don’t worry, Frank. They can’t get in. If they try, I’ll shoot to kill.”

Stanley and Frank had been locked up inside their country house for months, ever since the outbreak started. At first it was safe to go outside. People didn’t start manifesting symptoms of such a strange infection until the year before. Experts thought this had been limited to a few, the poor, those in third-world countries without access to civilized medical care.

But the world took notice when it spread to Hollywood and into various national governments.

There was no stopping it. It appeared no one who had been bitten by the soulless wanderers with rotting flesh were immune. Stanley had never missed an episode of “The Walking Dead” and had often joked with friends about what he’d do if there ever was a Zombie Apocalypse.

Now his jokes had become reality.

Stanley had always been a cautious man, one privy to stockpiling food and water, along with weapons and ammunition for what conspiracy theorists and religious zealots prophesied from the rooftops was at hand. He was glad now he had done this. He and Frank were safe and would never run out of water. His large and uncontaminated country well gave them that security.

The conundrum now was they had run out of food five days ago.

Frank gave his friend a helpless look.

“Now don’t panic,” Stanley said. “We’ll think of something.”

He wanted to believe his own words, but the fact remained leaving the house was no longer an option, even at night. Too many infected roamed around as far as the eye could see, and they possessed an unparalleled tenacity and desire to feed.

“At least we have each other,” Stanley said and smiled as his stomach rumbled.

No response.

He could hear snarling and growling from outside. Adrenaline surged through Stanley’s blood as he grabbed the shotgun, then locked and loaded. They were close. Too close.

Stanley turned his back to secure the front door, unaware that Frank catapulted toward him with a sudden leap. Both fell to the floor.

“No, Frank! What are you doing?” Stanley yelled out but was no match for his dear friend who now had him pinned down under his weight and was lying on top of him.

And the struggle was on.

Frank wasted no time as he set his sites on Stanley’s jugular vein and sank in his teeth. The only noise in the room was Stanley’s painful and life-fleeting screams. Within minutes, he stopped struggling, and a pool of blood collected on the floor next to him.

The problem of no food had been solved for the moment.

Frank jumped off of Stanley and took a few steps back, sat down and licked his chops. He panted, aware that he could take his time consuming his new food source and still had plenty of water available for the time being.

And his tail wagged.