This Would Be Paradise (Book 1)-A Zombie Novel

Chapter 33

Chloe huddled as far away from me as possible, like a kicked puppy. Even through her tears and sobs, she managed to shoot me a hateful glare. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and started to clean up the mess, trying to distract myself from what just happened. I left out all the supplies on the table; I would need to re-dress the wound tomorrow. Chloe shot up and ran into the living room. I heard her stomping as she ran up the stairs, away from me.

I didn't blame her. I had handled that poorly, but what else was I to do? I had no idea how to treat a wound of that magnitude, let alone on a kid that wouldn't hold still. I could sit here and try to justify my actions, but the truth was that I should never be responsible for a child. She got injured under my watch. My own side groaned in pain as I moved about. After all that, I was sure my elbow wasn't broken, just really sore.

The sun was going down fast, like it was in a hurry to get to its evening plans. I didn't hear banging on the wooden fence anymore; although, there was still movement and moaning in the alley. Maybe the infected had forgotten why they were here in the first place or had just given up. Bottom line was that they were still out there. Right in our own backyard took on a whole new meaning.

I felt numb at this point; or too much, I couldn't tell the difference. My mind wasn't coping well with the events of this past day. I was running on autopilot, but unfortunately it wasn't a very good program. I felt the way you did when you came to the end of a particularly good book and now didn't know what to feel. Lost. Heartbroken. Empty.

I stumbled to the back doors. In the rush of everything, I had forgotten to close them. The setting sun shone through the spaces in the fence, making the yard appear stripped. Our bags were still lying on the grass, odd items thrown all around the mesh totes. I walked over and started to shove them back in, very aware of the sound of bodies moving slowly on the other side of the fence.

My task became harder as my vision started to blur. Tears were dropping onto my hands, like little liver spots, as I picked up the various cans and boxes. Pain bloomed in my chest. What had I done? I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell into the sky a slew of curse words in every language, I wanted to disappear. I gripped the can in my hand and wound my arm back to throw it like I was a pitcher for the MLB.

But I couldn't. Everything I did put us in danger. I lowered my arm in defeat, and then stood up; the bag I was holding flopped over to its side. I started lashing out at the air all around me, like I was a kid throwing a fit; in a way, that's exactly what I was. I needed to inflict pain, so that mine felt small in comparison. I wanted the world to know how shitty I felt.

I picked up my discarded axe and started to whack at the ground with it. Chunks of grass and dirt leapt like grasshoppers fleeing for their lives from the uneven hole I was making. My body was starting to become heated from my spectacle; I must have looked like a raging lunatic. With a deep breath, I tried to center myself. I dropped the axe and dipped down to pick up the bags. With one in each hand, I walked back over to the house.

I threw the heavy totes inside and their contents rolled all over the floor like a glass of spilt milk. Except milk wouldn't have made that much noise. The infected started to scrape along the fence, alerted by the banging sound.

Fuck it. Let them devour me.

We were all doomed to be food for the worms sooner or later. Why not end it now? I could hear growling coming from the crowd; some had started to lightly bang on the fence. They didn't realize they were powerless to knock over their obstacle with their decaying arms like dried tree branches. But they were powerful enough to take down this world; the irony was almost too much.

Dead, infected people owned this place now. They marched into the streets like all armies before them, except they didn't discriminate. We were all fair game. All races, all colors, all genders. We were all equally screwed.

I slid down the rough outside paneling of the house, resting my head in my hands and wept.