Small Eyes (A Zombie Novel)

Clearing Day Pt. 1

The corpses mounted high as the infection swept the nation. Mangled and battered bodies laid still in the streets, piled on top of each other like hunted carcasses. Citizens detoured around the stacked bodies, covering their mouths with their shirts or hands. Today was clearing day. Once a week, every Friday, a few military officers would burn the dead bodies; cleaning our streets in hopes to stop the spread of disease inside our walls. The burnings were, to say the least, a big deal. People would gather around the outside of their homes, or watch intently from their windows. But my family and I had never been one to observe. Especially after all the protesting began.

Personally, I'd never witnessed any rioting. I'd heard the shouts but never seen the fights. However, a rumored casualty between two sick children and a military officer was more than enough to send my mom into a panic. While trying to keep our best interest at heart, she commanded we all remained indoors, on our property, where it was 'safe'. And we had done just that for days. But today was different. Josh, mom's long-term-boyfriend, died. The doctors came to take our weekly vitals and something was wrong with Josh's results; he was sick. The military officers came and whisked him away for what I assumed was further testing or maybe even a treatment trial. But not even a full day later, an officer was on our doorstep, sharing his condolence and claiming that Josh died. Now, mom wanted us to go outside; not freely but as a family. Only to attend the burning and honor Josh.

"Alycia," My mom spoke, gently knocking on my opened door. I turned my head to meet her gaze. She stood motionless in the doorway. She looked beautiful but her expression was distant and hardened; it appeared as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. Unfortunately, the look was all too familiar. Her green eyes studied the floor, a simple method to keep from making eye contact with me. She ran her hands down her top, smoothing out the wrinkles in her lavender blouse. It was a top she used to love wearing to church. "I, um, wanted to look nice -- you know, -- for the goodbyes." Her voice parted from her lips in a gentle and nearly inaudible tone. It was so unlike her: the silence, the stillness.

"You look beautiful." I commented before rising to my feet. I slowly dragged my sweaty palms over my jeans. The distressed denim hugged my slim figure while my plain black t-shirt laid loosely around my frame. "I'm starting to feel a little underdressed." I attempted to joke in hopes to get a laugh from mom but I was unsuccessful. I forced out a small chuckle, hoping to recover from my failed joke.

Mom glanced up, taking a brief second to take in what I was wearing. "No, no. Not at all." She whispered with a simple nod. Her eyes flickered from side to side, unable to focus on me as a glassy layer of tears blinded her. "They're, um, setting up. I'll get Wyatt and then we should go." I gave my mom a comforting smile as she turned her back towards me and walked down the hallway to retrieve Wyatt, my little brother.

I left my room and entered the kitchen, glancing at the bar stools as I caught sight of Delilah, my sister. She was only six so our whole family had always kept her sheltered, which continued to grow more and more difficult considering the circumstances, but she was young and we wanted to preserve her innocence for as long as possible. But sometimes I felt she handled troubling news better than any of us.

"I drew us." Delilah stated, beaming as she waved a brightly colored piece of printer paper in my face. "Isn't it cool?" Her smile so strongly resembled her father's; the thin lips and tiny teeth. Her reddish-blonde curls and dark brown eyes made her a nearly identical replication of Josh. I knew that was why it had been so difficult for mom to look at her.

"Whoa! That's so awesome." I exclaimed as I leaned over the countertop, taking a closer look at her masterpiece that was clearly created with dull pencils and broken crayons. "Is that Wyatt," I asked, pointing to a tall, lopsided stick figure with spiky brown hair that somehow managed to resemble my sixteen-year-old brother. "And mom?" I added, sliding my finger to the drawing with red heels, spaghetti-like brown hair, and big green circles for eyes.