a last-second twist kept him from impaling himself on the ice axe. He scrambled to his knees and wiped the bloody projectile against his still-bleeding hand once more before throwing it as hard as he could.
Five years of baseball from middle school until his sophomore year paid off; the ball sailed over the fence and flew free until it crashed into a window of a house down the road. Kell told himself it was all him, and that it worked out well, but he knew it was blind luck. He didn't dare stand up to see if the ruse worked, so he trusted the sound and smell of his blood would draw off pursuit. Reasonable, in his estimation, since they hadn't seen him hop the fence.
On his hands and knees, Kell made his way to the back door. Nothing tried to break down the fence that he could hear, and he felt a sense of triumph.
Then he noticed the plywood completely blocking the glass door, and his heart sank.
Slumped against the door, he looked up at a sky fading into darkness. The stars weren't visible yet, but a thousand nights of gazing up at them from this spot reeled off through his head. It would have been peaceful if not for the nearby cries of the undead. Familiar.
Home.
Kell closed his eyes as he rested against the door, but they shot back open instantly. Spinning around, he examined the door more closely. The plywood was on the inside, and it wasn't one piece. The pieces were offset by about an inch, with a narrow gap between them.
Like someone had planned to be able to open the door.
Feeling a glimmer of hope, Kell lifted the back door mat. There was no key under it, but that didn't deter him. His parents had mentioned the new mat to him when they bought it; they considered it unusually clever. It was one of those thick, tacky faux-grass things, bright and shiny and obviously plastic. In one corner there was a barely visible indentation. Kell worked his fingernail into it, and with some effort the nearly invisible lines of a cutout appeared. Bending it back, he felt a hard shape concealed within.
Yes! Score one for mom and dad, and their obsessive need for useless crap!
He slipped the key into the lock on the sliding glass door, and it gave a well-oiled snick as the mechanism opened.
Kell turned the handle and carefully slid the door open just enough to let him crawl in, then closed it behind him.
He knew the house should be searched. He knew he should make sure there were no undead within, even if they were his parents. Instead he lay on the floor and shrugged off his pack, staring at the ceiling as he relaxed in the relative safety. After a few minutes he sat up, which was when he noticed the single sheet of paper centered on the scarred surface of the kitchen table.
Kelvin, it read, written in his mother's flowing script. Or Karen, or whoever finds this. If you find this, son, we should have listened to you earlier, but we didn't think anything like this was really possible. When the riots broke out we started to get worried. By the end of that day your father blocked off all the doors and windows. Not enough to stop a person who knew what they were doing, but it fooled those things just fine. By then there were a lot of them around, and everyone had heard about them. We thought about staying and trying to make it here, but in the end I convinced your dad we should head north.
Seems sad to waste the work he did here, but there wasn't much time to choose. You should know I'm writing this at three in the morning. The riots started less than a day ago. Our car is loaded and we're going to shut the garage door behind us. If you're reading this, son, please try to join us. If you can't, then use the house and anything in it. Your dad left you some things in that place he told you never to look.
We love you, Kelvin. We're praying for you and your family. We tried to get in touch with you, but we couldn't get through. I'm sorry. I hope you're safe. In fact, I hope you're somewhere far away, tucked in tight with that
Five years of baseball from middle school until his sophomore year paid off; the ball sailed over the fence and flew free until it crashed into a window of a house down the road. Kell told himself it was all him, and that it worked out well, but he knew it was blind luck. He didn't dare stand up to see if the ruse worked, so he trusted the sound and smell of his blood would draw off pursuit. Reasonable, in his estimation, since they hadn't seen him hop the fence.
On his hands and knees, Kell made his way to the back door. Nothing tried to break down the fence that he could hear, and he felt a sense of triumph.
Then he noticed the plywood completely blocking the glass door, and his heart sank.
Slumped against the door, he looked up at a sky fading into darkness. The stars weren't visible yet, but a thousand nights of gazing up at them from this spot reeled off through his head. It would have been peaceful if not for the nearby cries of the undead. Familiar.
Home.
Kell closed his eyes as he rested against the door, but they shot back open instantly. Spinning around, he examined the door more closely. The plywood was on the inside, and it wasn't one piece. The pieces were offset by about an inch, with a narrow gap between them.
Like someone had planned to be able to open the door.
Feeling a glimmer of hope, Kell lifted the back door mat. There was no key under it, but that didn't deter him. His parents had mentioned the new mat to him when they bought it; they considered it unusually clever. It was one of those thick, tacky faux-grass things, bright and shiny and obviously plastic. In one corner there was a barely visible indentation. Kell worked his fingernail into it, and with some effort the nearly invisible lines of a cutout appeared. Bending it back, he felt a hard shape concealed within.
Yes! Score one for mom and dad, and their obsessive need for useless crap!
He slipped the key into the lock on the sliding glass door, and it gave a well-oiled snick as the mechanism opened.
Kell turned the handle and carefully slid the door open just enough to let him crawl in, then closed it behind him.
He knew the house should be searched. He knew he should make sure there were no undead within, even if they were his parents. Instead he lay on the floor and shrugged off his pack, staring at the ceiling as he relaxed in the relative safety. After a few minutes he sat up, which was when he noticed the single sheet of paper centered on the scarred surface of the kitchen table.
Kelvin, it read, written in his mother's flowing script. Or Karen, or whoever finds this. If you find this, son, we should have listened to you earlier, but we didn't think anything like this was really possible. When the riots broke out we started to get worried. By the end of that day your father blocked off all the doors and windows. Not enough to stop a person who knew what they were doing, but it fooled those things just fine. By then there were a lot of them around, and everyone had heard about them. We thought about staying and trying to make it here, but in the end I convinced your dad we should head north.
Seems sad to waste the work he did here, but there wasn't much time to choose. You should know I'm writing this at three in the morning. The riots started less than a day ago. Our car is loaded and we're going to shut the garage door behind us. If you're reading this, son, please try to join us. If you can't, then use the house and anything in it. Your dad left you some things in that place he told you never to look.
We love you, Kelvin. We're praying for you and your family. We tried to get in touch with you, but we couldn't get through. I'm sorry. I hope you're safe. In fact, I hope you're somewhere far away, tucked in tight with that
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