Chapter 30- Narrow Escape

"This guy had a whole family" I whispered to Tracy. We watched as the man stood stoically above the mound of dirt. Tracy chewed on her thumbnail but kept her eyes fixed on him, as though any moment she would be called to action.  "Any sign of your mother?" She asked without moving her eyes. I shrugged my shoulders. "Nothing yet.  Do you think she's responsible for all of this?" I gestured toward the man holding his blood stained shovel. Tracy signed.  "For all we know" she gestured toward the dirt at the man's feet. "She could be in there." I was ashamed to feel a wave of relief at this thought.  Part of me would be glad if she was already dead.  It was hard enough to see her mind gone, staring blankly at the TV in the hospital room, but to see her become one of those monsters...  I wondered if I could make the decision to end her life or if, in that moment, I would let her take mine...

"I'm gonna go look around" Tracy said, patting me on the shoulder.  "You okay?" I nodded, my eyes never leaving the silent form I knew would soon become a monster.  "Be careful in there." I called out as she walked toward the house.  "And thanks for coming with me, for sticking with all this." She smiled at me.  "Are you kidding?  If this really IS the zombie apocalypse the hardest part is gonna be pretending I'm not excited!" She posed like an overpaid action hero and cocked her shotgun, flinging a shell into the air. As it spun downwards behind her she turned her head at the perfect moment and kicked the shell across the grass.  She looked at me with a look of shock and glee on her face, and I could tell she didn't expect that to happen.  We both started laughing. "You just wasted a perfectly good round!" I called out as she walked away.  She waved her hand, still laughing.  "Aww, there's plenty more in the car!" she called back.  Considering the horrific circumstances I found it odd that we both were laughing, but also genuinely hopeful.  It felt good to smile, and I felt happier than I'd been in weeks.

I turned back and looked at the man standing over the mystery grave.  Who is in there anyway?  I kept my weapon pointed in his direction.  It was getting heavy, but I didn't want to lower it.  Any minute now this fool was going charge me and I needed to be ready.  I thought about that for a moment.  Why be ready?  Why wait for that moment and hope I prevail?  Why not just pull the trigger now?  If I know he'll turn it wouldn't be any different, right?  In fact, I might actually be doing him a favor.  I thumbed the safety on and of, the clicking like a timer helping me make my decision.  No, that was wrong.  What if he never turned? What if he was simply in shock, so upset that his mind was blocking out the horrific scene he'd witnessed earlier?  There's no doubt I'd make it short and sweet when he did change, but until then I had to wait.

I looked down at my gun.  The black powder coat was almost invisible in the darkness, and as I turned in over it caught the light and reflected streaks of silver.  It really was a beautiful weapon.  I wondered if other people appreciated such simplistic beauty.  In my other hand I clicked my flashlight on an off, pointing it up into the air, then down onto the ground.  I was almost bored.  I shone my light into the forest, half expecting to see my mother standing there.  I wondered if she really was buried under that man's feet.  The pile f dirt was big enough to have covered his wife and son and my mother, but there is no telling what was under there, and he certainly wasn't talking.  The thought occurred to me that I could dig up the bodies, but I put that from my mind immediately.  I didn't want to see her, not like that.

I was jarred out of my thoughts by the whimper of the dog wrapped in the rug on the ground by my feet.  I had almost forgotten about it.  I unrolled one half of the rug, petting the dog's nose.  "Its gonna be okay boy." I reassured him.  "It will all be over soon."  I wondered if the dog was going to change...  now that is something I definitely didn't want to see, and certainly felt less guilt about putting a wounded animal out of its misery.  I pointed my gun at its head and almost immediately the dog began to whine as though it knew what I was doing and was begging for mercy.  I hesitated, and looked back at the man.  No movement.  The dog's cries got louder and louder, as though it was suddenly experiencing an intense amount of pain.  I tried to comfort him, to calm him down, but nothing seemed to make a difference.  The sounds were annoyingly shrill, and I found myself getting almost angry at the dog for being so loud.  "Quiet!" I yelled, aiming my gun, but then lowering it.  I couldn't do it.  Those eyes, those poor, sad eyes.

In the tumult I almost didn't hear the man behind me, and turned just in time to see the shovel swinging toward my head.  I ducked and instinctively raised my shotgun to block.  A sickening crack and bolt of pain confirmed that at least of one of my fingers just broke.  Pain shot up my arm and into my back, and I stepped backward, tripping over the dog.  As I fell downward I pulled the trigger but missed completely, sending shot flying into the air pointlessly.  The blast didn't even startle the beast and he stumbled over the dog and staggered toward me.  I cocked the shotgun, clearing the spent shell and loading the next int the chamber.  Pointing it with my good hand I pulled the trigger.  I watched as the projectiles tore though his thigh, but he didn't even seem to care.  He limped toward me, determined.  I winced in pain as I pushed the slide downward and pulled it back up again.  I pointed and fired again, this shot removing his left hand up to the forearm.  Still he moved forward, slowly, but determined.  I scrambled to my feet and fired again.  This shot connected with his knee, spinning him to the ground.  I breathed a sigh of relief but watched in horror as he spun over onto his chest and began crawling toward me.  I pointed my shotgun down at his skull and pulled the trigger.  Click.  Misfire?  Was I out?  I cleared the jam and looked into the chamber.  I was out of shells.  I looked around, trying to find that shell Tracy had flung into the air earlier.  A hand grabbed my pant leg.  I tried to shake him off but his grip was like a vice.  He pulled me to the ground and I was powerless to stop him.  "Tracy!" I yelled.  Where was she?  Hadn't she heard the shots?  I looked back toward the house.  "Tracy, help!" I called out again.  I crawled on my hands and knees, kicking at the monster's face, but nothing seemed to make a difference.  Then I saw a hint of red in the grass ahead of me... The shell Tracy had discharged!  I stretched out my hand, but it was just out of my reach.  It teased the tips of my fingers and every time I almost had it it seemed to slide away a little more.  Behind me the beast was grabbing my ankle and pulling himself up closer.  I placed my other foot on his forehead and pushed off, launching myself toward the shell.  His grip didn't break, but I was close enough.  I loaded the shell and pointed my gun at his head...