Good As Dead

I ran up the cellar stairs, trying to ignore the pain that radiated from my newest wound. I tip-toed into the desolate kitchen and peered out the screen door. As far as the eye could see, rotting corpses staggered aimlessly around the backfields. I backed away from the door, bumping into a counter. I leaned against the counter for support. My left calf, the sight of my newest wound, started to feel numb. Not this. Not now. Not Yet! I thought apprehensively.

I tried to catch my breath but it only accelerated when I heard a sound coming from the cellar. “Fuck," I murmured under my breath. I stood up, ignoring the numbness that radiated upwards from my wound.

I heard the sound again, this time it was closer. I took a seat at me old kitchen table. I needed a strategy. I could either take my chances with the army of the undead that lurked outside or battle the beast that invaded my home. Seeing as one on one was more strategic than one on a hundred, I decided to stay.

I grabbed a rusty knife from off the kitchen table, instantly dropping it. I could no longer feel my right hand. I tried grabbing the knife with my other hand but it quivered before releasing the knife.

Thatʼs when I began to panic.

I shakily stood up, falling back down again. "Not this. Not now. Not yet!” I pleaded to no one in particular. I tried to get to my feet, to no avail. I was so distract, disoriented rather, that I nearly missed the sound of my cellar door bursting open.

I instantly froze. I slowly veered my eyes in the direction of the kitchenʼs doorway. I waited for the beast to find its way to me. I waited for thirty long seconds before the zombie that had caused my wound barreled into the kitchen. I sat still, watching the reanimated corpse destroy my kitchen. My body had long since gone completely numb. I closed my eyes, anticipating the zombieʼs attack.

I had previously excepted my fate. From the moment the zombie bit me, I already knew I was as good as dead.