“Thank God!” Henry exclaimed. “Move, move, let me in!”
She stepped aside and he ran in, slamming the door behind him, but not before she’d gotten a good glimpse of her front lawn.
Her cat, Moon Pie a black and white tuxedo, lay outside on the ground. A woman was leaning over her on hands and knees, stuffing handfuls of entrails into her mouth. She wore a terrycloth robe that was torn along the bottom and dirty with blood and some other dark stain. Wearing fluffy bunny slippers, the woman snarled around a mouthful of intestine. Two people shambled toward her, hands outstretched and stiff. They looked like children, but something was wrong. The kids wore pajama pants and long-sleeved tops and shuffled barefoot across the pavement. Their feet and ankles were covered in mud.
“Moon Pie!” she yelled, reaching for the door.
Her brother stopped her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“No, Raven,” he said, voice shaking. “You can’t go out there. She’s gone.”
Raven gasped, holding back a mass of emotion. Moon Pie was dead and who was that eating her? “I think that was Mrs. Robinson from next door,” she whispered, pulling away and holding her brother at arm’s length. “She always wears that nasty stained robe,” she gasped. Raven had a vivid image of her last encounter with Mrs. Robinson. She’d been scolded for letting her mail pile up. It attracts thieves, the old woman had said. She was wearing that same dirty white robe and stupid blue slippers. Half of her hair had been in curlers. She shook her head to dispel the image.
Henry looks okay, Raven thought, pushing her grief aside. There was nothing she could do for her cat now. Her brother however was right here in front of her. Henry had hit a rough patch last year, drinking too much and gambling. He’d lived with their father for a while, working on small airplanes in the hanger.
Henry nodded. “I thought it was her, batty old woman.” He moved away from Raven, rubbing his hands against the sleeves of his coat.
Roughly six years younger than her thirty-five rotations around this earth, Henry always looked like a kid to her. His straight brown hair was cut short and military style and the shape of his face was so much like their father, David. Raven hadn’t spoken to her father in more than two years. When he found out about her mother’s illness, he divorced her without a by your leave and moved to Atlas City, California’s largest metropolis. Raven couldn’t forgive that.
He walked down the hallway and Rocky followed at his heel, sniffing Henry’s pants and hands. Petting the dog lightly on the head, Henry peered at the paintings on the wall. Raven had hung those after her mother died, finding them buried beneath layers of old blankets in the bedroom closet. She knew Ann had been a painter in her youth but had never seen any of her work.
“Are these Mom’s?” Henry asked, touching the canvas gently. It depicted a green landscape, rolling hills and dark rain clouds.
“Yeah,” Raven answered, standing just behind him.
They were silent a moment letting memories swirl around them like the tide. The only sound was Rocky panting and the quiet tick of the grandfather clock in the living room.
“What the fuck is going on outside?” Raven asked, able to stand the silence no longer. The image of Mrs. Robinson with her face buried in the bloody abdomen of her cat haunted her. Images that you’d rather unsee had a way of imprinting crystal clear in your mind. This was one of those.
Henry took a deep breath. “I think they’re zombies,” he said, turning to look at Raven.
Rocky sighed and lay on the ground, putting his head on his paws and blinked sleepily.
“What?” Raven asked. Gooseflesh marched across her arms and shoulders. She knew full well what zombies were and they gave her the damn creeps. Henry had always been into horror flicks but she’d never been able to watch them. They scared the shit out of her.
“Yup, zombies,” Henry spoke, holding her gaze.
Raven was petrified, mouth dry and legs wobbly. She turned gesturing for her brother to follow and sat heavily at the kitchen table.
The kitchen was a large open room with a yellow and white tiled floor and vibrant daisy covered curtains. In the daytime this room was bright and airy, capturing morning sunlight. Right now it was dark, lit only by a cat shaped nightlight plugged into the counter.
Henry, followed closely by Rocky, flipped on the overhead light and sat opposite her at the table.
Raven was left blinking in the sudden brightness. Squinting, she regarded her brother. In the light she could see bags beneath his eyes but he still looked better than he had in a long time. Maybe he’s cleaned up a bit, she thought, hoping it was true. She understood drinking and had done a fair amount of it in the past, but at thirty-five her partying days were behind her. Raven had lost interest in the daylong hangovers and endless cups of Alka-Seltzer.
“What do you think happened?” she asked, focusing on the strangeness at hand. Her fear had subsided though she knew it would return. If what Henry said was true — with what she’d seen it had to be — they were in deep shit. Rocky put his head on her thigh and she stroked him, glad that he at least was all right. Moon Pie hadn’t wanted to come in last night and Raven had left her to herself. She regretted that now, oh how she did, but it couldn’t be changed.
“Well,” Henry began, running his hands through
