They’re afraid and confused, as they imagine many others are. They don’t know what’s going on or how long it will last. While they were in their car there were no radio broadcasts, no calls could be made or received, and no news of any kind as to the state of the world.
They feel helpless. They are helpless. This is not a future either of them saw coming. This is not a path either of them ever wanted to walk, but it is the situation they find themselves in. They have a child to look after. They have each other to take care of. They have a family to protect.
Pete’s house is twenty, maybe thirty, yards away now. Markus is surprised there haven't been any warning shots yet. Pete has to be aware of them by now, and from this distance, and angle, there’s no way his brother could know who is approaching.
This is strange and entirely unexpected. He was sure he would have to convince Pete of who they are and to let them come in. He stops Kylie and asks her to wait with Patrick by the side of the house that doesn't have windows.
Patrick is awake again and crying. No one has come out of the house to check on the commotion. The curtains and blinds have been drawn on all the windows. At least this is in keeping with how Pete is.
Markus walks around the house to the front and over to the vehicles. He places his hand on hood of Pete’s truck. It’s cold, and the tire marks do not look to be fresh. He hasn’t driven it in days. He checks June’s SUV to find the same result. This isn’t entirely unusual. He suspected Pete would hold up in the house and avoid people, but driving his truck around the property to check the perimeter would be the most efficient use of time and resources. “Has he not been doing that?” he thinks. A peculiar, and concerning, detail.
He walks up the small set of stairs that lead to the front porch. He considers knocking. He doesn’t want to walk in the house unannounced and get shot, but being this close to Pete’s house for this long and not being confronted isn’t like his brother.
He checks the door, it’s locked, as he expected. He presses his ear against the wooden barrier. He doesn’t hear anything coming from inside. His stomach sinks. He remembers something that he can’t believe didn’t hit him until right now; Pete has two dogs. “Where the hell are the dogs?” he wonders, feeling tension build within him.
Something is off. He needs to get in the house. A sickening feeling gnaws at his insides. His heart pounds faster and faster. This whole situation isn’t right.
He slowly descends back down the stairs and returns to Kylie at the side of the house. She’s managed to calm Patrick, and the toddler has slipped back into a light sleep. He’s grateful for that.
“The door is locked. I don’t feel right about this. I’m going to check the windows. If I have to I’m going to break one to get in.” he says.
She can see the concern painted across his face. His demeanor only serves to further unease her. She does not respond in words, she only nods.
Pete’s house is two stories. Markus can only check the five windows on the ground level. He checks the two on the porch first. Both locked, of course. He checks the one on the far side of the house and the two around back. All locked. “Damnit Pete.”
If he’s going to break a window it should be one he’s at level with. He returns to the front porch. He takes his jacket off and wraps it around his arm. He lines his elbow up with the glass then smashes it quickly, and with more force than was probably needed
He holds still for a long moment and listens. He hears movement coming from inside the house. It sounds like it’s coming from the first floor. He doesn’t see anyone in the living room. He climbs through the window and over the back of the couch that is placed against the wall.
Upon regaining his footing his mouth drops and his face stretches in confused fright. The entertainment stand has been tipped over. The coffee table is broken. The bookshelves are in disarray. The room is a disaster. He doesn’t hear movement anymore. He quietly makes his way through the living room and to the hallway that leads to the kitchen.
He turns the corner and stops immediately. His face flushes, his skin crawls, the hair on his arms stands at attention. At the end of the hall is a figure, short, hunched over, and familiar. It is his nephew Ryan. The boy is nine years old and covered in blood. It’s dry and crusted. Markus is a good ten paces from him, but the stench permeating off the child is strong enough that he can smell it just the same as if the child were standing right next to him. It’s putrid and vile. Markus gags, and has to stop himself from vomiting.
“Ryan, are you okay?” he softly asks.
Ryan doesn’t move. It seems like the little boy doesn’t even see his uncle standing before him.
“Ryan, where are your parents?”
Still the boy doesn’t move. The distraught uncle calls to the child again, raising his voice a minimal amount.
“Ryan!”
The boy’s head cocks to the side, his ear turned towards Markus.
“Are you okay?!” Markus inquires once more.
The boy’s head snaps to face his worrisome uncle. Suddenly, Ryan takes off in a dead sprint, bounding directly at him. As the boy approaches he lets out a blood curdling screech and stretches his arms out in front of him.
“Ryan! Stop!” Markus shouts, but the boy does not heed his request.
Markus grabs his nephew’s out stretched arms and holds him at bay. The young boy chomps at Markus’ hands causing
