He got to his feet shakily, just as his mother’s face appeared in the window. She leaned through and hung balanced on the frame for a moment before falling.
The sickening crack of bones echoed as she fell headfirst into an ungainly heap. He looked in shock as her body finally settled onto the very herb garden that had been her pride and joy. Her neck had snapped, and her head was lying at an awful angle.
“Oh no. Mom!”
Q took an involuntary step forward, then stopped. His mom was still tracking him with those wide-open eyes. It freaked him out; with a yelp, he jumped backward.
Seeing his father’s hand clutch the window frame above him spurred him into action. He ran. Their house did not have a gate separating the front and back yard, so Q rounded the house at a full sprint.
And collided with another person. Q yelped and spun away, rolling on the grass of his front lawn. The other person had also gone down. Q did not wait to see if the other person was OK — or even possessed — but instead ran to the sidewalk. He eyed his father’s truck longingly but knew that the keys were inside the house.
There was no way that he was going back in there.
The noise he had been making had attracted more possessed people. Q counted at least half a dozen shapes lumbering towards his house. One stepped around the truck and was close enough to lunge at him.
Q squealed, dodged back, and just ran.
At first, he ran in a blind panic. First one way, then the other, as possessed people seemed to be everywhere. His only saving grace was that he wasn’t the only one screaming and running.
Nevertheless, Q tired himself out quickly and was forced to take a short break. Looking up, he saw the open countryside, just past the next set of houses. Q instantly decided that he needed to get out of Verde Acres and away from those freaks. Those possessed souls.
Zombies! They’re fucking zombies! Q forced himself to acknowledge it, remembering the guy with the knife sticking out of his chest. And his own mother, lying in a broken heap...
Get the fuck out of here, Q reminded himself.
He ran to the row of houses which now faced him ominously. He knew that some of them would harbor zombies. They might be looking at him right now.
Several people were screaming from other sections of the neighborhood. He caught movement as a zombie in the distance made a beeline for the source of those sounds. The zombies back in the street had not reacted to him until he had made a noise, and he realized it was sound that attracted them.
Q ran stealthily to the first house. This place also had no gate separating the front and back yard. He darted around the side and poked his head around the back. Unsurprisingly, it was another backyard farm. There were lots of tall plants, and Q couldn’t see very far into the yard.
Corn to the left, sunflowers to the right, and what was that behind the sunflowers? Hemp?
Doesn’t matter. You’ve got to get to the other side. Q forced himself to move. He walked between the corn plants. The stalks stuck out just above his head. Ears of corn swayed slightly in the last of the morning’s chill gusts of wind.
That same wind brought a cloying and familiar scent to Q’s nose. Something was rotting. He tripped the moment the thought occurred to him. Q managed to keep himself from crying out as he landed in the dirt. A shocked gasp escaped his mouth when he looked back at what he had tripped over.
It was a dog. Dead several days. The body had bloated. Birds or bugs must have been at it, for it stared back at Q with eyeless, lidless sockets.
Q forced himself back to his feet. He froze after one step, hearing something or somebody else moving around in the yard. Only the greens and browns of plants and dirt met his terrified eyes. Q took another step, and immediately the movement resumed. It was coming closer.
Fuck this shit!
He faced what he thought was the back of the yard and the open grazing fields beyond and ran. There was a flash of sound and movement off to his right, but he was well out of reach. He quickly saw the edge of the corn field.
An open sky beckoned him, and he started to grin.
It felt kind of like being chased by teachers, or cops, or his dad. The thrill invigorated him, and he laughed out loud as he ran.
“Fuck you, mother fucke—”
His whole body came to a sudden stop mid-stride and he was flung backward. He landed hard on his back, taking down several corn stalks as he fell. His chest constricted with a massive cramp as he had the wind knocked out of him. He spurted and sputtered, trying to get oxygen into his body and finally rolling onto his side as the feeling subsided.
His first gulp of breath was greedy. He wiped the tears from his eyes and opened them wide as he realized he was not alone. A set of boots stood before him. He looked up, slowly, as if the zombie standing there would not attack until their eyes met.
It was a little girl. No more than five or six years old. Alive.
“You said a bad word,” the girl said, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Uh,” Q grunted as he got himself into a sitting position. “You scared me.”
The little girl stayed rooted in place. Her large eyes regarded Q with curiosity but also fear.
“You broke Papa’s plants,” she said accusingly.
“Yeah. Sorry,” Q responded before inspecting the barrier he had run into. He muttered aloud. “Chicken wire. Secured really
