“What is it?” Tracy asked from the doorway, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
Bear and Tommy were behind her. Tommy was clearly trying to rub the tears out of his eyes, fruitlessly I might add. It looked like he had been pouring it on.
“I’m not sure,” I answered Tracy, keeping my eyes on Tommy.
He knew something, and he wasn’t telling. That couldn’t be good by any stretch of the imagination. His eyes trailed to the stain, even though from his vantage point he couldn’t see it.
“The attic,” I said.
“What?” Came Tracy’s reply.
“Get everyone in the attic!” my concern raising my voice.
Nobody was moving with a speed I felt the moment warranted. There were moans and groans of protest about being uprooted. Paul had managed to get the stepladder out of the hall closet that was used primarily for getting into the attic. When he had put the ladder in place and pushed the hatch open he was greeted with a blast of super cold infused air.
“Mike, are you sure about this?” Paul shouted from the hallway. “The attic makes the rest of the house seem like the Bahamas.”
As if in reply a loud cracking noise ensued from the bedroom. A two-by-four had just been broken. The drywall on my side bulged dangerously outward. The zombies were using the only tactic they knew, overwhelming by sheer numbers. There must have been dozens of zombies on the other side of this wall just pressing with all their weight. The liquid on my wall was the seepage of the zombies that were being pressed hard enough to be juiced like an orange; a blood orange. I backed away. When the wall finally went it wasn’t going to be subtle. It would be like someone had opened the floodgates.
“Paul there had better be three people up there already!” I shouted.
I jumped when I realized he was behind me. “What’s going on?” he asked. “I heard the crack.”
“It’s the wall! Get everyone up in the attic.”
He looked at me for a moment longer. His cold-addled brain was working overtime to grasp the situation. A white dust covered hand broke through. Paul didn’t need any more evidence. He was off like a shot. I could hear the commotion behind me as Tracy, Paul and Erin were debating the merits of what should go up in the attic.
“No time, guys!” I shouted as I fired my first round into the forehead of the interloper. It did little to stop the tidal surge of zombies as the one foot gap in the wall quickly became three feet.
The dresser and the TV came crashing down; never did like that TV. Bought it on Craigslist for $100, should have talked them down to $50, oh well now I could get a flat screen. You think I’m kidding, right? My mind was having such an unbelievably difficult time reasoning with the fact that zombies were busting through my bedroom wall it became much easier to regale in the mundane. Thankfully though, my reflexes weren’t hampered by the same problems. My Marine Corps honed combat skills were in full effect, aim, breathe, squeeze, reacquire target, aim, breath, squeeze, reacquire.
Between shots I was inching my way backwards, yielding as little ground as possible, but the sheer press of numbers had me constantly moving.
“Paul, I need an update!” I yelled, as I dropped a zombie no further than two feet away.
“All the kids are up, Tracy’s getting water!” was the reply.
I had been pushed out of the bedroom and was two feet away from the top of the stairs. I lost valuable time as I reloaded the M-16. My first shot struck the ground as a zombie batted the barrel away in an attempt to get to me. I collapsed my tactical stock, making the M-16 much more easy to wield in the increasingly tight space.
“Tracy, you’re about to make orphans, GET UP THERE NOW!” I shredded my throat trying to get my point across.
I backed up some more, making short work of the zombie that had the audacity to block my shot, but the ground given was my last. The heel of my right foot rested on nothing, I was at the edge of the stairs. There would be no further retreat. Zombies in front, zombies behind, and many bullets to shoot before I died.
“Bear, come on!” Paul yelled from the ladder. “Mike, everyone’s up except for Bear, me and you.”
I heard Bear come up beside me, his menacing bulk and deep growl made for a welcome ally. I moved to my left to get to the ladder before all means of retreat were cut off. Too late! In my haste to watch my precarious footing, a zombie had ensnared himself in my sling. I would have given him the damn thing if I wasn’t so tangled myself. I couldn’t even bring it up to shoot. So this is how it ends. I had always expected something a little more dignified, but in those last few seconds the revelation hit me. What could be more dignified then dying in defense of one’s own family and friends? Bear felt the same way. He launched himself at my assailant, bringing all three of us down into a Twister Game Gone Bad pile. The barrel of my gun was all that kept the zombie from tearing into my face. I kept it between us like a fat guy would keep a box of Twinkies between him and a personal trainer. Bear was ripping and rending the zombie from the back, pulling his head further and further away from me. I pushed up with the gun to give the massive dog some help. I began to squirm out from the pile when Bear placed his colossal jaws around the zombie’s head and crushed it easier than I would have been able to crush a Coke can with my hands. The zombie’s eyes flew out, striking me in the chest. Diseased gray black brain matter leaked out of its mouth and nose. I was already in overdrive to get out from under him; I now found another gear.
I had finally freed myself when I felt another hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t catch a break. I jerked my arm trying to break free.
“It’s me, dude,” Paul said reassuringly. “Come on man, let’s go!”
I was at the foot of the ladder. Bear was the only thing that stood between us and death. Paul pulled me up to my feet.
“Bear, come on!” I yelled raggedly.
I knew it was futile and somehow so did Bear. If he retreated now, most likely all three of us would die. There was more going on here than just a zombie attack. What it was I hoped to live long enough to find out.
Tommy poked his head through the opening. “Bye, Bear,” he sobbed, his tears striking me in the face.
Bear turned around and looked at Tommy and then me. I will swear to this day that he was smiling as he gave me a slight nod of his head. And then this thought was implanted into my head: ‘Don’t make me die for nothing.’
Paul must have received the same broadcast. He jumped up and grabbed the lip of the opening and hauled himself up, turning around and thrusting his hand down to help. Didn’t need it. With all the adrenaline I had flowing, I could have jumped from the first floor and made it. I closed the lid, not wanting to see Bear’s final stand. Tommy had pushed as far away from all of us as he could, grieving in his own way. Bear never whined, yelped or barked, for that I am thankful. That would have been too much; no matter the consequences I would have descended into the maelstrom to help.
CHAPTER 27 
Journal Entry - 24
The loud crack from below, which I could only conceive of as Bear’s demise, was immediately followed by a debilitating piercing through my skull. I rolled onto my side, hands thrust up to cover my ears, as if that was going to do anything. That gesture was about as useful as giving the finger to a blind man. The feeling was tantamount to drinking the world’s largest Slurpee in world record time on the hottest day of summer. It was a brain freeze delivered on a heated ice pick. White flashes arced across my vision. It was long tense moments before I realized that I hadn’t had a stroke and that I wasn’t blind. As the effects agonizingly wore away I slowly sat up, rubbing my temples and looking around. Everyone in our small group was in some state of recuperation from this attack.
“What…what was that?” Brendon said holding his hand to his forehead, trying to find the entry hole the ice pick had made.
As the last shadows of the electrical storm in my brain petered out, I shifted my gaze to Tommy. He wore a grim expression on his face, but it wasn’t from pain, at least not the same pain that had afflicted the rest of us. A few ideas about what could have caused this were bantered around, including the change in temperature, but I knew the answer. Well not exactly, I knew who had caused it, I just didn’t know why.
A few hours later our small band of survivors were huddled in the center of the attic, trying in vain to conserve our body heat. It was quiet except for the constant chattering of teeth and floorboards creaking below us. This was to be our final resting place, enshrouded in pink r-16 fiberglass. It seemed fitting given the circumstances.
