Title: The Frustrated End of the World
Author: Kassfinol
All rights reserved.
Genre: Zombie horror
Dear viewers, do not leave your homes; take shelter until the authorities find a way to counteract this horrible pandemic. Don’t let anyone into your homes; we don’t know for sure how the contagion occurs, we only know these people have a horrible appearance, they’re fast, and that once they see a healthy person or smell a living being, they run until they reach them to kill them.
Shit, this can’t be happening —I thought, getting up from the sofa to close all the doors, draw the curtains, and turn off the television. I ran to my bedroom with my heart racing, grabbed my shotgun, and peeked out the window. Seeing my son sitting on the bed, watching me, I shouted at him hysterically:
—Get the other shotgun. Hurry! Those bugs are already coming.
—Dad, but I don’t know how to shoot —my only sixteen-year-old son whispered.
—Get it, I told you! You’re going to have to learn, or you won’t have a chance to live —I answered, approaching the window once more cautiously so as not to be seen. I never imagined all those damn zombie stories could come true. All this is terrible; I never thought I’d live through something like this. I would have preferred this end of the world to follow the theories of the religious or the Maya. Damn them! How could they have been wrong?
—Dad, look! —Freddy pointed, terrified, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked, and a pack of zombies was walking toward the house. We were on the 2nd floor of our home. I was sure the door wouldn’t hold against those fifteen zombies, and… Damn! Now I understood it had been a bad idea to fill the ground floor of the house with big windows.
—Calm down, son, we have enough bullets to finish them off —I answered, feeling my heart beat faster and faster, my hands starting to sweat; I couldn’t hide that I was terrified by the situation.
—Dad, haven’t you read or seen zombie movies? If we shoot, the sound will attract them. We must use sharp things and stab them in the brain.
—But there are too many of them.
—We must be faster than them, that’s all, Dad.
—Tell me something. Why are you so calm and relaxed?
—I don’t want to die, that’s all. —His answer impressed me, but it filled me with courage.
—What are we going to do then? —I asked him.
—Let’s separate them around the house, make them scatter once they get in. Here, I have these very sharp knives with me. —Freddy handed me a long knife, and he kept a small kitchen hatchet.
—I’m going down, Dad, I love you.
—Son, no!… Wait! —I whispered, but I couldn’t stop him; Freddy was already going down the stairs, so I ran after him. Seconds later we heard the crash of glass breaking, before the constant pounding of the zombies.
As soon as they started coming in, I moved away from Freddy and drew the attention of those disgusting dead. My son, in the most natural way, drove the hatchet into the heads of several zombies. For my part, I defended myself as best I could. But I managed to stealthily kill a good number of those bastards.
When not one was left inside our home, I breathed deeply for the first time since I’d gone down the stairs. I looked to the sides and couldn’t see Freddy. The last time I saw him, he was killing left and right with great agility.
—Freddy… son —I called him; hearing no answer, I became stressed again. I felt great worry and anguish.
—I’m here, Dad —I heard my son’s voice behind me. I turned around, relaxed, happy because he was alive. But that happiness lasted very little. Because in front of me was a horrible zombie, and it was smiling at me. From the shock, I screamed. But my brain recognized it as my son; in fact, it wore the same clothes as my beloved Freddy.
—Dad… Dad… What’s wrong?
—I have to kill you! Stay away from me… I won’t let you eat me or kill me… you’re no longer my son.
—What are you saying, Dad? It’s me! Let’s go upstairs, it’s late —the zombie started walking toward me.
What is this zombie saying? That we go upstairs? But this house is no longer safe; we must leave here. Better said, I must leave here; the truth is I don’t have the heart to kill my own son.
—Dad, get up for fuck’s sake! —my son shouted, and the fact woke me up.
Shit, it was all a dream. I had fallen asleep on the living room sofa. My son looked at me smiling, with a mocking face; he looked very amused.
—Hey, Dad, watching The Walking Dead before bed isn’t a good idea; see if you can grow up.
Hearing him, I let out a guffaw.
—Good God, you’re absolutely right. That nightmare has made me love our reality a little more.
—Old man, you had to be! You’re so boring. Here I am, frustrated, I was left with my little hatchet and a few knives waiting for the fucking end of the world to happen, as they explained it… although obviously I’m only prepared for the zombie apocalypse.
When I heard that, I remembered the nightmare, terrified. Freddy let out a hearty guffaw when he saw my reaction.
—Just kidding, Dad! I’m only pulling your leg. Let’s say you talk very loudly when you sleep, and well, today’s nightmare was influenced by your comments.
—Definitely, no more zombies at night from now on! —I whispered, getting up to go to my room to try to rest.
THE END.