The sound of shattering glass catapulted me out of my bed. Seemingly, middle of the night disturbances were getting more frequent. Just as I turned to flick on the light, another loud bang of dishes falling out of a cupboard almost upsets the lamp onto the floor. I cursed silently to myself as I looked at my wristwatch. 1:35 A.M. This was getting old.
I made my way out into the garage, this time a six shooter solidly in tow. No need for mistakes again. They aren't all uninfected old ladies. I kicked the door open into the laundry room, pointing the pistol into the darkened kitchen.
"Who's there?" I shouted, slowly leading up to the light switch. The moment my voice rings out, the movement stops and there is silence. I drew in a heavy breath and flicked the switch, ready to blow the head off of whatever was causing the noise.
"Please, God, don't shoot!" the man cried, covering his head and curling up on the floor. I looked at him confused for a moment, and ordered him to get up. His hair was about to his shoulders, his face covered in a full beard. His clothes were ragged and messed from being the only thing he'd had for the past two years.
"Who are you?" I said coldly, not liking the breaking and entering. My mood shot down two more levels as I noticed the door standing wide open, a zed just making it's way to the thresh-hold. "Goddamn it," I cursed, putting a bullet in Zac and grabbing the man, dragging him out of my kitchen and into the living room.
"Do you see that?!" I hollered, shaking him like a child, even though he was seemingly much older than me. Probably mid twenties. "Fucking Zac! The earth is crawling with them, and you leave the goddamn door open!"
I threw him outside, "I ought to leave you out here!" My veins were pumping with adrenaline. Inside I knew I couldn't really throw him out, but I really wanted to at the moment.
"Please!" the man cried, tears and snot running down his face, "I have no where else to go! My family...M-My fami-ily," he sobbed, holding himself on the stoop. I stared at him for a while, unnerved by his absolute need for someone to be with him. He was helpless.
I drew in a deep sigh, "Alright. Get up, and come on." I said, my composure relaxing to tell him I wasn't as pissed off anymore. I even attempted a smile, softly saying that it was alright now. Everything would be alright, I promised.
The man stood, smiling while tears still poured down his face. He embraced me, standing in the doorway and sobbing. I gently hugged him back, feeling the need to comfort this complete stranger.
"Praise God," he said softly against my ear before he pulled back to wipe his face and come inside. But just as I let him go, another zed came out of the blackness, clamping it's maws tightly into his arm. A blood curdling scream shot from the man.
"Hold still!" I shouted, blowing the dead man's fleshy matter out of the side of his head. The man slumped against the railing on the stairs, his face pallid as he burst into fresh tears. At that moment, I remembered who he was. He'd been an elderly man's son who lived about five houses down. He had run down the street one day while I was cutting roses.
"I'm so sorry, Brandon," I said, brushing back his hair. He looked at me tiredly, his eyes slowly growing blood shot as his final tears started again. He seemed to be mouthing no as I stepped back and shot him in the forehead.
I made my way inside, leaving him there on the stairs. I was drained, and didn't have the strength to bury him as I did the old woman.
As I made my way back to bed, I curled into the blankets and cried softly to myself.
"There is no God."