The Boy in the Sheriff Hat (Book 1)

Chapter 3 - Two Sides to Every Story

That night, when I finally drifted off, my sleep was restless, and nightmares plagued me...

but... no... these weren't just nightmares... these were memories:

Bang... bang... bang...

I cleaned my mother's blood off a kitchen knife and put it numbly back into its wooden stand. Her eyes had been so cold and lifeless even before I plunged it into her skull. I stood there for a moment, looking at the bodies of my family - their organs were half devoured and strewn across the dark slate tiles of my uncle's kitchen. Their blood was spattered across the rich oak of the counter doors. I don't recall blinking once.

Bang... bang... bang...

I walked emptily to the downstairs bathroom and hurled the contents of my stomach into the toilet basin. I wretched even when I'd nothing left to throw up... my stomach would hurt for about a week after. I washed my mouth out and ran back to bed. I remember laying there for hours, maybe even days... I was waiting, you see; I was waiting for my cousins to run in and wake me up demanding I play on the Xbox with them. I was waiting for my auntie to knock on the door with the promise of breakfast or my mum to chastise me for oversleeping... I was waiting for something, anything, that would make the images in my head just a dream – just a terrible, bloody dream. But no one came...

Bang... bang... bang...

I remember the sound of the flies; their tiny wings panicking to get away as I eventually walked into the kitchen after days of listening to my stomach grumble. I remember the smell – my cousins' bodies were the worst. I think my grandparents had found and eaten them first – none of their insides remained were they should have been, and the decay had set in pretty badly by the time I emerged from my bedroom. I was starving, I think that's the only reason I came out. I remember searching for the cleaning products under the sink and scrubbing the blood off the cupboards, the surfaces, the floor... please don't laugh... it was all I could think to do at the time. I couldn't move the bodies, I tried but I couldn't. They were too heavy for me. I attempted to move my cousins, but they fell apart in my arms, like trying to move mushy peas without a container. I grabbed some food from the fridge and ran back upstairs.

Bang... bang... bang...

Days passed, perhaps weeks. The flies bred in the corpses of my family and the kitchen became almost unbearable to walk through. The food in the fridge and the freezer had begun to turn when the electricity companies stopped supplying. I don't remember the last TV broadcast... just the white lines across the screen. My phone quickly became useless – there was no network anymore, nowhere to charge it, my iPod the same; everything that had once been important slowly grew unimportant... but I just couldn't figure out what instead was important. I remember the first time I saw a zombie. My uncle had owned a lot of land – acres in fact – it was a luxury home and sat bang in the middle of farmlands and forests with very few neighbours. I'd been staring emptily out my bedroom window when a single figure limped across the overgrown lawn. I recognised him – he'd lived on a farm at the back of my uncles with his wife and child. I almost did it again, as I had done with my mother... I almost ran out to him thinking he was still alive. Perhaps I could be forgiven for my mistake considering he was still walking... upon spotting his guts trailing behind him, my skin turned cold. I ran to the none-existence safety of my bed covers and hid there for a little longer.

Bang...bang... bang...

I remember the sound of the dead outside at night as their numbers grew. But the most terrifying sound was the sound of the living raiding the downstairs of the house. The loud bang of their guns as they shot at the skulls of the zombies, their brash voices unkindly barking orders at each other. I wish I'd hidden myself better... I remember the bright light of their torches discovering me in my bed, the coldness of the night air as the duvet was ripped from my skin.