The Days Are Tired (Book #1 of the Dark Skies series) - A Zombie story

Chapter 37: Mirage

The tantalizing smell of hot food had me walking through the front door, my growling stomach the only thing louder than my steady unease. An old, ashen staircase greeted me, its wood rough and chipped by age.

The stairs divided the bottom floor into two sections.

The left side held the living room. It was small but neat, with a plush sofa and a single rocking chair. The dated decor gave the feeling of being taken out of some old western. Small clusters of dust dotted random corners of the room. Frilly curtains and old cast iron vases spruced up the place.

The setup had an aged but homey feel.

To the right side of the staircase was the eat-in kitchen. The open planning allowed me a straight view of the medium-sized dining table, which held an array of southern-style foods. A wooden stove nuzzled into the room's back corners, accented the space's rustic feel, and gave it a cozy touch. It was snug and efficient.

Ava was just pulling out a chair next to Jo when I entered. They seemed to be in the middle of a conversation, so I took a chair by Sofia and listened in.

"Oh, is that your husband?" Ava pointed towards a framed photo that hung on the wall. It showed Jo and a gentleman a few years older than her standing in front of the barn, both of their faces carved and crinkled from old age. They beamed at each other with huge, toothy smiles that told me everything.

The man in the image looked eerily familiar, even though I couldn't put my finger on it.

Jo bowed her head as if praying. "Yes, that's my husband, Otis. He's a little under the weather, so he's resting upstairs."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope he gets better." Ava placed a hand over her heart, and in an attempt to lighten the mood she continued, "Any grandkids?"

"Oh no, not yet. I kept telling my boys to hurry because, well, I'm not getting any younger." Jo chuckled, a sound that was wheezy and rough. "You see, me and my husband have been married for over fifty years. We had seven kids in all that time - all boys." She lifted her shoulders proudly, like a strutting peacock. "I thought I'd have some grandbabies by now... but with everything that's going on, maybe it's a good thing they didn't."

Jo's eyes seemed to glaze over as she trailed off.

Ava realized she must have messed up again because she rushed to bring Jo back from whatever dark places her mind had traveled to. "Wow, fifty years and seven boys! You and your husband must have had your hands full."

"Yes. But when you love someone or something so much, you never want to let it go," Jo said with a wistful glint in her eyes.

Ava nodded. "Family is all about sacrifice."

"Yes, well, we all have our own crosses to bear." Jo clapped her hands together. "Now, enough about me. Eat. Eat." She motioned to the food as her son Thatcher handed us plates.

Thatcher stumped around the table, dutifully handing out silverware. He was like a silent giant as he maneuvered around the small kitchen space. Finally, he sat down in a corner in a well-worn chair. It was obvious it was his designated spot. He splattered a big heap of food on his plate, digging in before even cooling it down. And we all soon followed suit, helping ourselves to the small feast.

It was so good that I almost cried. It made me realize how much I had taken a warm plate of food for granted before all this. My heart ached for those days spent at the table eating with Mark and my mom. And even the rare times my dad decided to join us - though awkward and cold - I missed it.

A few minutes into the meal, Jo seemed to realize something. She stopped eating abruptly, her fork hitting her plate with a resounding clang. "Weren't there more of you? Where's the rest of your friends?"