All Of Us Are Dead

Chapter 9 Trapped

Days had passed, though none of us could say how many exactly. The light of the sun had begun to blur with the cold darkness of the night. We were surrounded by silence, interrupted only by the occasional scraping at the windows or distant wails.

Food was running low. We rationed what we had, but even with everyone barely eating, the supplies dwindled faster than expected. Every time someone opened a can, it felt like another reminder that time was slipping away. We all knew it, but no one spoke about it—just exchanged quick glances and stifled sighs.

The intruder, the thing that had broken into Uncle's house, lay still on the floor, its body now covered by an old blanket. None of us dared to look at it too long. The stain from where it fell had seeped into the wood, a permanent reminder of how close we had come to being overrun.

I could tell by the look on Dad's face that he was trying to keep it together for my sake. His hands trembled when he thought no one was watching. I sat close to him, quietly hoping that by being there, I could somehow share his burden.

At first, the news on TV was the only thing that kept us connected to the outside world, a flicker of hope. But now, the signal flickered. Each broadcast seemed shorter than the last—if it came on at all. Most channels were just static, and when we did get something, it was grim: more buildings on fire, entire cities overtaken. There were fewer updates about quarantine zones, almost as if they were becoming irrelevant.

The worst part was when the power started to cut out. It wasn't immediate, but the lights would flicker, then plunge us into darkness. We kept candles nearby, always ready to light them when the room went black. It was like even the house was turning against us, one piece at a time.

The dim lights flickered overhead as the power sputtered again. Each flicker was a stark reminder: if the power was failing, the water wouldn't be far behind. We needed a plan. Something—anything—to ensure we had a reliable source of water. The house felt like a ticking time bomb, one that could cut us off from the basics at any moment.

Jake had taken on this whole protective brother role ever since that night. I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move, like he was scared I'd disappear or worse. He started staying up with Dad and Uncle during the night shifts, keeping watch with the same kind of determined energy that used to be reserved for teasing me. But now, everything was different.

Dad... he wasn't Dad anymore. He'd barely spoken in days. His grief hung in the air, thick and heavy. Every time I caught his gaze, there was something broken in it. He wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping, and when he did speak, it was hollow. The walls he put up felt impenetrable. It made me sick to think about what he was going through, but I didn't know how to help him.

I needed to get away, just for a moment. The weight of it all—Mom, the house, Jake, the silence—it was suffocating. So I slipped away to one of the back rooms, the one with the least amount of noise. There, I let myself sit in silence. My mind wandered, replaying those encounters outside, the way those things moved, how they looked. But then, like a wave crashing in, my thoughts returned to Mom. All the memories came rushing back—her smile, the warmth in her voice, how she used to hold me when I cried. And then the guilt crept in. The image of her alone in that room, behind that door, haunted me. We left her. I left her.

The tears came before I could stop them. I tried to keep quiet, but the sobs escaped anyway, shaking my entire body. I buried my face in my hands, hoping no one would hear. But someone did.

Quin's footsteps were soft as he entered the room. He didn't say anything at first, just wrapped his arms around me in a hug that felt like a lifeline. "It's okay," he whispered. "You're not alone in this."