Star: A Zombie Story

5 - Shut Down

I pull the window shut with a soft thud and turn to Frankie, my voice low but urgent. "Yeah, I mean, behind the building, you know where that old video store used to be? They’ve been renovating it, piling up boards and wood out back for weeks now."

Frankie’s brow furrows, his sharp gaze locking on mine for a moment before flicking to Oscar. “Alright,” he drawls, a slow grin creeping onto his face. “What you think, my man? Feel like goin’ on a little wood hunt?”

Oscar scratches the back of his neck, hesitating. "Aye, man, I’m down, but… maybe it could wait ‘til morning? It’s dark as hell out there, and I ain’t tryin’ to trip over some damn wood."

I glance back out the window, the shadows outside feeling heavier than they should. “I'm with Oscar on this...I think you guys should wait…” I say, my voice faltering. “Whatever’s happening out there, I mean, maybe the cops will have it under control by morning?”
My fingers drum nervously on the sill. “And, I mean… my dad would lose his mind if we start nailing stuff to the walls.” I add, almost as an afterthought.

Frankie gives a low chuckle, but it’s tight, humorless. "Sweetheart, I don’t think your dad’s gonna mind a few holes in the wall if this mess makes its way here." He rubs his forehead, his expression clouded with thought. "Look, I’ll be real with you… something about this whole thing feels off. Way off."

He digs into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, his movements slow and deliberate. Pulling one out, he points toward the TV with it. "And that shit? I ain’t never seen anything like that before," he mutters, nodding toward the TV, the eerie messages that had replaced the live broadcasts.

He finds his Zippo, flipping it open with a practiced flick, but instead of lighting the cigarette right away, he walks to the fire escape door. He pushes it open casually, the metal creaking just enough to cut through the stillness.

"Aye," Oscar pipes up, his tone lighter, trying to cut through the tension, "it cool if I use a bowl to put some food down for Mamas?"

I wave toward the cabinets with a faint smile. "Yeah, go for it. Mi casa es tu casa, Papi," I say, forcing a bit of lightness into my voice. ("My home is your home, Papi.")

Oscar chuckles, pointing at me approvingly. “Mira a esta gringa hablando español como si naciera en el barrio,” he teases, his grin wide and playful. ("Look at this white girl speaking Spanish like she was born in the neighborhood.")

Then, with a casual shrug, he adds, "Not bad, Stargirl. You might pass... if no one listens too close."

With a smile, I step onto the fire escape, the cool air biting at my skin in sharp contrast to the warmth inside. The city hums, a low blend of chaos, softened by the distance, but out here, the quiet feels heavier, almost unnatural. I lean against the railing, my fingers curling around the cold metal as I peer down at the alley below. It’s still...too still, and the unease in my stomach tightens.

Frankie flicks his lighter, the tiny flame flaring to life before he lights his cigarette. He takes a slow drag, the ember glowing softly in the dark. When he exhales, the smoke spirals upward, fading peacefully into the night.

“You think it’s riots?” I ask softly, my voice barely louder than the faint rustle of the breeze. “Or looting?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze stays locked on some distant point, his jaw tight, the cigarette perched at the edge of his lips. The longer he waits, the more my pulse quickens, the silence gnawing at me.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with something unshakable. "Could be. But it don’t feel like no riots I’ve seen. This… this feels bigger than that. Heavier."