The Zombie Apocalypse with MCR (Complete)

Unhappy Beginning

March 16th, 2007

A shriek in the dark wakes me.

My eyes flash open and the world turns to gold. It's too much, too soon, and my vision wobbles. With a low groan, I bury my face under one elbow and breathe around the nausea of waking too quickly.

The shriek does not belong to my dreams. It continues, muffled by the door and my quilt and my arm. Still, the grating noise is full of panic and demands.

Sighing, I kick off my covers and stumble for the door.

The landing has the same golden hue of dawn and the chill of a spring morning. There's no other signs off life, so no one has been roused by their alarms yet. It's too early to be awake.

Scrubbing the sleep out of my eyes and the spit off the corners of my mouth, I nudge open mum's door. The room is dark, her bed a mess of unmade covers.

I approach the crib warily, wincing against the noise.

"Here's the little nugget," I croak, trying to smile, "Hello mate, what's with all this noise, huh?"

Still Riley's little legs flail, and his chubby fists squeeze tight; furious.

"Okay, okay." I murmur, and reach in for him. He's getting heavy, and long, and I get a couple kicks to the gut as I wrangle his limbs. He writhes against my chest, too furious to accept the comfort.

"Did you wake up alone, huh? That your problem?" I ask, rocking from left to right.

He grizzles against my collarbone, garbling some nonsense.

"I know, poor nugget," I soothe, scrubbing my palm against the copper curls at the back of his head, unconcerned that they're damp with sweat.

A cautious sniff of his bum, and I grimace. He needs changing. Probably why he's so annoyed; it's a messy task but I get it done quickly, and when he's dry and clean he settles against my chest much more reasonably.

"Let's go look for mum, yeah?" I murmur, kissing his fat cheek. "Get you a bottle while we're at it, nugget? Let's go."

Riley doesn't have anything to add, of course, but his little fists tighten at the collar of my sleep shirt, so he's amiable. His eyebrows are golden and no longer furious, and his eyelashes are copper and settled against his pudgy cheeks.

There are still no signs of life in the house, but there should be by now.

I pop my head into the girl's room and squint through the dark. Their curtains are black, and so are their bed covers. They'd paint their walls black if they could.

On opposite sides of the room, in separate beds, the twins are curled in the exact same position.

It's humid in here; too warm and too close. Like there's fever in the air. Frowning, and hushing Riley, I inch into the room to check on them. Lillie's forehead and cheeks are scarlet and slick with sweat. Orchid is the opposite, too pale, the hollows under her eyes too dark. She looks grey.

They should be getting ready, but maybe it's earlier than I thought.

Maybe they're faking, too embarrassed to go to school after the fight they had yesterday, but their slumber looks real enough to me.

Riley grizzles again, so I leave quickly without disturbing them.

No noise in the bathroom, and the kitchen is empty and cold. Blue light flickers on the dining room wall, so I aim for the living room and pause in the doorway.

Mum is stood in the middle of the room, totally motionless. Hands limp by her sides. Dark hair unbound and lank down her back. She's in an old baggy shirt of dad's, without her slippers or dressing gown. It's cold in here.