Infection (1)

Chapter Two

"Dad," I said, although my voice was shaking vigorously. "Dad what's wrong? What are you..." He was on top of me before I could speak, lunging himself from the doorway at me, snarling and biting at me. I screamed for help, yelled, and kicked. I did everything in my power to get my dad off of me. "GET OFF OF ME! HELP! HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME," I screamed so loud I thought I felt my voice tearing my throat to shreds. I was powerless.

In what I though was going to be my end, I looked to the side of my bed and saw my hockey stick inches away, where I had moved it before going downstairs last night. But getting it in my hands was going to be anything but easy. My hands were currently pushed up against his neck, but if I moved one he might be able to come down and rip a chunk of my skin off and that wouldn't get me anywhere. But my arms were growing weak and I had to think fast. I could feel him getting closer, forcing my arms down inch by inch. Then an idea came to me, a way to get him off of me and potentially keep me alive at least for a few extra minutes. I looked at my father, now trying to eat me, dead in the eye. As he got closer I tilted my head back and threw it forwards, bashing our heads together. In his quick state of shock I rolled over, making us both fall off the bed.

Now on the ground, I reached for my hockey stick, getting a firm grip, and threw myself away from my dad. I landed down by the entrance of my room, and when I scrambled to get up he was on top of me again. He bit down, and pulled his head back. I could feel it. With his teeth he ripped the hell out of... my shirt? My heart rose. He missed! He didn't get the skin. I pointed the non-bladed part of my hockey stick and rammed it into his eye, knocking him back so he was no longer pinning me. I sloppily rose to my feet and sped down the short hallway towards the stairs. Tripping on my foot, I tumbled down, hitting my head on the railing and making me kind of dazed. Before I came to and realized what was going on, he had thrown himself down the stairs and was on top of me for the third time. I put my stick up to his neck and pushed, until there was enough room where I could pull my feet out and push against his stomach and get him off of me. Without giving it a second thought, I stood up and slammed the bladed part of my hockey stick straight on his head. Even though it was plastic, it was thick, and split right through his skull. I hit him repeatedly everywhere, head, stomach, and chest and then picked him up by his shirt, grasped his head, and smashed it against a wall, splattering it everywhere. He was motionless on the floor. He was dead.

I backed up against the wall and slid down to my butt, slumping down and staring at the bloody mess that used to be my dad. I had to process it. I killed my dad... My father tried to eat me tonight, and I shoved a hockey stick into his noggin.
Seconds later I heard a bang. I got up and walked swiftly toward it, only to see four people banging on the back sliding door, all snarling at me and gnashing at the glass. I didn't hesitate. I darted back up the stairs, stumbling over my dad's corpse. Entering my room, I grabbed my school back pack and dumped everything out. Something told me school would be cancelled for a while. I brought it down stairs and filled it with food and water. At the time I couldn't think of anything else. Just canned non-perishables and water.

I yanked on some shoes and headed for the front door. When I reached for the knob, the window of the door shattered, and girl that bit Dads ear tried to get in. I double back, only to see my back door glass shattered now, too, except this was letting them in and they were hurrying towards me. I ran to the living room, opened the door to my basement, and slammed it shut before locking it. They were banging and snarling and scratching against the wood, but my fear made it sound like they were scratching a chalk board. I ran down the stairs to the window. I yanked on the side, but it didn't budge. No time for freaking out, just take your trusty hockey stick and smash the glass. Crawling through I was in a little shaft that was only a few inches taller than me and led straight outside. I threw my bag up, and that's when I heard the basement door fall down the stairs, then the crazy people running down and roaring at me. I grabbed the rim of the shaft and pulled myself up and out before rolling over onto my back and looking up at the night sky. I heard people screaming and the popping of gun fire all around me. It frightened me. I got up and dashed down the road, not thinking to check if any of them were littering the street. Which they were, but they were busy feeding on other people. I ran to the big open field not too far away from my house and saw a helicopter flying pretty close to the ground. In it was one of them, in the co-pilot seat, gnashing on the throat of the pilot before it went down and crashed. I ran the other direction, away from the park towards a forest to hide and take refuge in. Even after entering the forest, I didn't stop running. I knew where I had to go. After about thirty minutes of running, I stopped for breather. Then I noticed the silence... so quiet I could hear my blood flowing. None were following me, and I knew where I needed to be.

I was headed for a hideout. A hideout I helped build a while ago. When I was in sixth grade, Axel and I weren't rival hockey players. We were best friends. During spring break, we came to this very forest with shovels to start building a cool club house. We dug about eleven feet deep (okay, I'll admit it; His dad helped us) and the size of two graves side by side. After digging it, his dad got a huge plank of wood that would cover it, and nailed it to the ground, leaving a little opening that we could fit through. Inside was a ladder, a table with candles and drawers filled of unlit ones, and matches. Axel and I loved it... but he's probably dead now.

After about an hour of walking, I finally reached it: our little safe haven. I knelt down, pushed my pack through the opening, and then slid myself down. There were also futons down there covered with sheets, so at least I could sleep comfy during this epidemic. I replaced candles, lit them, and then threw myself on one of the futons. I stared at the ceiling thinking. My mom is gone. My dad is dead. I killed my dad, the last piece of my family that's probably around. During this... whatever this is, I'm alone, and will always be alone. I lay there on the futon, surrounded by silence. Not a noise was heard by me, except for my crying.