"Gotta run, gotta get away." I honked as I ran through the large field beside my house, trying to get as far away from the house as possible. I had to get help, and the nearest house is 3 miles away. I ran as fast as and as hard as I could, Willy my legs to keep moving. I hit the forest beyond the fields at A dead sprint. "Almost there," I thought.
Tears stream down my face when I thought of my husband and children also slaughtered.
Lying dead in my house when I came home from the store.
I risked hey glance over my shoulder and saw my 13-year-old daughter Laurie about a quarter-mile behind me, stuck in a Bamble bush. Thank God she wasn't home when our family was killed.
"Mommy! Help me!" She shrieked. I am mediately headed for her, pulling her out of the bushes and into my arms.
"Oh, my sweet baby! I'm so glad you're oka-" The words died on my lips when I noticed she was covered in blood, not a drop of it her own. Her eyes were completely black and she smiled, flashing two rows of razor-sharp teeth. This was not my daughter.
