Leaving It Behind (#FrightFest2016 SILVER winner!)

Part 2

You and I used to watch horror movies together. We made fun of the first-to-die morons who would always react to danger like a deer in headlights. We had told ourselves we would never do that.

I guess I was wrong.

Her cold, rough grip on my arm snapped me out of my stupor. This wasn't my mom anymore. With a scream, I ripped my arm out of her grasp.

The door. I had to shut the door. I shoved at it, but she was already halfway inside. She took another heavy step forward, and I nearly tripped in my panicked effort to back away.

The door swung wide open. Other flesh-eaters on the street slowly turned their heads my way. My mind raced with gruesome images involving me as a main course. Oh god. This was not how I imagined my life ending.

A thought flickered through my head, an errant picture of a little electronic knight on an ostrich. Joust! With gritted teeth and a resolute knit of my brow, I lifted the shotgun with both hands like a lance and charged forward like the crazed teenager I'm pretty sure I was.

The tip of the gun poked her in the gut hard, and she went reeling back toward the doorway. I propelled forward, adrenaline surging, until she stumbled out the door. She sprawled backwards onto the front porch and looked confused as I slammed the door shut.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered as I secured the deadbolt.

I backed away from the door until my back hit a wall. Tears slid down my cheeks as I sagged down, then I was on the floor again. The shotgun clattered to the ground and I covered my face with my hands. Mom actually liked you, but she thought I was too young to know what I wanted. Too young to know what love was.

Love. An irrelevant concept now.

The bumping against the front door resumed. Was I trapped in this house? Where would I go even if I could escape? I had no idea. So I did what teenagers do best when faced with tough choices: I turned on the television.

Every channel was broadcasting the same madness that was going on outside my door. "Stay in your homes," one broadcaster advised. "The streets are not safe."

I retrieved the shotgun from the floor and hugged it. Words like "highly contagious" and "no cure" floated around my ears. I wondered how long I could hole up in here before starving to death. I flipped through channels, desperate for some shred of information that could save me from a horrific fate.

Then this broadcast came on: "We have reports that rescue helicopters are retrieving residents from the rooftops of their homes."

The roof. If I could get up there, I could be rescued. Then I wouldn't starve to death. Yes. It was a plan.

Sort of.

Okay, I had no idea how to get on the roof. The house was one story with no magical roof access that I knew of. I'd have to find a ladder. And then...

My heart sank.

And then I'd have to go outside.

Maybe starving wouldn't be so bad.

I could almost hear you laughing at me. You were right. I always go for the easy way out. Just once I should challenge myself, because this time my life depended on it.

With shotgun in hand, I entered the garage. The ladder was leaning against one wall. I managed to half-lift, half-drag it into the living room. It was awkward because I refused to relinquish the death grip I had on the gun.

Okay, now what?

*One part left! What will she face outside?? Quick, mash that Vote button before you find out!