Many Days Gone - A (not so) Short Story

Safehouse Soiree

          As I tuck the newly found scrap of paper into the front pocket of my faded white flannel, I stop and take a moment to process the information I've just received. I've only heard of things like this in horror films. The mediocre acting as the main antagonist fends off a few zeds as they close in for the kill. Never in a million years would I have thought I'd be living in one of these films. The paper I've acquired is fairly worn, I'd say it blew over from a good distance away. The infection is just now reaching the east coast from what I can gather. I've seen it on the News getting closer every few days. Luckily I've been 'doomsday prepping' for a good while now. I've always been a big fan of horrors and apocalyptic films in general. The idea of being prepared for anything has always stuck with me over the years. I've even gotten to crafting steel cages that slide over my windows and doors, sort of like what you'd witness at a small store or shop, but on steroids. I didn't hesitate to throw my wallet away for quality protection. When the world goes to shit, what's money really gonna do for you anyway? Bulletproof glass for windows, six inches of solid steel in the walls, and a small cache of weapons in a hatch under the rug. Not to mention years worth of storable food and water. The last thing I'd expect i-
          *the doorbell rings* Who could it be today? Another salesman? I rarely have visitors anymore. My family has labeled me as a nutcase due to all the prep work I've done since I moved out. "Who is it?" I call out to the front door, not paying much mind as it's most likely not important. But then, as I listen closer, I hear a panicked male voice. "Let me in! They're coming!" I dash to the front window and peer out and see two men and one woman dressed in black tactical gear and carrying assault rifles. But they have no patches indicating an affiliation with law enforcement, and they're closing fast. "Get to the back, and hide in the shed. I'll deal with them." The, what looks to be, younger teenage boy frantically stumbles off my porch and runs around back to the safety of my shed. A few moments later I hear a heavy knock on the front door and a stern voice says "Open up. We know you have the boy. Hand him over and we won't have any trouble, you hear?" I step back from the door slowly and slide my hand around a small table near the kitchen that has an AK-74 set against it.
          As I get a grip on it, a shadow and the barrel of a firearm seems to pass by the front window. "Last warning." The voice bellows from outside. "If you don't leave, we're going to have more trouble than you think", I send back. A quick little fact about me. I haven't missed a day at the range in years. I'm the best shot of all the other members. I've won plenty of competitions for my marksmanship. If it's a fight they want, it's a fight they're gonna get. Just then I hear the splintering of wood as one of the thugs fires their weapon into the lock of my main door, about eight feet ahead of me. I flinch as the sound rings out through the house. Luckily it's built to withstand some punishment. But it won't hold for long. I step back into the living room and take a deep breath. My rifle trained on the door and my eyes darting from window to window, trying to spot any form of movement. Four more shots blast through the lock, but it just doesn't budge. I built it well, but not well enough. On the fifth shot the bolt gives way and the door bursts open.