Apocalypse

Chapter 21 - Replay

"Thanks for coming back for me, Pam," Zachary laughed, being sarcastic.

"Shut up," she responded, trying to rinse the blood from her hair, with little success. She was poised over the kitchen sink, scrubbing furiously at it. I saw her eyes, I think for the first time, then. They were rounder than I expected, and grey, I think, but she was squinting so hard I couldn't see the colour quite well.

"I was just joking, you know," he coughed, "I'm just glad you guys are safe. Place looks nice." Pamela ignored him and handed me a damp towel. It still had dust and bits of debris on it.

"Go put that on his head," she told me. He had a huge gash that had probably been inflicted by a zherti. I obeyed and trotted up to him, trying not to give him any more pain, but he winced as I put it on.

"You need to apply pressure," Pamela told me, so reluctantly, I pushed a little on his wound. He had other cuts and scrapes, but those were minor compared to the one on his forehead. At least they didn't get something important like an ear or an eye.

"How come he isn't a zombie already?" Pamela asked me, attending to a worn-looking washcloth. She ripped it so that it became a strand rather than a square.

"Maybe because he kinda already is?" I guessed. I thought of Zhormii, being in 'full power' or whatever. What would he do next? Expand? How far did the zherti reach?

"Maybe my dad's blood in me gives me protection from that, but it's too bad it doesn't make them leave me alone," Zachary said. Pamela motioned for me to stand aside and wrapped the torn washcloth around his head.

"I am on the wrong side of the family, then," she commented, finishing the knot. As she did, the singing started again.

"And then you wonder what it says. It says hey, and a hey, hey, hey, and then we all becoming friends." This time it finished off with a childish giggle, ringing softly but eerily through the house. I looked over at Pamela.

"I'll stay here with this little kid, ("Hey!") you go find yours." With that, I didn't give a second glance and rushed downstairs, where the noise seemed to be coming from. Could it really be Hope? She's the only six year old that could have survived. Could she have even survived? Could she be right there? As I headed down I thought of Origami, and Hope's voice. My sister had given that to me, and now I was about to find her, and hug her, and never let her go, and she would be able to stop all of this, because- I stopped, because there I was, in the basement. There was an old couch, and a few knickknacks here and there, and in the corner stood a washing machine with damp clothes still inside. But no Hope. I turned to my left, where the room extended, and there was a TV.

It was playing and replaying a recording of a little dark-haired girl swinging on a swing set.