Devil's After Both of Us

The Backyard's Full of Bones

It was hot and humid in Florida. The air sat heavy, clinging to his skin and bringing the weight of the whole world with it. Clay, more commonly known as "Dream" by his friends and those who followed him on social media, looked over the rows of suburban houses: hedges clipped and pruned, mailboxes upright, lawns neatly trimmed...and covered in blood. As Clay scanned his eyes across each house, he mentally went over the rules he'd created for surviving a zombie apocalypse:

"Dream's six rules on how to survive a zombie apocalypse when everyone you love thinks you're dead and you're not quite sure if you'll even make it out alive, but you really can't focus on that aspect, and at this point you don't even know why you're still running and fighting because really, what's waiting for you at the end? More death, probably?"

Never assume anything is dead

Pack light and be prepared to move at a moment's notice

Always monitor what's around you. Threats could be anywhere

It's not like the movies - these things are freaking fast, but not very agile

Zombies are slower during the day, but still just as deadly.

Do NOT get attached to anyone.

That last point was crucial to survival. There's nothing like getting to know someone, growing attached, and then having your heart ripped out of your chest watching them get their heart ripped out of their chest. Slinging his backpack onto his arm, Clay checked the meager supplies he had left. Two water bottles, not terrible, can of sardines, can of tuna, three granola bars, and a roll of ace bandages. Altogether not too bad, but it wouldn't last him more than three days - even with rationing.

Dreading what he would have to do next, the man looked once more over the rows and rows of houses, trying to figure out which ones might be hiding a zombie, were already raided, or were safe. Skipping past the ones with broken windows, he finally settled on a gray house with a brick pathway leading up to the door. Clay was on high alert, nervous energy thrumming, whipping his head towards every sound that whispered with the wind. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he took a few steps towards the door, careful to watch where he was placing his feet in case there was a loose brick.

He felt like he was the only person in the whole world, yet the hair on the back of his neck raised as if a hundred eyes were watching his every move. Reaching the front of the building, Clay grabbed the doorknob and turned it as slowly as he could, pushing it open with a little force. He took the knife out from the sheath strapped to his leg and nudged the door open even more, poking his head in to get a glimpse at what he'd be dealing with.

The wreckage was to be expected. Upturned furniture was splintered across the floor among the gleaming shards of glass from broken picture frames. When the breakout first happened, most people's responses were to stay inside with what little supplies they had in their houses. When items ran low, it was expected that a member of the family would go out and gather everything they could. Not knowing the full extent of the disease raging outside, the clueless family member would most certainly be attacked.

The thing about getting bit is this: It takes a long time to know you've been bit. Too long. Clay knew this from experience- the groups he'd been in before, and the unfortunate outcomes of the members (which sparked rule number 6). Most people would forget they were even attacked- something from the poison in your system meant you forgot the experience in its entirety. So they'd travel home thinking they were safe, excited to get back to their houses. Little did they know, however, that they would be the reason for their own family's demise.

It took about 6-7 hours for the transformation to be complete: you would feel fine for the first hour, a little tired and nauseous for the next three. By the fifth hour, your body would be in tremendous pain due to the organs shutting down one by one. If you weren't braindead by the sixth hour, you would most definitely be by the seventh. And as your poor, unsuspecting family slept in their beds, dreaming of sheep and lollipops or whatever else, your zombie-mind would be filled with nothing but the single desire to kill and satisfy your cravings.