After a few minutes of hugging, I pulled away from the two of them and got a good look at my mother. And I couldn't help but wonder:
'Is this really my mom?'
The "aura" around her and the fact that she was with my dad suggested the answer was yes, but her appearance was vastly different. And not just because she looked younger.
As for my dad, he had bulked up—swelled with muscle—and looked a bit younger, but otherwise, he still resembled the photos my aunts and uncles had shown me... Well, his face looked a bit more rugged than in the pictures, but he was still easily recognizable.
My mother, however, was a different story. She had transformed into a completely different person.
When she was younger, she had been more... full-figured than most other women (not fat, just full-figured—there's a difference), and because she'd had to work in fields since childhood, her skin—especially on her face—had developed permanent sunspots.
It wasn't anything makeup couldn't fix, but she often complained that the spots bothered her (though she'd also say she'd never get plastic surgery to correct them). Her short hair also bothered her a bit, on top of the usual issues associated with aging.
Now, she had nothing to complain about.
.....
If you've ever played LoL, you probably know Mel Medarda and maybe her mother, Ambessa (and you'd certainly know both if you'd watched *Arcane*). So…. I think you could picture what my mother looks like now, if I told you she was basically an older version of Mel, or a slightly younger (and not quite as muscular) version of Ambessa.
….
Yeah, I think that's the only good comparison I can think.
She even had those gold "tattoos" Mel had.
Except she was wearing a white T-shirt with a print of Our Lady of Good End (*Nossa Senhora do Bonfim*), jeans, and the only pair of sneakers she owned (the rest were flats, high heels, and flip-flops—and she had *a lot* of them; emphasis on *had*).
Looking at the two of them—even though I instinctively knew it was them—my eyes kept insisting they were strangers.
"I'm glad you're okay, Nando; it couldn't have been easy getting here. Especially with all that extra weight."
When my dad spoke, I snapped out of my reverie and returned to our current situation.
'That's right! I still have to give them the iron, the gasoline, and the stone.'
"Well, I wouldn't say it was easy, but getting here wasn't that complicated. Getting through the crowd, though—*that* was the hard part." I said, pointing toward the window and the sea of zombies outside—which reminds me.
"How did you guys put up with this smell for two days?"
"With this, son."
My dad showed me a makeshift but functional gas mask. It looked like the kind firefighters use, but the glass parts had been replaced with translucent cloth, and the respirator was also made mostly of fabric. I have no idea how it actually worked.
Well, if the goal was just to mask or reduce the smell, it would probably be useful. Considering they're here and doing fine.
"Where did you guys find that?"
I (seriously) doubt anyone just had a cloth gas mask lying around the house.
"Your dad made it using some of the stuff we... found when we came here," my mom replied, but didn't elaborate. Not that she needed to.
"Cool... But I still don't get how you could've done that in just two days without passing out."
"Ha! It wasn't two days; it only took me about two hours to make both masks—though enduring the smell for those two hours *felt* like two days."
"Ohhh, I get it... Wait. SAY WH—?!"
I almost shouted, but my dad covered my mouth with his hand right away. A hand that I only just noticed had nearly doubled in size.
"Shhh... even though I built a barricade downstairs, it's not a good idea to make too much noise."
"Mmph mmph-mmph, mmph mmph-mmph mmph" (What do you mean? The zombies aren't a threat if we're up here.)
"Don't be so sure, son. They might not have brains, but they don't hesitate to literally trample over each other to reach a target." My father said this while looking at the zombies through the window and gesturing for me to look too.
I didn't quite get why, but I did it anyway; the small window of the container-office looked straight out at the construction supply store across the way. Well, actually, it was more of a wholesale construction supply warehouse than anything else—kind of like an IKEA without the furniture.
"Okay, what's the big deal? It's just a bunch of zombies, right?"
"Look closely—what do you see?"
"Ah... a bunch of zombies in the parking lot, constantly banging against the walls and doors?"
"Exactly. And what's there before you get into the parking lot?"
"A low chain-link fence... Oh. I get it."
"Yeah."
Now I understood what my father meant when he said that even though they don't have brains, they trample over each other—it was literal.
Looking closer, I could see a small pile of crushed flesh and bones near the fence. The ones inside the parking lot must have trampled over one another until they formed a ramp to get in.
"So, basically, you're afraid that if we make too much noise here, it'll rile the zombies up enough for them to climb over each other like in *World War Z*?"
"In short, yes. Your mother and I have been keeping as quiet as possible for the last two days. Fortunately, since we're in a safer spot, we don't have to be *quite* as vigilant."
For some reason, I decided not to ask what else they'd need to be on guard against, aside from talking too loudly or making noise while eating.
Wait, but then...
"Why aren't more zombies coming into the parking lot?"
The mound they were using as a "bridge" was still there (or mounds, if you prefer), but there was a considerable gap between the zombies pounding on the store door and the ones on the wall—or more specifically, the ones *behind* the wall. Very few of them were climbing the mounds to join the rest.
"For the same reason I told you to stay quiet. Zombies react to sound."
I already knew that.
"Especially loud sounds. The louder the noise, and the more people gathered together, the more zombies show up—and the more desperate and enraged they get to reach their prey. But if things stay quiet, they calm down too, like right now."
"Huh... but they keep banging on the walls and doors, and I can't hear anything coming from inside."
"Hahaha, son, your senses might be sharper than average, but they aren't superhuman. Zombies can sense when humans are nearby, and that alone drives them."
Hmm, I think I get it.
If there's a loud noise, they swarm in like a small group—just like the ones in the building. But when you combine loud noise *and* humans, they charge at the prey like a frenzied horde. Even if the prey goes completely silent after being heard, the zombies can still sense the living being and keep attacking, though not quite as intensely.
"Okay, I'll keep my voice down. But how did you manage to do this in just two hours?" I asked, handing the mask back to my dad.
"Because of my job."
That didn't help at all.
"We'll have time to talk later, Nando. I think you can hand over the parts your dad asked for now, right?"
My mom stepped in before I could forget what I was supposed to do again; I really need to get a handle on this habit of mine of going off on tangents.