Over the course of the last ten minutes, my father has been skillfully maneuvering the SUV, in a desperate attempt to locate a sanctuary amidst the relentless onslaught of the undead. The zombies, particularly the swift ones, have proven to be a formidable threat, consistently keeping pace with our vehicle due to their savage and unyielding speed. However, my father's adept driving and evasive maneuvers have, thus far, successfully eluded them. His skills behind the wheel have left me secretly awestruck.
"Is there no refuge in sight!?" My father's mounting frustration was palpable as he struggled to find a safe haven amidst the teeming hordes of zombies.
"We must find one soon! The SUV we stole is running low on fuel!" My mother's voice trembled with anxiety, the fear of falling prey to the ravenous undead horde looming ominously if we failed to find shelter.
Our journey came to an abrupt halt as the path ahead on Hylan Boulevard was littered with abandoned and wrecked vehicles. A retreat was impossible as a swarm of zombies was rapidly closing in from behind. We found ourselves stranded near the entrance of the HL Supermarket, rendering the SUV useless.
Regrettably, my severe bruises and injuries, inflicted by bullies, hindered my ability to run. I was a liability, potentially slowing down my parents. However, my father hoisted me onto his back and sprinted towards the supermarket. I noticed a group of survivors inside, hastily fortifying the building. They were about to seal the front entrance when they spotted us.
My father, a civil servant accustomed to the confines of an office, displayed surprising agility, reminiscent of a seasoned rugby player, even while carrying me. He skillfully dodged the swift zombies. My mother, too, proved adept at evading the undead. I believe I even saw her use her handbag to strike their faces, causing them to stumble. The survivors inside the supermarket watched in awe as my parents skillfully navigated through the horde. I, too, couldn't help but admire their bravery and resourcefulness.
———
Upon our swift entry into the HL Supermarket, the survivors inside promptly secured the rear entrance. They hastily nailed wooden planks across the door, disregarding the pain inflicted by the occasional misstrike of the hammer, while others strategically positioned furniture to fortify the barricade. However, if we were to follow the typical narrative of a zombie film, I harbored doubts about the longevity of our makeshift fortress.
"Are you all okay!? Have any of you been bitten!?" A middle-aged man, clad in a business suit, inquired anxiously, acutely aware of the potential risk of infection.
"We're fine. None of us have been bitten," my father assured him, his voice steady.
"What happened to him?" A young blonde girl, donned in a magenta hoodie adorned with a skull logo, questioned the nature of my visible injuries, likely suspecting them to be bite wounds.
"They're injuries he sustained from..." My mother began to explain, her voice heavy with guilt. I wished she would refrain from doing so, as I held myself accountable for my predicament.
"Are you certain those aren't bites from those ugly creatures!? If they are, we must get rid of him immediately!" A rotund, middle-aged man, dressed in a tank top and shorts, barefooted, accused me of concealing zombie bites. His baseless allegations incensed me. I would never jeopardize my parents' safety if I were infected. His demeanor was reminiscent of the stereotypical arrogant, selfish, and cruel characters often portrayed in films, manga, and manhwa.
"He's my son, you ugly bastard!" My mother retorted, defending me against his accusations. Her unexpected insult left everyone, including my father, taken aback and impressed.
"Everyone, remain calm!" A handsome young man, likely a few years my senior and dressed in a school uniform from a different institution, intervened, his voice resonating with authority. "We're not getting rid of anyone! No one's been bitten!"
"How can you be so sure, whelp!? We could all be dead without realizing it! It's safer to send that emo kid outside!" The rotund man proposed a 'safe' survival strategy, suggesting my expulsion. "We can't afford to take risks!"
"You're hardly one to talk, considering you've done nothing!" A tomboyish middle-aged woman retorted, her words causing the rotund man to glare at her with intense animosity. "You've contributed nothing to the barricading efforts! Perhaps we should cast you out since you're a liability! After all, we can't afford to take risks!"
"How dare you-!?" The rotund man's rage was palpable, his hand raised, poised to strike her.
Suddenly, my father landed a punch squarely on his face, knocking him out cold. I was astounded that he managed to incapacitate him with a single blow. My father's face was a mask of fury. I could tell that his anger was fueled by the man's insult towards me. I found myself wondering about the fate of my bullies had my father been present. He would likely be incarcerated for assault, a consequence I would never wish upon him.
"Honey?" My mother's voice was laced with concern, worried that my father might have injured his hand.
"I'm fine. That oaf needed to be silenced!" My father's voice was laced with residual anger directed towards the unconscious man.
"Agreed." The handsome young man, the tomboyish woman, and the other survivors concurred with my father. They were evidently exasperated by the man's incessant ramblings and his display of paranoia. I, too, found myself growing increasingly irritated by him.
"Would you kindly assist us in reinforcing the barricade, sir, ma'am?" A man of dark complexion, sporting a beard and a green beanie, requested as he diligently hammered planks into place, seemingly oblivious to the ominous growls of the undead outside.
"Certainly. Jarlath," my father glanced at my bruises, a silent reminder of a pending conversation about my injuries. However, that discussion would have to be postponed as our immediate survival took precedence. "If you're able, take a stroll around the store. It's quite spacious and should keep you occupied."
With a groan of pain, I acquiesced to his suggestion in a monotone voice, "Alright."
My parents cast one last worried glance at me before turning their attention to the task of fortifying our temporary refuge. I couldn't meet their gaze, the sight of my injuries had once again stirred their concern. I had hoped to spare them such worry in this foreign land, but life seemed to have a knack for thwarting my intentions.
As I meandered through the supermarket, I was pleasantly surprised by its spacious layout and the variety of goods it offered. Despite being a Chinese grocery store, its layout surpassed that of some mainstream supermarkets. The grocery aisle was well-stocked with various rations that could potentially last us a few weeks. The left side of the store was lined with seafood and meat counters, while packaged meats were displayed opposite the service butcher counter. The supermarket was a veritable cornucopia of products.
"Why does this feel... familiar?" I mused, a sense of déjà vu washing over me.
I had the uncanny feeling that I had been in this store before, despite it being my first time setting foot in it. The sensation was eerily similar to the hallucinations of the creature I had experienced a few days ago. In fact, I was almost certain that I was standing on the very spot where the creature had lain in my hallucination. But I couldn't be entirely sure. The world had descended into chaos, and normalcy was a distant memory.
———
Upon concluding my exploration of the supermarket, I was preparing to return to my parents when my gaze fell upon a familiar figure seated on the floor near the juice aisle. She was the primary reason for my attendance at school that morning. I had observed her departing with her parents while I was subjected to a brutal beating by the bullies on the rooftop. At the time, I was puzzled by the frantic demeanor of her parents, but the mystery unraveled itself after witnessing the unfolding zombie apocalypse. Based on her tear-streaked face, I could infer the tragic fate that had befallen her parents.
With a sense of hesitation, I approached her, uttering, "Priscilla?"
Upon hearing my voice, Priscilla swiftly wiped her tears and turned to face me, her words laced with surprise and a hint of disdain, "You? It's you. The emo kid."
Her words stung, especially considering that my 'emo' persona was not a deliberate choice, but rather a byproduct of years of battling depression, a consequence of my tumultuous school life in Ireland and the betrayal of a friend.
"I saw you leaving from the rooftop earlier with your parents..." I began, my words tumbling out recklessly, a testament to my lack of critical thinking skills. "Did... your parents die?"
Priscilla's glare was icy as she sniffed, attempting to stem the flow of her tears, "Is that what you're gonna say to me? We haven't met since last Thursday. And the way you talk as if you're familiar with me already. Do you know no shame?"
I could feel my brows furrowing. My words had been tactless. My intention had been to express my gratitude for her intervention during the bullying incident last Thursday and to apologize for my previous rudeness. However, it seemed I had only succeeded in causing further offense.
My communication skills had always been lacking, a result of my solitary existence devoid of true companionship. My unusual appearance had always made me an outsider, and I was unsure of how to converse with a stranger without inadvertently causing emotional distress.
"I... just came here to say sorry for helping me from the bullies four days ago," I blurted out, my admission taking her by surprise. "I also want to say sorry for my rudeness toward that time, but it seems... I offended you again. You helped me twice already."
"Twice? I only recall once," Priscilla responded, her confusion evident. She was unaware that the panic attack I had experienced on the first day was a result of my autophobia. Had it not been for her timely arrival, I might have succumbed to my condition... possibly... who knows?
"...It's fine if you don't accept my apologies. I just came here to say that to you," I said, preparing to depart and leave her to mourn her parents. I paused briefly, glancing back at her, "I'm sorry about your parents."
Priscilla's gaze lingered on me for a moment before dropping to the floor. She recalled the sight of Jarlath being hauled away by the Boxin' Gang on the rooftop and her failed attempt to intervene before her parents summoned her. The visible and painful injuries Jarlath had sustained were a stark reminder of her failure as School Class President.
'I'm sorry I couldn't save you this time,' she silently apologized in her mind, tears streaming down her face as she remembered the gruesome demise of her parents at the hands of the undead.
With a sense of purpose, I navigated my way towards the snack section, drawn by the allure of free sustenance. My stomach echoed its protest, having been denied lunch earlier. Under normal circumstances, fatigue would have overpowered hunger, but the world was no longer normal. The advent of zombies had plunged it into chaos, making every meal a precious commodity. I found myself contemplating the most appropriate snack choice, considering the possibility of a sudden zombie invasion.
A man with a dark complexion broke my train of thought, beckoning me and Priscilla, who were standing apart from the group. "Hey, kids! Gather around!" he called out.
Suppressing a sigh, I decided to postpone my snack hunt. I made my way towards the front entrance, noticing Priscilla on the opposite side. Her eyes bore the unmistakable mark of sorrow. I empathize with her grief over losing her parents. Although I had not personally experienced such a loss, I could fathom the heartache it entailed.
———
Upon reaching the vicinity of the rear front door, we found a group of survivors huddled together, presumably for a meeting. The objective seemed to be fostering unity and cooperation in this zombie-ridden world. As appealing as this idealistic vision was, I couldn't help but recall the grim realities portrayed in zombie movies. We were all destined to face trials and tribulations alone, a prospect I found disheartening. I could only hope that cinematic clichés would not translate into reality.
The gathering comprised all of us, save for a few survivors who were patrolling the supermarket, ensuring that no zombies breached our sanctuary. Their strategy of barricading every possible entry point seemed questionable, given the need for an escape route should the zombies manage to infiltrate.
Oh, the fat bastard was sprawled on the floor still in an unconscious state, reminiscent of a pig wallowing in mud. His presence felt like a ticking time bomb, yet his helpless state suggested that he was incapable of surviving without assistance. Despite my emotional vulnerabilities, I found solace in the fact that he was physically more inept.
The man with the dark complexion initiated the introductions. "Hello, everyone. First of all, let's introduce ourselves. My name is Jon. I was a florist before I became homeless due to loan sharks."
A middle-aged man, dressed in a business suit, cleared his throat before speaking, "I'm Morrison. I work for Scamardella, Gervasi & Kasegrande, P.C. for fifteen years now... until this nightmare occurred."
"I'm Marcy. A Culver University student who was to graduate next year," a young blonde girl, clad in a magenta hoodie, introduced herself. "Such a bummer of life, isn't it?"
"My name is Harold, or Harry, and I'm a graduate student who was about to be in college in March," a handsome young man introduced himself.
"Mary-Anne, a former prostitute," a tomboyish middle-aged woman introduced herself, her revelation eliciting surprise from everyone, except me, who remained impassive and indifferent.
"Priscilla," she introduced herself succinctly, still grappling with the loss of her parents. I found myself wondering about the nature of their demise - was it slow and agonizing or swift and painless?
"I'm Sean," my father introduced himself before introducing my mother and me. "This is my wife, Beverly, and my son, Jarlath. I'm a civil servant, my wife is a housewife, and my son is... a high school student."
His voice betrayed a hint of concern. My body was still recovering from the injuries inflicted by bullies, making every movement a painful endeavor. I wasn't sure why Priscilla and I were included in this meeting, but in the face of an apocalyptic world, it seemed trivial.
"Let's start the meeting," Jon declared.