Persuaded

It's been two weeks since this whole thing started.
It began with a tanker accident. It was all over the news. Everyone thought it was just another oil spill. There were plenty of volunteers - kind people wanting to help the poor, defenseless animals. Lots of victims.
Within hours of the accident, it started happening. The animals had gone crazy; they were scratching and biting the clean-up volunteers. People said it was an adverse effect to whatever was in the tanker.
Rescue workers were still trying to get the crew out of the ship. They could hear yelling inside, fierce demands to be let out. But that's when it all went to hell - as soon as they cut the door open.
There were six minutes of broadcast before it went silent - six minutes of screaming and agony. The ship crew attacked the rescue workers like rabid baboons. They were breaking bones and tearing flesh. The people on the shore weren't fairing any better. Those that had been attacked by animals were attacking everyone else. It was worse than any warzone report; it was sheer brutality, and yet the broadcast went on for six whole minutes.
Blank faces followed. Nobody could explain what was happening. They tried to continue with the regular news; the economy, the weather, and a cute human interest story, but they couldn't make us unsee what we saw.
I tried to get on with my regular existence, but every time I switched on the news or walked by a paper stand, it was there - this big mystery. They had some explanations: bacteria or maybe brain parasites, but it didn't matter. It wasn't the infection we were afraid of. It was them.
Four days after the initial report, a state of emergency was raised...and yet, we'd all seen this before. It's in every zombie movie ever. People didn't know who to trust, so were stockpiling food and weapons. Some tried to flee, but it seemed that every zombie movie was right. They didn't make it. 
Three days later, they arrived in my town. I expected moans, shuffling corpses, and dismemberment, but that's where the movies lied. They ran through the streets screaming. I remember sprinting to my front door as fast as I could, locking and barricading it, doing anything to make sure it would stay shut. Then I headed for the window. 
I was on the second story and I could see the carnage. They were unstoppable. They were aware. A group of them made their way through a building across the street. They jumped straight through plate glass windows like they were nothing. The shards slicing through their skin made no difference; they just kept coming. 
My barricade wasn't going to hold. 
I rushed around my flat, grabbing supplies and throwing them into the most secure room. I went back for one last look across the street, and I wish I hadn't. In a second story window, my face met one of theirs. They knew where I was. 
I quickly dashed into the room and locked the door. I don't have any kind of panic room or a secure basement, so the safest place I could think of was my bathroom. There were no windows and only one door, with a lock. 
I filled my sink and bathtub full of water so I could stay there for a while and sat in the dark, distant screams in my ears. I began to feel like I may have overreacted; it had been two hours with no sign of any zombies. It actually got quieter, and I thought they might have moved on. Maybe I could leave the room and get to the kitchen, I could grab some more food to wait this whole thing out. 
A crash came from the front door. It was the sound of someone running into it at full force, knocking down the barricade I'd put up. There were a couple more crashes before I knew they were inside. I heard rapid footsteps moving around the flat, more screams, and then a loud bang on the wall beside me. My eyes were open to their widest, even in the pitch black darkness of the room. There was another bang, and then another. 
They knew I was there and they knew I was scared.
This was the zombie nightmare I had been expecting from the start. I had nowhere to run. There was only so much time before they would break in. I sat with my back to the door, hoping my extra weight would make it harder for them to knock it down. Then it got worse.
"Why don't you open the door?"
There was a voice from outside. No screams or moans, just a quiet, whispery voice. And then more of them.
"We've come for you."
"You'll be happier if you open the door."
"It's not so bad..."
The whispery voices became a cacophony of noise trying to persuade me, to break me, to fool me. I had heard that the moaning of zombies would drive people insane, but this was worse - a siren call. I sat in the darkness and hoped and prayed that they'd get bored, but the undead don't get bored and they don't leave. 
I managed to use the mirror to peek under the door, only to be greeted by horrible, unblinking eyes, blood-smeared faces, screams, and more horrible whispers. That was two days ago.
I don't know what to do anymore... maybe it won't be so bad...
Category:Historical Archive
Category:Monsters
Category:Mental Illness