To Read more about the Florida Zombie Outbreak, Check out Hargood and the End.
Roman sat up straight in his sleeping bag on the living room floor. He could sense danger like a rabbit, and he typically reacted to danger like a bear. The great man tore off his covers and ran outside. There, he found bustling streets of fear and rage, mutilated people stumbling around in all states of mind and mindlessness. One fell upon him with teeth bared, but it was soon toothless and left writhing on the porch. Roman slammed the door and pulled up the nearest couch to blockade it. Jack squirmed under his blanket, woke up with a start, and leapt to his feet in a fit of grumpy confusion.
"What the samhill are ya doin' takin' up a man's bed while he's sleepin' in it? You crazy?"
Roman's eyes darted left and right, looking for weapons. He mumbled a halfhearted apology and trumped into the kitchen, where he found no more than a few butter knives. Jack followed him, spouting curses and scripture alike at his brother, until he was awake enough to realize the situation.
"What's goin' on, Roman? Them hippies try to get in to you agin?"
Roman shook his head as he continued to look through the tiny house for supplies. Nothing. There was nothing useful here. Everything was either plastic or just too small. Finally, his little brother grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him around to focus.
"What's wrong?" Jack said slowly, holding Roman's eye contact.
"Ya know them movies ya like, Jack?" started the big man. "The ones with the dead folks tryin' to eat each other an' all? Well... I think it's done happened outside."
Jack's brow twisted at the words. He released his brother and went to a window. As he peered out, his mouthed dropped open and he muttered to himself words incomprehensible. The two men stood in their respective spots for what seemed like an eternity, trying to swallow the truth of the situation. Finally, Roman blinked out of his trance and spoke up.
"Where's grandma?"
There were a few staples to the yearly beach trip; things the brothers expected without a thought. Grandma would make her cheesy grits, the brothers would go fishing, the three of them would make sandcastles on the beach, and every morning, grandma would go for a walk to watch the sunrise. She was usually back before the boys even woke up, and in fact, it was her return that usually stirred them.
Jack turned to face Roman and they stared at each other in horror. If she'd gone out that morning, she had yet to return. Without another word, they both darted across the hut and burst into her room. It was empty. The bed was made and the curtains were open, as she set them every morning before she left. Roman shook his head, tears welling up within his big eyes. His face turned red as his hair. He was about to bust. Jack saw it, and was admittedly not far behind.
"We gotta go find her," said the smaller for them both, and the bigger agreed with a dark nod.
Jack went into the bathroom with an idea. After a few minutes of noise both human and mechanical, he reemerged with the shower hose-and-head in hand. He swung it loosely in his hand, testing its usefulness as a sort of makeshift flail.
"I remembered the shower head was stainless steel," he said with a smirk.
Roman decided he'd go more archaic. He turned back to the kitchen and, with one mighty pull, ripped the freezer door off its hinges. Even Jack was a bit surprised at the strength his brother's anger had fueled. Roman gripped the door's handle like a shield and jabbed at the air with it a few times. Satisfied, he shoved the couch away from the door and took a deep breath.
"Roman," Jack began, but he had nothing really to say.
"Let's go get grandma," rumbled Roman as he turned the doorknob slowly.
The brothers took a day to find their grandmother, and another day to mourn over what they found of her. Jack couldn't remember how they'd gotten back to the old hut. It was all a blur, but Roman had lacerations on his sunburnt face and he refused to divulge what happened in those disparate hours.
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