Death is Imminent
My wife was upstairs searching for the blond-haired boy. I knew she was up there, and I wished she wasn't. Why would she risk her life for that boy? It was not our son.
The old couple were at the door, wasting time. He held the door shut, and wanted her to flee. He was sacrificing himself for her and me. That was his choice, not mine. I didn't force him to do it. For some reason, he valued our lives more than his.
The infected broke through the door, like we all knew they would. She couldn't bear to leave his side, but ran in vain in my direction. I screamed at her to hold my hand, but she was too slow, unable to take her attention away from the infected that were attacking her husband.
I had no idea how long they were together for or why they were so closely bonded, but I couldn't wait for that bond to break. The infected snatched her as well, and I couldn't save her.
So I ran. I ran to the last person in the house that mattered to me. I called her name.
When I found her, I tried to pull her away, out the window, where we stood a chance at life. But she resisted.
She cried out that she could see the blond-haired boy and pried herself away from me to reach to him? As she opened the closet door and held him close, the infected found their way into the room.
The infected stood between us.
They are so hideous.
Their red eyes bleed.
Blood oozes from their mouths.
I never know if it is the blood of themselves or the blood of someone I once knew.
And there stood an infected, between my wife and me.
As if they could separate us.
My wife didn't have to be separate from me. But she chose to run to that little boy. Perhaps she drew a connection between that boy and our children. But I did not. That boy was not our son, but she decided to sacrifice herself for him.
"Help us, Don!"
And now she cried out to me, as if she expected me to do the same.
But the infected were more powerful than I. They outnumbered me and I had no weapon. They were reckless and I was scared. Not just scared, I was terrified. Terrified of death. I had no chance against them, and neither did she.
I looked into her eyes. I knew what I was about to do would be unforgivable. I had to go.
Our children were waiting to visit us again. I couldn't leave them behind. She sacrificed herself for that boy who was not her son. I couldn't do the same. My priorities are my children.
I jumped out the window on to the grass and ran.
As I ran I turned back and saw her desperate face at the window, her hands banging on the glass, before she was taken out of site. That image would always haunt me.
I left her.
I knew that we would die either way.
But my children need me to be alive.
Death is imminent.
It does not need to be immediate.