An Old Roof

Abandoned Bungalow

As he crept along the roof of the old single story home he could hear the two zombies moving slowly around, moaning and occasionally bumping into a wall. They didn’t matter anymore, his target was the chimney above the kitchen, where he had stashed his supply over a year ago. Half way across the roof now he began to feel more confident. He began to move faster in anticipation of what he knew to still be there.

Below him, one of the zombies knocked into an old vase, knocking it with a crash to the ground. Startled at the unlikely sound the man missed a tile, placing his hand into a gap and through the rotten wood beneath. With a slow creak the roof gave way.

Smashing into the carpeted floor below, the man tried in vain to cover his head from falling pieces of wood and tile sliding into the newly formed hole, until finally, the roof held and all that moved was the settling dust.

Sitting up the man looked around and froze. Pushing its way into the room a small zombie heaved a chair blocking the door from its path with unnatural strength. The man jumped up, pulled a giant pistol from its holster and pulled the trigger. As the zombie fell backward, blood spraying across the room and ceiling he aimed again and this time sank a round through its brain.

The man stepped over the now still body into the kitchen, spun and fired a wild shot as a pallid grey zombie, missing its jaw and half of its lower arm, barreled into him, slamming him against an old oven, knocking it over and into the middle of the room. With a heave the man shouldered the zombie away from him, slamming the butt of his gun into its face and throwing it backward over the now prone oven.

The man stepped close, aimed the pistol at the zombie’s skull and, paused. He sniffed, swore and kicked the zombie again in the face, throwing it to the floor before it could reach up and grab him with its one good arm. The man turned and hefted a nearby frying pan as the room began to fill with gas from the freshly severed gas line, now torn from the wall and lying hissing on the ground.

Raising the frying pan up the man crashed it down, smashing the creatures arm, and then in a fit of rage, the man went into a frenzy, smashing the frying pan down repeatedly, crushing bone, muscle and spraying thick blood across the room and himself.

Long after the zombie had stopped moving, the man finally relented. He panted heavily as the creatures blood dripped from him. Standing he threw the frying pan aside and made his way into the living room, reached a hand up into the chimney flume, pulled the package free and strode from the building. As he walked away from the house, he pondered what had just happened. Desensitized from months of constant horror he almost kept walking.

With a force of will, he stopped, turned and with slow deliberation, fired the pistol into through the kitchen window. The resulting spark ignited the gas filled room, and with a rapid explosion, the house blew apart.

As the flaming debris from his childhood home fell around him he smiled, turned and strode away into the night.

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