With a yell, Dillon pushed the old woman backwards. Fueled by his fear, he was able to send her reeling backwards into the wall where she crashed and sank to the floor. But her eyes, dead and dark, never left him. And her teeth......kept gnashing....trying to bite. Behind them, he could hear Mr. Miller's groans as the zombie slowly got back to his feet.
In a panic, Dillon raced past the old woman and down the stairs. So far, it seemed that both of the zombies were easy to push out of the way....and they were slow. But he didn't want to chance it. He had seen too many movies. It only took one careless mistake. Then, it was all over. So instead, he just wanted to get as much distance between himself and the two creatures as possible. He had to get help!
Downstairs, he could see that the zombies had totally wrecked the house. Knick-knacks were lying broken all over the place. Chairs were turned over. The kitchen door was completely destroyed. The only thing that went through his mind was that his mom was going to be completely ticked off! That image in his mind made him snort with a crazy little laugh. He thought about trying the phone again to call his parents, but inside he knew that it was no good. The lines were dead. As dead as Mr. Miller and the old woman upstairs.
Racing out the door, he made his way down the road just as fast as he could. His breath was hot and burning in his lungs as he ran over dirt and gravel. He knew that if he could just make it to the highway that he would be able to flag someone down.....get help....or a ride into town. Living up in a hollar in Breathitt County, a person didn't see too many people out and about most of the day. However, the highway was a different story. So, he only had to go about 2 miles and he would find help....hopefully.
The day was already starting to fade. The sunlight was sinking slowly behind the trees, casting strange shadows on the road in front of him. The hills around him seemed to be full of eyes....watching him. Hungry eyes that wanted to taste his flesh. Shuddering, he ran faster. He didn't want to look up in the hills because he might see something that he didn't want to see.
Racing around a sharp curve in the road, he suddenly came to a dead stop. There was a car in the road. Well, it wasn't quite in the road as across the road. It looked like someone had wrecked their car and had run it into the ditch. The motor wasn't running, and Dillon couldn't see anyone around.
His heart racing, he walked slowly up to the car. Taking a deep breath, he peered into the window. He didn't see anything or anyone. There wasn't anyone in the front or back seat. Dillon looked around. He didn't see anyone around. He wondered what had happened.
"Hello?" he yelled out, hoping that he wasn't attracting the wrong kind of attention...the zombie kind. But if someone was here, he didn't want to pass up help.
Nobody answered. All that he could hear was his own breath. It was so quiet. He had never known it to be this quiet. Not even in a hollar in Eastern Kentucky. It was as though someone had thrown a blanket over the world and muffled all the sounds.
Just then, something grabbed his ankle. With a screech, he looked down. There was an arm reaching out from under the car. It had grabbed hold of his ankle....and wouldn't let go!
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