The Infected: What Happened to David Price (4)

four: inconvenient timing


I'm standing in the kitchen, still and quiet. I just boarded up the last window, securing our house as best I could. I try not to gaze in the direction of the pantry, but I seem unable to look away for long periods of time. They're in there. My family. Dead and shoved away in a tiny pantry.

I desperately want to run away. Not outside, not with them. I want to runaway inside my mind, lock myself up in a dream world where everything is good. Where everything is back to what it used to be. With mom, and dad, and even Rebekah, no matter how much I said I hated her before...before this. But my thoughts pull me back to life, back to where Greta is waiting for me. She needs me.

As I put away the hammer and nails, I drift back to yesterday. I was talking with Charlotte. Victoria Snow was picking on us, Rebekah had a date with Roy Dunst, mom made lasagna, dad worked late and didn't come home until way past our bedtime. And Greta. My heart stings when I think about her. She hasn't come out of her room since yesterday. She refuses to speak with me.

As much as I tried to reassure her, she doesn't grasp what is happening. I know. I knew it the moment Karl Lochlan attacked my sister. That lust for human flesh; it's only visible in the eyes of the walking dead.

I grab the bucket under the sink and fill it with hot water. I'm frightened by how methodical my reaction is. I should be like Greta. I shut the fawcetts, cutting off the only sound there was. It's driving me crazy. I slip on some gloves, lift the bucket out of the sink and walk towards the living room where once again, Greta is standing by the stairs.

She's wheezing and clutching at her chest. Damn it, not now.

"Greta, where are your pumps?!" I say, setting down the bucket.

She looks back. Towards the front door.

"I...forgot it...in the car."

In the car. Outside. With them.