[ WP ] Dyslexic zombies rise from the dead , searching for `` Brians ''

The horns blared, sharp and distant, not like a warning but like shrieks of grief. 
 
 `` Tornado?'' Zoey asked. 
 
 `` There was nothing in the newspaper.'' Charles stepped up from the couch, flipped on the TV, expecting a weatherman standing in front of a green screen. 
 
 Instead, the TV was bare and blue with only white text -- text read aloud by a computer voice. 
 
 *BEEP BEEP BEEP. * 
 
 *This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. * 
 
 *The United States is under attack. Mysterious creatures. Deadly. * 
 
 *Lock your windows. Secure water and food sufficient for a number of days. * 
 
 *Keep children away from the windows. * 
 
 *Do not look outside. Remain calm. * 
 
 *If anyone in your family is named Brian, keep them hidden from public. * 
 
 *May whatever God you cherish be with you. This message will repeat. * 
 
 *BEEP BEEP BEEP. * 
 
 *This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. * 
 
 By the time the message had finished, Zoey was standing. `` This is n't real, is it? Where are the kids? What was that shit about people named Brian?'' 
 
 `` The kids,'' Charles said. `` Playing video games. And... I do n't know. But we have to listen. Let's make for the storm shelter. We have water there, and dry food. And insulin for Angela. I'll get the gun and radio, and we'll meet at the entrance.'' He had to hold her arm before she ran off in haste. `` Zoey,'' he said. `` Do n't alarm the kids.'' 
 
 When Charles met them in the yard over the storm shelter entrance, Zoey was shaking, but trying to keep her bravest face. Angela was brave, as ever. And Jake looked at the gun. 
 
 `` On the Internet they said zombies,'' he said. `` Is it real?'' 
 
 Charles nodded. `` Apparently so.'' 
 
 Zoey held her hand over her mouth. `` It's so *calm* out here.'' It was true. It would be a late evening, a beautiful June night, quiet and clear. 
 
 Charles put his urgency in his eyes. `` I know, Zoey. We have to follow the instructions. Into the shelter, kids. Did you bring games? Books?'' 
 
 Angela held up a book of mazes. `` I did, daddy. Seven more to solve.'' 
 
 He had to smile. `` Perfect. Jake?'' 
 
 `` I want to shoot the zombies, like you.'' 
 
 A chill came to Charles' throat. `` I hope I do n't have to. Okay kids, inside. If you have to tinkle, now's the time.'' 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - 
 
 When night came, Zoey lit a candle. It had been a long time since Charles had read his books by light that flickered and jumped. Time moved slowly by candlelight; it felt like a vigil. The slowness, the staleness in the air reminded him of the scene in `` The Ten Commandments'' when Moses and his family waited inside a home with lamb's blood on the door, hoping that the silent angel of death would pass them by. 
 
 Zoey heard the rattling first. 
 
 `` Shush,'' she said. 
 
 There was a faint rattling coming from the house, like knocking at first, but coming from more than one hand. Just when Charles was ready to dismiss the sounds as neighbors checking on them, they heard the shrill sound of glass breaking. That was clear. Even in the storm shelter they could hear the sound it made inside the farmhouse, the shards sprinkling on the hard wood floor. 
 
 `` Zombies,'' Jake said. 
 
 `` Really, daddy?'' Angela said. `` Zombies?'' 
 
 Charles did n't say anything. He would n't alarm Angela, but he would n't lie, either. He held his finer up, waited for the sounds to end. With any luck, these *zombies* would miss the storm shelter entirely. 
 
 After a beat, he let his finger down and leaned back. `` What were they saying on the Internet, Jake?'' 
 
 `` They were in New York City,'' he said. `` And some other ones, like Chicago. They were targeting specific people. People named Brian. They do n't bite you if your name's not Brian. They're making jokes about it. Brian. Brains. Get it?'' 
 
 `` I feel sick,'' Angela said. 
 
 `` Jake, do n't,'' Zoey said. 
 
 `` I'm answering the question. It's real.'' 
 
 `` Really?'' Charles said. `` Only people named Brian? First or last name?'' 
 
 `` Either one,'' Jake said. 
 
 Angela walked over to Zoey and buried her head in her mother's shoulders. `` I feel funny, mommy. I feel sick.'' 
 
 Zoey looked at Charles. `` Did you remember her insulin?'' 
 
 The shelter door banged. 
 
 It was a single knock at first. Then, a rattle. Charles heard the breath come out all of them, three gasps, or maybe his own as the fourth, and slowly drew the shotgun from the corner where he'd set it. 
 
 The shelter door shook violently, rattling the chains that held it down. 
 
 `` They're coming for us,'' Jake said. 
 
 `` Shush, Jake,'' Zoey scolded, her voice hardly a whisper. 
 
 The shelter door had an inch to give, and the creatures knew it. Green, boney fingers slid underneath the inch and gripped, trying to tear the wood panels away. They nearly did. Angela screamed, and Zoey tried to comfort her, and Charles eyed the chains that held the door down, watched the links begin to give -- 
 
 He fired. Whatever was outside gave a deep, guttural howl, and then a groan, and something thudded to the ground. 
 
 `` You killed a zombie,'' Jake said. `` You killed one!'' 
 
 `` Angela needs her insulin,'' Zoey said suddenly. `` Charles, look at her.'' She tried to let go, but Angela just unfolded like an accordion, so Zoey laid her down on the ground and put a pillow behind her head. 
 
 The insulin was still in the house. 
 
 Charles let out a deep sigh through his nostrils. `` Zoey, you stay with Angela, do n't move a muscle. Jake, I'm going up to get your sister's medicine. I want you to come up and watch the door. If anything happens to me, you shut the door and you lock it behind me. Even if you think I can reach it. And do n't fight the zombie. If they're only biting Brians, then do n't fight with it. Is that understood?'' 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - 
 
 Charles opened the shelter door slowly. The night was clear and showed a thousand bright stars. It was quiet, too, unnaturally so -- usually the crickets would be almost *loud* at this point of the night. And there were no fireflies, even in these few moments after twilight. 
 
 He looked at the ground, and saw no body. 
 
 `` Do you see the zombie?'' Jake called. 
 
 `` No more talking, son,'' Charles said. `` Just close the door if it's anyone but me who comes out of that house.'' 
 
 When he slid the porch door open, he felt a wariness of the dark he had n't felt since he'd been a kid, shuffling his way through some friend's foreign house. His own home seemed foreign. The O'Brien farm had been passed down over generations. He remembered visiting his grandfather here. He saw the wooden booth in the kitchen, the new granite counter they'd spent so much money on, and the refrigerator, but they no longer felt as though they belonged to him. *They belong to anyone who takes them*, he realized. 
 
 In the living room, the TV was still glowing blue, dyeing the walls incandescent, but the message had changed slightly. 
 
 *All Brians seek cover and shelter. They are difficult to kill. * 
 
 *Once bitten, you will be infected. Destroy all who are infected. * 
 
 *New York, Chicago unreachable. Rural areas also affected. * 
 
 *This message will repeat. * 
 
 *BEEP BEEP BEEP. * 
 
 Charles took every corner with all the caution he could muster, ready for a new monster behind every wall. But he found a extra flashlight in the garage and then retrieved the insulin with no incident. 
 
 When he found the backyard again and saw the familiar shadow of Jake watching over the storm shelter, his relief was palpable. For the first time, he let his finger off the trigger guard. `` I have plenty of medicine,'' he told Jake. `` Enough to last us --'' 
 
 The shadowy figure turned and snarled. On the ground below, Jake looked pale, trembling. 
 
 `` Dad,'' he whispered. 
 
 He shattered the zombie's rib cage with a single blast. It shrieked in a high, metallic, hungry-baby scream. 
 
 `` Come on! Did it touch you? Get into the shelter! Give the insulin to your mom!'' 
 
 Jake raced down the stairs while Charles turned to search for more. The zombies were quick. He'd shot two already -- or had it been the same one -- and every time he looked for blood, or a body, the backyard had only revealed empty grass, green and near black in the darkness. 
 
 There was rustling in the cornfield. It opened up in front of him, and out poured dozens of figures, all moaning. 
 
 `` Oh, fuck.'' He might have whispered it, or just thought it. The sentiment was the same. He scrambled down the stairs, locked the door behind him, and fumbled for the chain's lock all in darkness. `` Are n't there more candles?'' he asked. 
 
 `` Down here,'' Zoey's voice came. 
 
 He found each step carefully and slowly, but in his mind he was racing down the stairs. `` There are dozens of them out there,'' he said. He could n't find Zoey but he'd heard where her voice came from. `` We have to pray the chain will hold. Did Jake give you the medicine?'' 
 
 `` Down here,'' Zoey insisted. 
 
 *Yeah, I know. * That was strange. He found the extra flashlight in his back pocket and flicked it on. It was a wan, flickering light -- the battery was nearly dead. 
 
 In the pale light, Jake had bitten deep into Zoey's arm. She was lying against the wall, half asleep, all pale, and her eyes had rolled over black. `` Down here,'' she repeated. `` Down here.'' 
 
 Jake turned to his father, his own eyes black, his skin a deep and sickly green. 
 
 `` No,'' Charles said. `` No, Jake. No. It could n't have bit you. We're safe. We're safe! Your name is Jacob, not --.'' Then it hit him. *Jacob Allen O'Brien. * 
 
 The light went out.
