Storage

" Its a full moon tonight, we'd better take some precautions." John Deery said to his daughter Jo-Anne

" Ok Pa." She said, obediently getting up from the breakfast table and putting the plates in the sink. Every since the change had occured she had become much more intraverted. Then again, seeing your mother and baby sister ripped apart by zombies it wasn't surprising that she had a few residual issues.

"We'll be alright, listen to me. The full moon period only lasts a few days, we take precaution, stay inside no matter what and we will be fine." John spoke calmly to his, although on the inside he was a bag of nerves. The scotch had run out the night before, there hadn't even been enough to drive away the itch that had been growing inside him the last week or so, and he didn't dare chance a run to the store at this time of the month.

The day wore on, Jo-Anne prepared the house, bringing stocks and supplies from the shed, stocking the cupboards with bottled water and canned goods. Most of the lables were gone already so each day was a surprise. John was busy around the house, he boarded up all of the windows, and installed deadbolts on the roller shutter that would cover they front and back doors once the sun went down.

They did all of this in awkward silence. . .

"It's time Jo, come and give me a hand will you." John spoke, emerging from the kitchen wearing a large industrial apron and elbow length rubber gloves, the same kind you see people wearing in nuclear power plants when handling radioactive material.

"Do I have to Pa," She asked, her face ashen at the mere thought of heading down into the basement.

"I need you this time, I want to take one of the ones from the back, they're getting a bit juicy back there." He answered. "and I can't get them out on my own. We'll do it as quick as we can." He promised her.

Together they descended into the storm cellar, a place which had once housed a pool table, and the weekly poker game John used to host with a few of his closest friends. Most of them were down there still, only not they were part of the large stockpile of rotting corpses that John kept lying around to act as bait and distract the zombie hoards whenever he needed to leave the house or especially for the full moon period, where there hugner seemed so intense that it worked them up into a frenzy so violent that they would actually become smarter, and attached the house in search of the people locked inside. Whereas during the rest of the time, they would stand around and simply lurk, waiting for them to emerge.

It took them longer than expected, thanks in part to the rapid rate the bodies at the back of the storeroom were decomposing. A slippery layer of putrescence covered the floor, which had caused both of them to slip numerous time, but after a about three hours they had successfull managed to raise Roger Johnson, - he had been the owner of the local grocery store - he hung from their front porch, a rope tied securely round his ankles, his considereable weight casued the rope to slice through the softend skin, but thankfully the bone held firm.

"You ok Pa?" Jo-Anne asked her father that evening as they were closing the roller shutters for the night. "You sweaty and shaking." She told him, not sure what it meant, brains had not been her gift from the Lord. Even she knew that. Luckily enough she was pretty, thats what her own mother had told her too, not her Daddy though, he always told her she was clever, always told her she could do anything she wanted to do.

"Yeah I'm alright pretty lady. Go, you go on inside sun went down a few minutes ago. I'll finish locking up. Go on now." John answered practically pushing his daughter back inside the house.

Jo-Anne did as she was told, she headed straight into the kitchen, turning on the gas stove and grabbing two unmarked tins from the cupboard - just hoping that they weren't cat food like the day before. - and poured their contents into a saucepan.

The contents of the pan were starting to bubble, when Jo-Anne heard a scuffling sound coming from outside the house.

"Hey Pa, did you remember to lock the shed?" She asked, as she walked into the living room, expecting to find her father in his usual seat reading a book by the fire. It was slowly getting colder now, and her father had taken to lighting a fire every evening as she cooked. Only he wasnt there.

"Pa," She called up the stairs, thinking maybe he was having a lie down.

Again no answer. . . her heart was starting to beat a little harder now, she turned around almost blind as panic soon set in, there was a bang against the outside of the roller shutter, followed by another.

Jo-Anne ran back into the living room, and pulled over the blinds, looking through the cracks in the woodwork her father had tacked into place that morning. The Mr Johnson's body was gone, the rope snapped and swinging in the night time breeze. Rising onto her toes, Jo-Anne peered itno the darkness, the porch light was still turned on, and it cast a weak light onto proceedings. She saw one of them, a lone zombie - it struck her as strange, after 3 years she had never seen just one - it was crouched down, devouring the contents of Mr Johnson' s stomach, slurping up the putrid half decomposed intestines as if they were spaghetti.

"Pa" Jo-Anne called again, her voice desperate, tears just waiting to be given the chance to tumble from her eyes.

The beast stopped eating, it stood up and turned around, the noise from the house filling its ears, the sudden and obvious aroma of live meet fillings its mind.

"Get inside Jo." The zombie said as it turned to face the house.

When she saw her father, Jo-Anne vomited over the window, and felt her legs buckle. She collapsed to the floor and wept.

"Close the blinds." The zombie called agian, as John tried as hard as he could to fight the infection that was taking control of him.

Jo-Anne did as she was commanded, somehow finding the strength to rise to her feet and latch the blinds. She also managed to go to the kitchen and turn off the stove, the contents of the pans now nothing more thana blackened mass.

Outside it was all quiet, but she knew her father was there. She knew what she had to do, she had thought about it often enough over the years, as much as she had hated to do it. She checked herself in the mirror, her face gaunt and sunken her once soft features hardened from malnutrition, her body frail, her breats sagging already at only 23 from hung unsupported in her old workshirt.

Satisfied with what she saw, Jo-Anne carefully unlocked the front door, and stepped out into the night. She closed the door behind her, pulling the shutter down, and then went and sat on the steps at the front of the porch, and waited. . . It didn't take long.