Dead Straight
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 390

With horror and distress we watched, mouth open, as the ambulance with lights flashing, sirens blaring, screeched to a stop in front of our house. After the outbreak two months ago, the sound of sirens were not anything out of the ordinary, but to have it pull up in front of your own house was a concern. Who was infected? Was it mum? Dad? My little brother?

A knock at the door sounded the beginning of the end. The ambos were standing there with the stretcher and their first aid bags.

“Please come in,” my mother said to them.

They walked past me and even though I’m not a homo or anything, they smelt really nice.

The two ambos spoke with my mother in the kitchen while I stood at the front door, looking up and down the street. There were a few neighbours watching the action at our place. I did not see the ambos grab me from behind. I felt myself dragged to the ground and strapped to the stretcher.

Boy, they smelt good.

I felt someone put their hand on my shoulder lovingly. It was Mum. Without realising what I was doing until it was too late, I bit her. The flesh tasted sweet and tender.

“Get back,” cried one of the ambos, pushing my Mum away.

The smell of the blood running freely from the gaping wound was intoxicating. I felt a hunger well up and a sudden rage. With all of the strength I could muster, I tore the restraints away and fell from the stretcher, knocking down the closest ambo. The rage within burned.

I tore a chunk of flesh from his leg, swallowing a mouthful of his uniform to.

“Call back-up,” the ambo yelled, pressing his hands to stem to blood flow from his wound.

Mum cried in the background. I wanted to go to her, to comfort her. But I also wanted to go and tear her throat out and feast on her brains.

“No!” She yelled.

I pushed the ambo away and ran to the back of the house to stop the urges I had. I passed the large mirror in the hallway.

“No,” I said.

I stopped and looked at the mirror again. My face was pale, grey and drawn. My eyes were glazed over with white, covering my pupils.

I was a freakin’ zombie.