Someone is knocking on the doors. They’re not knocking very loudly, but they might as well be doing it with the force of a battering ram because it snaps us out of our drowsy mood and brings us abruptly to our feet. Well, everyone except Jesse, that is. She stays on the floor curled up with her hands covering her face. I think she’s mentally checked out just like Houston did on that burning rooftop. I’m grateful that she has…I can barely get my head around what just happened myself.
There’s a pause, and then the knocking resumes; this time a little more insistent. Did someone actually survive? It’s impossible. No one could get away fast enough and if they did, they couldn’t, they wouldn’t get past the waiting horde of the newly Infected. Besides, Naked has renewed her barking and growling and that just goes to prove that it’s them. She barks then growls, barks then growls, barks then growls, and all the while her hair stands on end all the way down her back, transforming her from a Labrador to a Rhodesian Ridgeback.
“Mom, Naked’s going to have a conniption fit or something!” There’s an undercurrent of fear and concern in KC’s harsh whisper. I kneel down to half-hold Naked and try to smooth down her fur. It’s only when I touch her that I realize she’s shaking just as hard as I am. I use the calm voice I thought was gone for good to say, “There, there Naked, we know. We got the message.” It’s enough to make Naked stop barking, but not enough to make her stop growling and shaking.
Everyone’s looking at me, expecting me to do something, so I do what only a dumb blonde vixen would do in a B-grade horror movie: I call out, “Who’s there?” Why did I do that? Since when do the dead answer back? I must be losing my mind, because I half-expect the voice from Saturday Night Live to answer from the other side, “Land shark!”
But in reality nobody answers. Of course no one answers, because the dead can’t talk. The knocking begins again, but this time it’s more like a banging. Now it feels like we’ve switched from a horror flick to a monster movie with the beast on the other side trying to break down the doors and eat us up. In spite of myself, I cry out one more time “Who’s there?”
A sound behind us nearly makes my heart explode. It’s a voice from the grave, and it says in a trembling, pissed-off tone, “Well, it’s not us; that’s for sure.”