As I wipe the sweat off of my forehead again and stare at the ceiling fan slowly spinning above me, I contemplate once again getting up to turn up the speed. After giving it a quick thought, my laziness gets the better of me and I stay laying down, my ass cheeks soaking the bedsheet under the comforter.

What happened to bring me here? Is this really where I wanted my life to take me? As a newly divorced man, I can tell you that I wouldn't have pictured myself here less than a year ago.

A year ago, I was a happy man. A caring husband. A team player, the one who always made sure to take out the trash, take our little girl to school, and make sure the dog was fed.

Now, the trash piles up past the lid, our "little girl" can drive herself, and the dog went with my wife. So much for a man's best friend.

Here's the really fucked up part about the entire situation. Christy wanted nothing to do with our daughter, and she can't even throw a dime our way? I mean, don't get me wrong. I know she wasn't exactly the breadwinner of the relationship, but I'm a teacher for Christ's sake.

On top of that, it's been impossible to sleep since this entire thing started. I can't even remember what caused it. It just seems like the feelings faded away over time. You know, as a kid, you think relationships are meant for marriage. That committing yourself to that person is somehow going to give you some kind of spiritual bond.

But then, suddenly after the ceremony, your parents and divorced friends are telling you, "Good luck, you'll need it."

I know how it seems, too. I'm not worried enough about how my daughter feels about this. Believe me when I tell you, Lizzy has been the highest priority throughout this whole thing.

I originally tried talking to her when it all went down, and she just shut me out. Not emotionally, but physically for sure. After I would cook a meal to try and open up discussion, she'd come home from school with a bag of fast food and trot upstairs to her room, telling me that she has "a lot of homework".

But you know, I can't blame her. I know how it seems for her, probably for outsiders too. It's always the husband who messed up in the relationship, in movies, books, and in real life. Who knows, am I perfect? I'd like to think so, but I know in some horrible way that I'm not completely innocent in this either.

I look over at the clock and make a mental note that it's the third time this week I've been awake at 2 am. Although I hate losing sleep, I haven't minded being awake at this time. Listening to traffic slowly die down with all of the windows open, it's a great feeling. Knowing that everything has slowed down and your mind is still moving at a million miles an hour. It makes you feel invincible.

I reach over and pluck the TV remote off the nightstand. I notice Christy and I's wedding photo, and try to tear my eyes away but can't. I remember telling her how beautiful she looked that day, every minute that I could. I feel the tears brimming my eyelids and lay the photo down flat, somehow believing that will make it disappear. I power the TV and start flipping through the channels to get my mind off things.

I turn to CNN and it's the same lady that's been on for the last week or so. Some scientist that used to work for the CDC has been going on and on about this virus outbreak affecting the Latin Americas. At first, I think people were taking her seriously but it seems like now they just keep bringing her on for entertainment value.

I mean, I'm not going to lie. I love watching people rip their hairs out over crazy conspiracies as much as the next guy. That doesn't mean I'm not paranoid either though. I'm not an "end-prepper" or anything like that, but I have been trying to make sure Lizzy hasn't been sick lately. I've also been watching for the signs the loony scientist has been talking about.

I click the TV off, as obviously nothing in this world will ever change. Some crazy idiot on CNN will always be trying to scare people about something, the traffic outside will always die down at 2 am, and I'll still be a sweaty, sorry, divorced son of a bitch when I wake up tomorrow. I close my eyes and try to get some kind of peace within me.

My eyes jolt open as I hear a crashing noise downstairs. I must have gone down fast because although it feels like a few seconds have passed, it's 4 am when I look over at the clock again. I think and weigh my options before making a decision on what to do.

Considering we live in an area with a relatively low crime rate, the odds of somebody breaking in aren't very high. To top that, the odds of somebody stupid enough to break in with a weapon is zero to none.

Nevertheless, I get up and reach into my bottom dresser drawer, searching for my handgun. My hand riffles through the old pairs of underwear and porno mags when I remember I left it downstairs on the coffee table.

Cursing myself silently, I decide the best course of action is to cautiously take a look for myself before coming to some crazy conclusion that I'm going to be murdered. I creep slowly down the stairs, avoiding all of the creaks that resulted over time.

I get halfway down the steps when I hear light shuffling in the kitchen. I notice the movement through the cracks in the railing and duck down. Two men, one of them very familiar-looking, are rummaging through my drawers. I can't tell what they are looking for exactly until I notice them pulling out knives and setting them out slowly as if they are butchers preparing for the slaughter.

I'm trapped in a predicament here. I could easily get my gun and risk getting caught, but if I take these guys on and lose, Lizzy is defenseless. On the other hand, I could call Mark, get Lizzy out of harm's way and then handle the threat.

Against my better judgment, I turn back around and advance up the stairs quicker than I came down. Luckily, no creaks once again. I make it to Lizzy's room, praying that she's still scared to leave it locked like she was when she was little.

I turn the doorknob and my heart melts as I realize my little girl doesn't hate me enough to get over her fears just yet. I see her lying in the bed, and she looks so peaceful. It reminds me of seeing her after Christy delivered. We both looked at her pushed-out upper lip, the same thing she's doing now, and both vowing to protect her at all costs.

I don't know what Christy would do in this situation, but I know that what I need to do right now is wake her up and make her aware of the situation. I shake her shoulder softly and she slowly opens her eyes, as if even the darkness is almost blinding.

She opens her mouth to speak but I put my finger to my lips. She blinks for a moment, then nods. "What's going on?" she whispers softly to me, and I know I made the right choice keeping her informed.

"There are two men downstairs," I hiss. "I'm pretty confident they broke in, and they're grabbing knives but my handgun is downstairs also. I'm going to call Mark so we can get you out of here, and then call the cops telling them I'm going to handle the situation."

She blinks wildly at me. "Are you insane?" she whispers, wanting to yell. "You don't have to be the hero, Dad. Let the police deal with it."

I shake my head. "They obviously intend to hurt us, and it's 2 am," I tell her. "They're not going to be able to get here fast enough with the limited manpower this town has."

She rolls her eyes, stares at the wall for a moment, and then says, "Fine. Does it have to be Mark though?"

Mark moved into the house next door about a few months after Christy and me. We've been around for a lot of things. Sometimes they were good things, like family cookouts or birthdays. However, we've been together through our bad share of things as well. 9/11, the stock market collapse, and the 2016 election.

Luckily, we've stuck together through this entire time. I think it's made us all stronger in the end, in terms of friendships and happiness. This is the reason I nod my head yes to answer Lizzy's absurd question.

I hold out my finger to signal her to stay in bed. I pull out my cell to call Mark, and stand by Lizzy's door to watch the stairs, praying to God they think we aren't home.

Mark picks up on the third ring, his voice groggy and sleep-deprived. "Hello?" he mumbles.

"Hey, man," I reply, as if a 2 am phone call is anything but casual. "I'm in a little bit of a bind here. Some guys are downstairs and rummaging through our drawers, looking for our knives. I don't know if they are here for us or just to fool around, but I need you to come hang out with Lizzy in the backyard while I call the cops and deal with these idiots."

I already hear Mark shuffling around in the background of the call. I can hear him sliding his coat on, one arm at a time, as he tells me, "Stay where you are. I'm coming, and call the cops man."

I hang up the phone and dial 911. Before it can even ring, I'm greeted with a busy signal. Thinking it's on my end, I check my service and dial again. Another busy signal, and I start to panic. I may have to actually deal with this situation fully on my own.

☠

Although Mark only lives next door to us, it takes him a total of 5 minutes to get into our backyard. I kept glancing at the clock on Lizzy's nightstand, hypersensitive to the slowly passing minutes and the footsteps moving around downstairs.

I glance out of Lizzy's window and see Mark jumping up and down in the grass, trying to get our attention. He had a gun in his hand, and it occurred to me in that moment that I didn't even know Mark owned a gun. I opened the window slowly and he tried to tell me something, but I shushed him and he danced silently with his anxiety.

I looked over to Lizzy and stared into her eyes. "Listen to me," I whispered. "You get down there, stay low and I'll open the back door when the situation is handled."

"What about the cops?" she asks with concern. "Were you able to get through?"

Lizzy was aware that I had tried calling the cops again as Mark was making his way over here - three times in fact - but I still came up empty.

I shook my head with sadness both for her and for myself. He sucked in her lip and hugged me tightly before silently climbing through the window and dropping off the roof beside Mark.

He motioned at me again, but I gave him a nod and thumbs up as I closed the bedroom window. I slid away from the window and headed to the staircase to begin my descent.

It sounded like they fell over a couple of times, and then I began wondering why in the hell they wouldn't just bring a flashlight with them. Mark arrived in the backyard, with a pistol in hand. He motioned for us to open the window and climb out. I didn't even know Mark owned a gun, and seeing him hold one looks very unorthodox.

Once we reached the grass, Mark whispered, "Do you guys have anything important we need to get out of here before we leave?"

I looked at Mark and said, "What the hell are you even talking about? We're not leaving. Let's just scare the shit out of these guys and get them out of my house."

Mark leaned in. "John, I'm here to try and protect you. If you haven't noticed lately, there has been some major shit hitting the fan."

Now I'm confused. "What are you saying?" I ask him.

Mark leaned in and said with a tremor in his voice, "People are coming back from the dead, John."

"Mark, you must be confused. That's not possible. It just isn't." I say, bewildered.

Mark shot me a serious look. I've never seen him look at anyone this way. "Would I joke about something like that? Weren't you watching the news recently?"

I thought about it, and then it hit me. "Oh God. Oh... God..." I had no idea what to believe now, but I knew we couldn't stay back here forever.

"So that virus thing... It's causing people to come back from the dead. That doesn't mean that the people inside my house are... zombies, right? They might just be thieves stealing things, preparing for the end. We have no idea who's in there."

I peered into the window again. "What do we do?", I whisper quietly. After no reply from Mark, I turn around to see him looking over the fence. "See anything?", I asked. No reply. "Mark?", I hiss.

Mark spun on his heels and whispered, "Shut up... get over here and see this." I walked over and slowly climbed onto the lower part of the fence post. I was awestruck by what I saw.

There was a good crowd of people shuffling down the street; that is, if you could call them people. There were some feeding off of bodies lying in the street. The pure sight of it made me sick. I actually had to hold my vomit in.

The rest shuffled on, as if they were attracted to something or someone. I quietly jumped down from the fence. I turned to Lizzy and Mark. "I need you to get into my garage through the back door so you don't attract attention. I'm gonna climb through the living room window and meet you there. Go!" I yell.

Lizzy and Mark took off towards the garage. I reached up and climbed through the living room window. I crouched down low in the shadows, hoping that these unexpected visitors wouldn't see me. I was surprised to hear silence. Maybe they left? I listened for a while, and then I finally saw a shadow rush through the hallway, followed by a loud crashing noise coming from the kitchen. All I need to do is walk by the kitchen entryway up the stairs and I should be okay. I hope.

I started walking slowly towards the kitchen. I peeked around the corner and could make out two figures, opening drawers and cabinets galore. Great. They are intruders, and very alive ones at that. I took one last look around the living room, then slowly started my way upstairs.

I apprehensively put my first foot out, hoping the stairs wouldn't creak like they always did. I advanced a couple more steps. So far, so good. I started to put my foot on the next step, but it made a creak. Suddenly I stopped and watched the kitchen. I imagined the two men running in and shooting up the stairs, Scarface style. Luckily, there was so much noise in the kitchen that my creak could've been a cymbal crash and they wouldn't have heard it.

I reached the second floor after what seemed like forever. I was lucky I left my bedroom door open, or else there was no way I would be getting in there. The hinges on that damn door make the loudest noises, especially when opening it slowly.

However, the intruders below were not so quiet. I heard a crash coming from the kitchen. It sounded like my fine china smashing. "Shit, shit, shit," a voice said from below. "Do you think they heard us?" "Keep your voice down," the other said. "I'll head upstairs and check."

I quickly, but quietly rushed over to the bed. Oh God, what do I do? The rifle was in my closet but there was no way I was going to get it before someone got up here. The stairs slowly creaked as the intruder made his way upstairs. I made a quick decision and slid under the bed, hoping that they wouldn't see me.

As soon as I was adjusted under the bed, I saw a pair of feet stop at the doorway.