Time frame: present
~~~
Hobe couldn't help but roll his eyes internally.
Oh, how convenient! Now the annoying zombie woman, who happened to be his mother, decided to transform back into her human form.
Her previously pitch-black eyes miraculously turned white, resembling a regular human eye.
She stared at Hobe with what seemed like a "human" gaze and began fake sobbing.
How touching!
"Ah, the epitome of emotional manipulation," Hobe thought sarcastically. It was truly heartwarming to witness this sudden change of heart after all the chaos she had caused.
He resisted the urge to give a standing ovation, marveling at her Oscar-worthy performance.
Bravo! Truly, the world was graced with such a talented actress-turned-zombie.
But amidst the theatrics, Hobe couldn't help but wonder if this was just another act in her never-ending drama. Would she transform back into a mindless flesh-eater in the blink of an eye?
Oh, the joys of having a mother who could switch between human and undead at will. What a unique family dynamic they had!
Hobe's suspicions were proven right—his mother had recently been infected. In the early stages of infection, which lasted less than a week, the infected individuals could still transform and think like humans.
The first week of infection was actually the most dangerous phase. They retained their human consciousness, memories, and intelligence.
"Hobe, it's me, your mother," she said, her voice trembling.
Hobe remained unfazed, tightly gripping his baseball bat in a defensive stance.
"Oh, hi," Hobe replied curtly. "Tell me, where's Hari?"
The woman clutched her chest, taken aback. "You don't think I would harm Hari, do you? I'm your mother!" she said dramatically, tears streaming down her face.
"Uh-huh," Hobe nodded. "Where have you been for the past year?"
"I...," she began.
"I left a note to inform you that we moved to Mrs. Johnson's house because she had a good supply of food... hmm... around 10 months ago. But you're only showing up now. Why? Feeling hungry, perhaps?"
"Oh, Hobe, my unfortunate son..." She took a step closer, but Hobe prepared himself to swing his baseball bat.
The air hung with tension as Hobe stood his ground, ready to defend himself and protect Hari at all costs. He had learned not to trust so easily in this new world of infected beings.
There was a fleeting moment when Hobe almost let his guard down, his mother's sorrowful expression tugging at his heartstrings. But he quickly reminded himself of the danger lurking within her.
With a firm grip on his baseball bat, Hobe's sarcastic tone came through once again. "I suggest you stay right there, Mom. Let's not make this family reunion any more interesting, shall we?"
"Oh, so you suspect me, huh? No worries. It's understandable to have doubts in a situation like this," she said, looking at her disheveled appearance.
"Uh-huh, right. I'll forgive you if you step aside right now and let me take Hari away," Hobe replied sternly.
The woman fell silent for a moment, then moved to lean against the wall.
Hobe cautiously walked past her, keeping his guard up with the baseball bat in his hand. He quickly entered the room and called out for Hari. "Hari!"
Hari had been hiding inside the closet. The closet door creaked open, and Hari emerged, trembling and in tears.
She extended his arm, revealing bite marks that conveyed a sense of despair. "Hobe, Mom bit me," she said, choking back sobs. "Will I become like them too?"
Hobe's heart sank at the sight of Hari's wounds.
Hobe knelt down, his heart heavy with concern for his younger sister. He gently took Hari's injured arm in his hands, examining the bite marks with a mix of dread and determination.
"No, Hari," Hobe said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. "We won't let that happen. We'll find a way, no matter what."
Hobe's teeth clenched tightly. At the doorway, his mother stared at them with a sinister smile.
"Oh, so you've been hiding there, you naughty child!" In an instant, she transformed back into her zombie form, her mouth filled with sharp, blood-stained teeth, and her eyes completely blackened.
Hari let out a gasp, clinging to Hobe's side, his grip tightening as fear coursed through his trembling body. Hobe raised the baseball bat, his knuckles turning white with determination.
"You're not our mother anymore. Oh, who am I kidding? You never really acted like one anyway," Hobe sarcastically declared, his voice tinged with a mix of despair and bitter humor. "Congratulations, Mom. You've reached a whole new level of dysfunctional parenting."
Just as their mother was about to pounce on Hari, Hobe swung his trusty baseball bat, aiming for her face with the precision.
The impact was so intense that her facial features crumbled inward, resembling a grotesque jigsaw puzzle. Blackened blood sprayed in all directions, providing the perfect backdrop for this macabre comedy.
Her mother glared at her, the baseball bat still lodged in her face. With an explosive burst of rage, she attempted to lunge at Hobe.
"You little brat! I should've strangled you the moment you came out of my womb!" she spat, her thick, blackened claws extending menacingly to attack Hobe.
Hobe, undeterred by her threats, smirked in defiance. He swiftly sidestepped her clumsy attack, causing her to stumble and crash into a nearby wall.
The impact reverberated through the room, leaving cracks in the plaster as a testament to her failed attempt.
"Oh, Mom," Hobe mockingly taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I always knew you had a way with words. So poetic."
Their mother growled ferociously, a mixture of anger and pain etched on her distorted face. She lunged again, her claws slashing through the air, but Hobe's agility surpassed her sluggish movements.
With calculated precision, he dodged each strike, dancing around her like a seasoned matador teasing an angry bull.
"You know, Mom," Hobe quipped, his tone filled with exaggerated sympathy, "you really need to work on your technique. I've seen scarier things at a toddler's tea party."
Enraged by his mockery, their mother's attacks became more frenzied. But Hobe's sarcastic wit seemed to be his secret weapon, fueling his determination and outsmarting her at every turn.
He effortlessly avoided her clumsy strikes, occasionally delivering a quick jab with the baseball bat to keep her at bay.
The absurdity of the situation was not lost on Hobe. Here he was, engaged in a battle of wits and agility with his own zombified mother.
It was like a twisted game show where survival and snarkiness were the key ingredients.