Rushing, Tom locked himself in his bedroom. Bangs echoed from outside the door. Breathless, he stumbled to his bed and fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking. He dialed the number, but his fingers trembled too much. It rang, and rang. The banging grew louder, but Tom ignored it, just as his caller had ignored him.
The door creaked, its wood cracking, before it splintered, the zombies' snarls filling the air. Tom fell to the ground, his phone slipping from his grip. It still rang. Irritated, the zombies snarled at it before swatting it aside.
"Look, daddy still prefers putting you guys first, huh?" he muttered through gritted teeth. But the zombies didn't care. Their movements were rapid and clumsy as they lunged at him. Tom dodged, but not fast enough.
"Argh!" He groaned as his leg was caught. A sickening sound filled the room as flesh tore from his body.
His scream of agony was drowned out by the gurgling sounds of his daughter munching away, the other two zombies watching her with envy. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he tried to pull himself up, but the pain was unbearable.
"Aah, Tia... look what you've done to daddy. Are you happy now?" he gasped, his breath slowing with each word, his eyes faltering, the frown deepening.
The zombies closed in, moving slowly—or at least, that's how it seemed in Tom's blurred vision. His heart raced, and his mind raced with it. What could he do?
But just as despair took hold, a voice echoed through the room: "The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message or try again later."
The zombies paused, irritated, turning toward the voice. It repeated the message three times, offering Tom a fleeting chance. He seized it.
With every ounce of strength left in him, he crawled, his body aching and desperate. He reached the other side of the bed where he used to lie with his wife, leaned against the window, and, with trembling hands, opened a drawer.
There, he pulled out another family portrait, just as the mechanical voice died down. He placed the photo before him.
"Look!" he shouted, but the growls erupted. "Okay, okay, no loud noises... but look. This was our wedding day. After we had the twins. Don't you remember? It rained that day, and Shelly, you cried, saying it was a blessing from heaven after all we'd been through. Being kicked out of our families... planning a wedding so grand that your high school friends would be jealous."
He paused, his breath coming in strained gasps.
"Remember?" His chuckle turned to a wheeze, his chest tightening with each breath.
Everything paused. It was as if the zombies, too, were lost in the memory. Hope flickered in Tom's eyes. Were they coming back to him? Was there a chance to wake them from the nightmare? Maybe his friend, James, had the answer. Maybe this was his test. His heart pounded with a fleeting sense of relief.
But then the ringtone blared again, cutting through the silence. The zombies charged. They stumbled across the room, falling onto the bed, launching themselves toward him.
"No!" Tom whispered, his dream of a reunion fading as he scrambled to avoid them. He crawled to the phone, but before he could reach it, a sharp pain dragged him backward.
Teeth. Rotten with holes teeth.
They pulled back, it was his wife Shelly. She recovered first from the unceremonious fall against the window. But Tom fought. Instincts kicked in it for the first time in a year, he hadn't ever lifted his hand against her when she was alive with blood flowing in her veins or even for the past year where he lived with them, accepted them into his living space straight from the grave.
"Shelly, stop!" he yelled, kicking her off. The phone was in his hand now, but he scrambled for it as she lunged again.
He stumbled, his body a bloody mess as he dragged himself toward the door. Behind him, the snarls and chomping sounds grew louder, and the pain in his body was nearly unbearable.
He couldn't think straight. He had to keep moving, had to escape. His only chance was the twins' room. The room that held all the memories of their family. But it was locked.
He had no time to dwell on it. The zombies were closing in. His breath quickened as he moved toward the stairs, each step leaving a trail of blood behind him.
He paused at the top. The basement. The last place he wanted to go. But it was his only option.
He stumbled down, each step a painful lurch, but before he could make it, the twins were upon him. Their hands gripped his tattered trousers, tearing at the fabric, pulling him back. His skin was torn open with bite marks—small, insufferable nips, and larger, grotesque gashes that revealed bone.
"No. Bad girls. Let go." He fought, but it was futile. They dragged him closer to the floor, and the phone fell from his grasp. The screen lit up with James' name. Tom's eyes widened in desperation, but the screen slipped away, too far out of reach.
His attempts failed one after the other.
His flexing and extending was of no business to the munching trio behind him who had settled one at his buttocks two by the side of his torso.
The phone finally stopping ringing, but after a little while, it beeped. And it was at this time, that a voice message broke through: "Do not unchain them. A report came in. We couldn't reproduce the results from my son. We don't know why he came back, but one viral injection isn't enough to wake them."
Tom's vision blurred, his attempts to reach the phone failing. The phone rang one last time, but his strength faded with each beat of the ringing tone.
And as the light dimmed, so did his life. The last thing he heard was the sickening crunch of his flesh being torn apart, as his phone finally went silent.