Numbered

Chapter 4 - Devastation

"Mom," Zeke shouted as he entered his house. He snorted out his nose as he inhaled. "Is something burning?"

"No," she replied. "It is supposed to smell like that. I am making roasted squid."

Zeke felt his hand slap against his mouth as he felt the uncontrollable urge to vomit. It would be a cold day in hell before he decided to eat a squid. Was his mother losing her mind or was she trying to make him suffer? He ran up to his room and closed the door, exhaling while he leaned against it. Hopefully, the smell would not make its way in here. He tossed his bag next to his bed and walked over to his whiteboard, similar to the one in Jake's room. If they were not working on it together, they were working on it separately. He sat down and stared at it for what seemed like hours, trying to find the correlation between the people. He still could not find one.

"Dinner's ready," his mother shouted. The next question seemed like she was trying to torment him. "Who is up for seafood?"

Grudgingly, Zeke opened his door and slowly made his way down the stairs. He was attempting to prolong the horrid taste for as long as possible, but he knew he was going to have to eat it or starve. Zeke would sooner eat the squid than starve. As he sat down, and looked at his plate, he felt his stomach churn. The squid looked like a gelatinous glob thrown onto his plate. It was surrounded by bread and vegetables. He picked up his fork and poked the tentacle creature, fearing it might move when he tried to pick it up. When it didn't, Zeke cut off a small piece and put it in his mouth. Almost instantly, he ran away from the table and into the bathroom. According to his father, his mother looked absolutely horrified when she heard him vomiting in the bathroom. When his parents tried it, they also took off to the closest one. Zeke was pretty sure his mother was not going to be cooking any more seafood for a while.

When he came out of the bathroom, his saw his mother starting on something else. Next to her on the counter was cooked meat and long rectangular pasta pieces. She was going to make lasagna. Thank God, Zeke thought. Something I won't mind eating. Within a couple hours, the family had re-gathered around the kitchen table and was enjoying the new meal. His mother was apologizing continuously about the squid fiasco. Even after he and his father told her to forget it, she just couldn't seem to let it go. A good night's sleep was all they needed to forget about it.

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Zeke sat up with a start as a loud scream filled the silent night. He jumped out of bed and ran to his window, looking around for the source. He could not see anybody around that could have caused it. He felt a chill run down his spine as a cold wind blew across his face. Above, the stars were twinkling and the waxing gibbous filled illuminated the night. Looking across the street, He noticed Jacob's house lights were on.

"Oh, no," Zeke mumbled. Throwing on his house robe, he ran out of his bedroom, out the door and across the street to see if Jake was alright. He pounded on the house door with all his might. He was starting to shiver as another cold breeze blew across him. Open the door, Jake. It is cold out here, Zeke thought. He pounded on the door again, thinking that his friend had not heard it the first time. After pounding on it a third and fourth time, the door opened. Standing in his boxers with tears running down his face, Jake looked at his friend, agony spread across his face. Zeke took him in a hug, trying to console him, but as before, it did not seem to do any good. They finally moved into the living room, where Jake's father sat in a chair, appearing to be asleep. Jake moved to another chair and plopped himself down, suddenly fatigued from his agony and pain.

"I found him like this. I came down to say good night, but he did not respond. I tried shaking him awake, but he still did not move. Then, I...I took his pulse and found none," Jake blubbered, breaking into a full out cry again. Zeke did not know what to say to him. He was at a loss of words. How could he tell him it was all going to be alright when it obviously was not? Consolation was not going to work. Putting himself in his friend's shoes was out of the question.