Blood and Picket Fences

Mount Sinai: Grayson Chapter 2

"Mom? Mom!" Gray whisper-shouted into the phone, panic engulfing him as he sat on the kitchen tile, a knife laying next to his feet. The object foreign and useless... If those things got in, what would a bread knife do? Grayson felt his back tremble against the kitchen counter as he redialed, busy- redialed again- busy- redialed and redialed and redialed until his fingers hurt from pressing the screen and his arm had to reach up to wipe away tears. At school the guys would give him shit about it, being too emotional. At 16 apparently he was supposed to have balls of steel or some shit. That sense of detachment had never really hit him, if anything the hormones had made him more emotional. Puberty sending him up from his short five foot three to five/five in what a year? His dad was six feet tall so he had a chance of not being the shortest boy in school if he didn't die sobbing on the floor like an invalid. Yet, all he could do is look down at his phone in betrayal. Wondering why of all times now it had to be acting up when he needed to hear his mother's voice most of all. Gray startled as his father willed himself into the room his willowy form sliding with the shadows of the closed kitchen blinds. Grayson's head smacking hard against the cabinet causing him to swear, which uncharacteristically his father didn't comment on.

Gray swallowed hard at the worried look on his father's face. Another new thing he'd seen today. His father was rarely worried, and if he was it was manageable, more like interested concern over others than actual fear. Yet, there it was engraved upon his pale face and hazel eyes. It aged him in ways that made the teen more certain of their death than before. "I couldn't risk closing the shutters, there are more of them out there... I will try again tonight after dark. It should be safer, they might wander off." Gray looked at his father's twisting hands and anxious face and knew that this seemed unlikely even if the Rabbi was trying to put some sort of positive spin on it. Gray could see through the bullshit. He wasn't stupid, things were bad, they were really really really freaking bad.

"I closed the curtains," Benzion continued, as if Gray could be comforted by the small fabric between the window and the outside world. As if this shred of cloth was what would keep them alive while people were tearing each other apart on the street. "it's going to be okay, we just need to be quiet and hide out," he seemed to stress the okay part too slowly, as if he thought Grayson might be too far gone to hear him. The teen could only shake his head in protest. At least it had been more than he'd been able to do. His father was a planner, had always been, hurricanes, fires, hornet infestations... He was a solutions kind of man, someone Gray had always been able to look to as a problem solver. Yet, even his dad probably didn't have a zombie survival plan.

Grayson looked down at his phone again in frustration. "I-I lost connection with mom... I can't get a hold of her," Gray growled scrunching his eyes closed as he held onto his cellphone like a lifeline. Something bad had happened to her, he could feel it in his bones. Coral Cove was bad, how was there hope for Miami? How was there any hope for his kindhearted mother?

"Hey, Hey, Gray it's okay. You heard her, she's safe on pediatric, they have the floor sealed, there's probably too many calls going through. We'll try later." Benzion reassured, squeezing Gray's shoulders supportively. His words so logical, of course there were too many calls. If it was happening in Miami to the north and in Coral Cove to the south it could be all over Florida right now. That's over 21 million people trying to call loved ones, police, ambulances... Hospitals too no doubt.

Nothing had seemed out of the normal yesterday, when his mother had left to do her usual weekend business, it was normal for her to be on call all weekend. Sleeping at the hospital between shifts on the pediatric floor. While most teenagers rebelled against their parents, the newly turned 16 year old had an unwavering sense of belief in them. He almost felt stupid for questioning it. Leora, his mother, was fearless, she threw herself into her work as a pediatric doctor and never-ever gave up. She was relentless, caring to a fault. And right now the idea of her being so far away was destroying him. She was always the strong one, the one they needed right now. Now that their lives had become a Romero film from hell. His mom took a kickboxing class for God's sake! His dad... Occasionally ran on the treadmill? He was a pacifist, a reformed Jewish Rabbi. A liberal Rabbi who spent his time raising money for orphans in third world countries or volunteering in soup kitchens. His dad wasn't cut out for this, Gray wasn't cut out for this. They were going to die here, on the cold tile floor of the kitchen and never see his mother again. How many people were in Miami? How many people were dying in Miami? How would she ever get out?!