Escape

What's Happening?

“J-Jess, where are you?”

Jessica could hear the sob behind his stuttering. She had never seen or heard her brother so frightened. “I’m at home-“ The teenager’s body jumped against her mother’s dresser, crashes and screams echoed in the background. “Michael?” Jessica shouted into the cell phone.

A whimper entered through the receiver. “C-come get me, Jess.”

Her mouth hung open, words barely escaping the barrier of her lips. “Where are you?”

The curly haired brunette found it difficult to understand her younger brother, as static circulated through the earpiece. “Guidance Office.”Static. “Conference Room.”Static. “Hurry.” Before the line went dead, Jessica could hear his voice calling out for someone, as well as a solemn groan. 

Jessica’s lips parted to releasing a shuddering gasp. What was happening in front of her home was happening at the high school. What was she supposed to do? If everyone was turning into zombies, like the neighbor who was still pounding her flimsy fists against the front door, then how was she going to leave the house without being attacked?

Jessica drew away from the dresser and found her body lying against the comforter of the king size bed. Her thoughts were rattled with so much confusion, but fear dominated every crevice and space in her mind. She could wait for Jacen and Andy to arrive, but there was the chance that they may never come, that she would have to hold down the fort herself. Then there was Michael, what was she supposed do about him?

The curly haired brunette blocked her olive gaze with the palm of her hands, hoping to push back all the negative thoughts. What was it that Master Yoda would say, “Do or do not, there is no try.” She had to rescue her brother, she would strive to do anything to make sure her family was safe; they would do the same for her under these unusual circumstances. The question that pondered within her mind was, how?

The teenager sat up from where she laid, twiddling her fingers. The movement of her hands came to a halt, her gaze widened, before scrambling out of the bedroom and toward the front door. She maneuvered the grocery bags away from her purse. Jessica’s gaze fell upon the car key to the 2005 Caravan dangling off her key chain. The teenager remembered that the car was parked upon the lawn in front of the house. The only thing standing in her way was the infected Mrs. Baxter.

Jessica moved away from the front door and toward the extra pantry closet in the hallway to the right of the kitchen. She practically pulled the door off its hinges, before grasping for the yellow broomstick. From the hallway, the teenager walked straight into her bedroom, snatching her school bag from the carpet floor. With confidence in her stride, Jessica marched toward the dining table. She dropped her bag upon the table before gripping the broomstick, as if she were up to bat at a baseball game. With a powerful swing, the teenager snapped the broomstick against the wooden round table. The cleaning tool was broken in two, both ends splintered. She examined the tips before tossing the pieces onto the table.

“Now for the supplies,” Jessica said aloud to herself.

The brunette dropped all the contents of her backpack onto the wooden floor. Quickly, Jessica ran toward the main pantry and grabbed whatever would be easy to snack on later. Then, the teenager raced into her parents’ bathroom, opens the supply closet and seized the first aid kit.

   “That should be it,” Jessica muttered, as she shouldered her backpack before grasping one of the broken ends of the broomstick.

Still unsure whether she was doing the right thing, the brunette crouched in front of her forgotten purse. She removed her car key from the key chain. The teenager glanced down at the broken half of the broomstick. She furrowed her eyebrows together, confused as to why she was carrying a stick. Its not like she was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Jessica tossed the broken half of the broomstick and returned the kitchen. Beside the oven was a holder for an assortment of knives. Jessica smoothly removed one of her dad’s good chopping knives, the kind that could cut a Thanksgiving turkey, before returning to the front door. The teenager closed her eyes, praying for some ounce of courage. Once calmed and sure of herself, Jessica tugged the door open, the tip of the blade held above her head.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica stuttered to the once kindly neighbor.