La Mort et ses Merveilles ✔

1. Memento Mori

He walked over to us, taking the gun from his belt. He bit his lip as he looked at the ground, before looking up at us again.

"I remembered that there were more stuff here," he said, pointing the gun in my face. "I don't suppose you've taken it haven't you?"

"It was me," Isabella said, owning up. "I took them and placed it in the closet."

The young man went up to the closet and slid it open. Lo and behold, the food and water Isabella took were right there. He turned around and looked at my little sister. To my surprise, he had a smile on his lips. I couldn't tell whether it was sincere or sadistic.

"Well you're a clever little girl aren't you," he said with a little chuckle.

I watched nervously as he reached his hand out towards my sister. My fists clenched, I was ready to grab the little girl and push her behind me at any sign of danger. I was almost certain that he was going to take out his gun from his pocket and shoot her on the spot. My heart thumped against my ribcage just at that thought. That couldn't happen. That mustn't happen.

To my relief, he just patted my sister's head. For God know what reason. He just murdered our dad in cold blood. Now he's patting my sister's head and praising her for being clever. He doesn't seem like the most stable person, to put it out there.

"And um," he said, waving the gun at me. "How old are you?"

"I-I'm eighteen," I stammered.

"Well how does it feel like to be outsmarted by your little sister?" he taunted.

When I didn't reply, he just chuckled and walked off. He went back to the cupboard and rounded up the rest of the supplies.

The wait took forever, the both of us just watching him help himself to the rest of our supplies. I just wanted him to leave, so that I could mourn my father in peace. The man who had loved Isabella and I with all his heart. But he was gone now, taken from us by this deranged maniac stealing our stuff. And all for what? Cans of soup? Bottles of water? His life was meaningless in this man's eyes.

As he was leaving, that distinct sound of gurgling mixed with a moan penetrated the silence. Dad had turned. His dead fingers, which just moments ago lay frozen and still, began to move. His feet began to twitch.

I grabbed Isabella and threw her behind me, and began to fumble around for the nearest thing I could use to defend myself. It was at that moment when I heard a loud crash. The young man had dropped everything and drew his pistol. In a flash he fired a bullet at our father's zombified head. The reanimated corpse once again dropped dead.

This time, the young man seemed visibly shaken. He was trembling, and exhaled short, raspy breaths. His deep blue eyes widened, as if he had just realised the magnitude of what he had done. His dry, chapped lips were agape, but no words slipped from his mouth. He just stood there in silence, looking at my father's corpse, before turning to look at us. His eyes almost seemed apologetic.

"Is everything alright?" I heard a yell from below. It was one of the other gang members.

"Everything's fine!" the young man shouted back, before glancing at my sister and I. "It's just the dead! Nothing to see here."

With that, he picked up whatever he had dropped and turned to us one last time.

"I'm sorry about your father," he muttered, before taking a deep breath, letting his shoulders fall. "You should wait a while. Don't go out 'till they're all gone. They'll kill you if they see you, and I don't want the little girl to get hurt.

Were those tears in his sad, sad eyes?

He shut the door behind him. Isabella let go of my hand and rushed over to Dad. Her sobs began to fill the room. I remained silent and watched the parking lot from the window. I watched as the man met up with the rest of his crew. I saw him wipe his eyes with the edges of his sleeve. Yet the next moment he was laughing and joking with his mates. Could it be that he actually cared? Before entering the truck, he turned and looked in the direction of the room. Our gaze met for a brief moment, but I drew the curtains, slowly and carefully so as not to alert them of any sudden movement. I didn't want to see his face.

After what seemed like forever, the pickup truck finally took off. I kept my eye on it until it disappeared down the street, only then did I let out a deep sigh. The fear had departed me, now all that was left was the overwhelming sorrow and the gaping hole left by the loss of my dearest father who now lay dead in the middle of the room.

Walking over to the sobbing Isabella, I fell to my knees and let the tears flow freely down my cheeks. I held on to the older man's cold dead hands. My chest hurt, gripped with pain.

Isabella fell on my shoulder, her tears soaking my shirt. I held her tightly and stroked her hair. I'm the only one left for her. And she's all that I have.

"What's going to happen to us, Jason?" the young girl looked up at me with reddened tear-filled eyes.

Blinking away my tears, I hadn't a clue on what to say. Yet deep inside I found the strength to try to comfort her, even if they were just empty words.

"We'll be fine sweetheart," I muttered as I held her tight. "Everything is going to be alright."