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"The zombie apocalypse won't ruin Christmas." My sister, Molly, flicked her pigtails as she decorated the tree. "The town is overrun with monsters, but Santa visits everyone, no matter where they live."
"Grow up," I said. "Santa is pretend." I peeked between the curtains. Earlier, zombies had covered our lawn, but after turning off the Christmas lights, they'd disappeared into the night. "Even if Santa is real, he'd be a zombie now." Everyone was, except us.
"Right now, but...." Molly grinned. "We're going to the store for turkey."
It's dangerous outside, I wanted to say, but I couldn't speak around my drool. Turkey was way better than beans. "Let's do it!"
"Yay!" Molly skipped to the kitchen, then returned with weapons: knives and a rolling pin. We slipped into the night.
The area was zombie-free. Still, we sneaked through shadows, zigzagging to the store. After checking nothing stirred, we dashed inside, scooped up a frozen turkey and hurried for home again. I smiled as I ran, imagining my teeth sinking into the turkey's warm flesh. Delic--
Pain returned me to reality, to a zombie gnawing my arm. I cried out again, terror gripping me. I'd been bitten; my life was over. In minutes, I'd become a monster.
I looked to Molly. "Run!" Run from the zombie. Run from me before I became one, too.
Roaring, Molly dropped the turkey and buried her knife in the zombie's temple. But as it died, another zombie appeared. It grabbed Molly, its teeth latching onto her shoulder.
"No!" I slammed it with the rolling pin, loosening its jaws enough for me to tear Molly free.
Gripping our wounds, we sprinted home, raced inside, and slammed the door, but I wasn't sure why we bothered. We were infected, soon to become undead.
"I dropped the turkey," Molly sobbed.
I shrugged. The desire for turkey no longer gripped me. My craving was changing. I wanted brains.
Molly moaned, sickly pale. "Hungry," she slurred.
I nodded, and let my wound go to clutch my stomach. Where in our abandoned town could we find brains?
Something clonked on the roof, then scraped in the chimney. As a boot and red pant leg appeared in the fireplace, we licked our lips and crept forward.
The End
This story was first published on Tuesday, December 24th, 2019
Author Comments
Gina Burgess is a writer from Tasmania. Her stories range from unsettling to uplifting and often take readers down unexpected paths. Her work has appeared in Wizards in Space, Mystery Weekly Magazine and Re:Fiction.
- Gina Burgess
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