The End of Mark Glasen

The entire closet was rattling and Ana thought the hinges were going to come loose. She could feel her heartbeat in every inch of her body and all she could do was clamp her hands over her ears and scream as loud as she could. She knew screaming would accomplish nothing but she didn’t know what else to do. She had now lost the only person she had left in the world. 

Her father continued viciously scratching and banging on the thin closet doors. She knew he had finally turned when he woke up this morning, his eyes no longer had any color. They were completely white like someone possessed by the devil and when she had tried to ask him if he was feeling better he let out a snarl and his head twitched towards her so quickly she thought his neck had snapped. 

The teal blue, florescent lamp she had grabbed when she threw herself into the closet was the only light she had at the moment. It lit up the inside walls of the closet and she could see the swirls and dents in the pattern of the wood. Her face was drenched in a foul mixture of sweat and tears; her throat was dry from screaming for so long. 

Mark Glasen, that’s her father’s name, or was his name when he was still human. He had been an electrician for 20-some-odd years and had kissed her on the head every morning before he left for work. Now he was hurling his deteriorating body against the weak, wooden doors to try to eat Ana alive. 

For sixteen years he had been her hero and her guardian and now all she could think about was the raw animosity on his face before he had lunged out of his crappy cot at her. 

They’d been staying in this house for about a week, they stopped here after a biter had taken a nibble out of his foot and the disease had started to spread throughout his body. Ana had cared for him all week but she knew the rabies would win and he’d be gone, well, worse than gone. He’d be a flesh-eating predator. 

His skin had turned pale and seemed to even be thinning, his veins were visible all over his legs and eventually his face. He hadn't moved from the cot they had found already set up in the main living room of the house until this morning when he turned. 

Ana had done her best to carry him into the nearest house after the incident and this one had been the closest. She had to admit it also felt so inviting, the outside was a soft shade of green with white shudders. The front door even had perfectly white and perfectly rounded pillars on either side, like you were walking up to the white house. 

The foot of the immense staircase began only feet from where the front door swung open; Ana never bothered to go upstairs. That happened a lot, they would settle in a house or an abandoned elementary school for the night but no exploring would be done, as long as they had one secure room they didn’t care who or what else might be in the attic or the basement or the kitchen. So the living room met their needs quite well. 

There was a cot set up against the right wall; it could barely be called a cot, it was no thicker than an average blanket and there no pillows or other blankets to be found. Pushed to the back wall was an oak coffee table that matched the closet so well they had to have been made from the same tree. Ana had been sleeping on the hard-wood floor next to her father’s cot, she bundled up her grey, blood-stained hoodie and used it as a pillow. 

She’d stare up at the intricate, golden moldings that ran the perimeter of the ceiling. She thought to herself how they looked like waves rolling up in the ocean before they hit the shore. She hadn’t seen a body of water in months, not since they left Rhode Island when all the outbreaks started to happen. Now they were somewhere along the border between New York and Connecticut, they had slowly been making their way to DC. 

Her father was a strong believer in the US government and he would always say to her, “Ana we’re going to DC because that is our nation’s capital and that is where our nation’s leaders are and they will help us. End of story.” And now he was snarling and slamming his own skull against the closet doors. 

Ana couldn't scream anymore. Her mouth was still open there just wasn't anymore sound left in her to come out. She squeezed her eyelids shut so tightly it made her head ache and then after a few moments she opened them and removed her hands form her ears. She knew there was nothing she could do for her dad now, she could save herself or she could give up and sit in this closet until he finally smashes in the doors. 

Across the room from the closet was the oak coffee table, she had left her machete on the table, it’d been there since they got to the house. One last deep breath, and then she came out crashing out of the closet pushing her father back a few steps. 

His hands were a bloody mess from scratching at the door and Ana was pretty sure his fingernails were gone. Ana thought about how he used to twist and splice wires so carefully and weave cords through tiny holes like the way a sewer threads a needle. 

She shook the image from her head and bolted towards the sword but he ran at her with his arms flailing and knocked her sideways. Her body flew across the room and her hip slammed into the banister of the staircase and her entire body flipped over. Now she was face down at the bottom of the stairs and when she turned over, he was standing over her. As he lunged she scrambled up the stairs and she could hear his construction boots clobbering up the stairs after her. 

She hesitated when she reached the top and whirled around looking for a viable option. She had no time to find one, he was already at the top of the stairs too, she rushed into the first room she could get into. The walls were navy blue and there was a tattered bed with the reminisce of a comforter with baseballs, footballs, soccer balls, and about every other kind of ball printed on it. Out of the corner of her eye underneath yet another oak piece of furniture, this one was a desk, she saw a Louisville-slugger baseball bat. 

Without thinking she snatched the bat up, and took her batting stance. Her father charged into the room with his eyes white as could be and his clothes drenched in blood from his won injuries that he couldn't even feel anymore. 

Ana lifted up her left foot and leaned into the swing, hitting him right on his left temple and smashing through his whole head. The blood splattered onto the open door and her father slinked to the ground.