I can hold out for two weeks, but after that…

I’m in the attic of my folks’ house. Nailed the door, barred the windows. I left an inch to see. They move in aimless circles. Sometimes they leave for hours, but they always come back. Cold. Dead.

Two days ago, I was working on my car when the jack broke. Hit my head. I saw a bright flash – must have knocked out the jack.

And took everyone out.

When I came to, their dead eyes looked at me. They pretended concern.

“Are you okay?”
“Oh my god. Should I call 911?”

But they were lifeless zombies. Drained of all humanity. Only husks with primordial needs for food, land and empty pleasures.

I got up and ran. They called after me, but didn’t pursue.

I got to my parents’ house ten minutes later. Too late. They feigned kindness, but I saw the dull fear in their eyes.

They knew that I knew.

Now I’m in the attic. They’re in the corner. I haven’t decided whether they’re contagious, but I can’t go downstairs for food.

They’re good for two weeks, more or less.