A rumbling.

Not much stirred the three into movement, like cockroaches in the dark. She moved, her stomach growling in protest, her un-dead still fed off her ghoulish grayness.

Her husband, a putrid rotting melon, sat and stared at the flashing red and blue lights coming through the living-room window and bouncing off their sealed family portraits.

She stood in front of the plate glass, which was still covered in quarantine tape along with the doors and widows sealed shut months ago with giant chromed staples.

A massive white dirigible, 10 stories high with a black skull & crossed red bones, shot out liquid fire. Houses imploded instantly. She felt the heat and knew it was over.

With what little strength she had, she picked up her dripping husband, stroked her baby’s exposed leg and held her family close to her emaciated breasts.

Soon, a small drone, zipping like a hummingbird, landed at their front door. A knocking….“Your attention: If you are not infected, answer this riddle… Knock Knock”