13 [13] Home

As we settled into the worn seats of the car, the tension in the air was palpable. The relative safety of the enclosed space did little to soothe our rattled nerves. Ms. Yan fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking. I reached over and steadied her hand, a gesture that seemed to calm her a little.

"We should head to my place," I began, my voice barely above a whisper as I scanned the deserted parking lot. "It's in the rural area, away from the city."

She glanced at me, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. I knew she was having trouble processing everything. Who wouldn't be? A few hours ago, our biggest concern was the impending exams. Now, we were discussing survival plans in the midst of a zombie apocalypse.

"Are you sure?" She finally asked, her voice trembling. "Wouldn't there be more help in the city?"

I shook my head, my grip tightening around the baseball bat lying on my lap. "I don't think so," I explained. "From what we've seen, the zombies... they're attracted to crowds, to noise. The city will be a hotbed for them. We need to avoid populated places."

She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. I knew she was trying to process the information, weigh the pros and cons. I gave her a moment, letting the silence fill the space between us.

Finally, she nodded, taking a deep breath as she put the car in gear. "Alright," she said, a newfound determination in her voice. "Let's go."

As she steered the car out of the parking lot, I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

The moment I got off the car, I couldn't help but mutter:

"I am back."

***

The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the terrifying chaos we had left behind. There was a strange familiarity in the air, a sense of peace that hadn't been present for the past few hours. It was home.

My parents were on a cruise trip, which I suppose in this case, would mean they are safe from the dangers of the shore, for now at least.

Our footsteps echoed in the empty halls as we began to gather what we needed. Ms. Yan took charge of the kitchen, finding canned goods and bottled water. Meanwhile, I went upstairs to my parents' bedroom, looking for any medicines, first aid supplies, and other items we might need.

The drawers were filled with all sorts of pills and bandages, remnants of my parents' constant worries and over-preparation for emergencies. Under normal circumstances, I would have rolled my eyes at their needless concerns. Now, it felt like a lifeline.

I found a sturdy backpack in my old room and started to pack the items. Painkillers, bandages, antibiotic ointments, cold and flu tablets, a pair of scissors, and a small sewing kit – everything I could find that might come in handy. Once that was done, I went to my room and grabbed some clothes, packing them tightly in the bag.

Next, I headed to my parents' room. They had a small, discreet safe tucked away in their closet. My father, ever the cautious one, insisted we all knew the combination, just in case. With a deep breath, I punched in the numbers and heard the satisfying click of the lock disengaging.

Inside lay two pistols. They were a part of our lives, a grim necessity given our family business. The restaurant was located in a less than safe part of town and my parents had always been clear about the importance of our safety. The responsibility to protect our family business fell on me when they were away, and over time, I became quite adept with firearms.

Taking the weapons out, I checked them over. They were well-maintained, each piece oiled and polished. I found the ammo in a separate compartment and swiftly loaded each gun, my fingers moving with a practiced ease. A chill ran down my spine, not from fear, but from the strange familiarity of the task at hand.

Upon returning to the kitchen, I found Ms. Yan had packed several bags with food and water. She glanced up as I entered, her gaze drawn immediately to the guns.

"Those...," she trailed off, looking unnerved.

I nodded, laying the weapons on the counter. "A necessary precaution," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "With luck, we won't need them."

I could see the fear etched on Ms. Yan's face as she reluctantly accepted the weapon. She held it as if it was something foreign, something that didn't belong in her world. In her normal world, there would never have been a need for a weapon like this. In her normal world, we'd still be in school, engaged in ordinary lessons, not preparing for a fight for survival.

"It's alright, Ms. Yan," I said gently, trying to comfort her. "I never thought I'd have to use one either, but it becomes second nature with practice."

She didn't reply, only looking down at the pistol in her hand with a grim determination.

"I will teach you how to use it, but for now," I reached across the counter and flipped the safety on the gun, "Keep this on until you are ready to use it."

"I will..." she said, as she puts away the gun into her bag with a shaky hand.

Silence.

Feeling like the silence is dragging on forever, I spoke up:

"So where are your parents Ms. Yan?"

Q: Would you go back to your own house during a zombie apocalypse?