Be Careful What You Wish For: A Zombie Apocalypse

4:58pm November 1st, 2120

"Hattie!" a voice screamed in the darkness, jolting me out of my thoughts. "'Attie LaRue! You get your sweet ass over to me, ya 'ear? Don't you make me comma find you. I promise you; ya won't be liking the consequences if I do."

The stairs above me shook under his weight as he came down them. Dust lightly rained down on me as the old wooden stairs protested each movement. My heart seemed to beat in time with each heavy footstep, sinking down into my stomach as he finally reached the bottom stair.

"Don't worry, mon ange," came the deep voice beside me. The soft caress of his breath gently brushed past my cheek, and I could feel the tension in my body leave me as I felt the phantom arms around me. "Two more minutes, and the world officially ends. Just two more minutes and those connards, those fuckers, cannot lay a single finger on you. Two more minutes, and you can finally be free."

I let out a long breath and buried my face in Teddy. Two more minutes. I had done 18 years. Two minutes was nothing.

I could hear the footsteps of someone else going upstairs, and once again, the stairs groaned in protest. "She ain't in the crawl," came a younger voice than the first. He was my second step-brother, also known as Shit Stain Number Two.

I had made the mistake of calling him that to his face a little while ago…

My fingers went up to the cut on my face, brushing over the staples still in it, keeping the flesh and skin together.

I won't make that mistake again.

But then again, if the voice could be trusted, then I'd be able to get my revenge in two minutes.

"Less than that now, mon ange, one minute," came the voice again.

I was in my hiding space, one that I had created just for myself. Well, if I had to be precise, Shit Stain Number One created it when he put his fist through the wall under the stairs when he missed my head. The poor drunk fool couldn't hit the broad side of a barn when he was drunk, let alone my small head.

When Père made me patch up the hole, I found that the entire section under the stairs was unused. So, I took maybe about two feet near the bottom and made a small room for myself.

The whole thing was maybe two by two, but I was only 4'11, so I could squeeze myself in just fine when needed.

And this was one of the times I needed it. 

I guess the popular term for my little hidey hole was 'safe space', but since I had never once known what a safe space felt like, I preferred the term 'hiding space'.

"'Attie! Imma gonna get Père now. Yous and I both know yous don't be wanting that," came the first voice… Shit Stain Number One. His O City accent always came out stronger the more pissed off he got.

Why, half of the time he beat me, I couldn't make out a word he was saying, and I have lived with him, his brother, and their Père for the past thirteen years.

Mind you, they were from a deeper, darker part of O City than where I was born. They were raised in the deep in the swamps and bayous just on the outskirts of the main city. Maybe that was why I had trouble understanding them.

Or maybe one of the times they had knocked me unconscious messed with my brain more than I originally thought.

Nah, I had been hearing the devil and the angel since I was four, so I couldn't blame that on them…

"What's with all this yellin' and screamin'?"

The front door slammed shut with a bang, causing me to jump. I bit back a curse when my head hit one of the stairs, but luckily, the footsteps coming down the stairs hid any sound I made.

"'Attie just disappeared," grumbled Shit Stain Number Two. "We's was lookin' to have a bit of fun with 'er and we no can find the little bitch."

"'Attie LaRue! You get your ass down 'ere now! Quick like or my belt will be comma off," snarled Père.

I would admit that when I was eight, that threat was enough to terrify me into doing anything and everything that he had wanted me to do. But after two years, I learned quickly that he didn't need an excuse to take off his belt… or his pants.

Knowing that no matter how good or how bad I was, nothing was going to change, I started caring less and less.

The stupidest part was that I still cared enough to keep me alive…

Ish.

My fingers danced over another fresh wound, this time going from my navel to just under my right breast.

Père thought it was best to get one of those staple guns from the hospital so he could put me back together when he and his sons broke me.

"Five… four… three… two… one! Congratulations on your freedom, mon ange," the voice behind me whispered and all of a sudden, I heard a lot of loud swearing.

"Fils de pute," growled Père. "Marc, you go find the box and make sure nothings been tripped. It is darker than a witches chatte right now. We's a never gonna find 'Attie in this darkness."

I heard the sounds of three distinct footsteps moving around, and crashing soon followed.

More swearing, and then there was nothing.

"Don't worry, ma petite, we will tell you exactly what you need to do," a second sounded right in front of me, and I could smell the peppermint on his breath.

"Do you have it?" asked the first voice from behind. I nodded my head and reached into the seam in Teddy's back. Tightening my hand, I pulled the object out of my teddy bear.

"Such a good girl," crooned the second voice, and I felt myself puff up with pride. No one had ever complimented me before him, and it meant everything to me when I could make him happy.

I could feel the smile on my face widen at his words.

"Alright. Now, you are going to have to leave Teddy behind for right now. We don't want him seeing what is about to happen next, right?"