Arthur woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. He had just had a nightmare in which the world was taken over by little people with tazers, and that he was the last tall person left on the planet. But even more unusual than his dream was the smell that Saturday morning. No smell at all.
Funny, Arthur thought to himself. Dad usually makes pancakes on Saturday. He checked his watch just to make sure of the date, and once he was sure, he figured out why his father wasn't making pancakes.
"Hey Dad," Arthur said. "I'm sorry about last night." He didn't really mean this, but he knew it would be enough to get his father to forgive him, just like always.
Since there was no response, Arthur got out of bed and went to the door. He entered the kitchen, and was met with a horrific sight.
His father was slumped over the kitchen table, bleeding from a large wound on his neck that appeared to be a bite of some kind. The color was drained from his face, and a cold cup of coffee was tipped over next to him, and from the amount of coffee on the ground, Arthur could tell that not a single drink was taken from it.
Arthur was sure his father was dead, so he slumped to his knees and started bawling. "H-h-how could th-th-this happen to m-m-me?!?!?" he sobbed. He was so caught up in crying he didn't even notice his father starting to stir.
After a while, his looked up with his tear filled eyes to see his father standing in a full upright position. Blood soaked the front of his suit.
"Dad, you're okay!" Arthur rushed to his father, about to embrace him, but he realized that he didn't want to get blood all over himself. "I'll call 9-1-1."
Arthur dialed the emergency number into the kitchen phone, but instead of the immediate "9-1-1 what is your emergency?" All he got was static. Thats when he finally realized that something was wrong with his father. His eyes were void of any sort of emotion, and he appeared to be staring through Arthur and at something far off behind him, even though the room was fairly small. He was standing, but he was still hunched over, and any muscle that weren't being used at the time was completely limp, which included his arms. But the topper was the low, gutteral growling sound that was coming from his neck.
Arthur had seen too many scary movies to not realize what was going on. He switched from being relieved to being on his guard and scared in an instant, and jsut to make sure his theory, he said, "Do you remember me? It's Arthur Rutherford Slate, you son. Dad, can you hear me?" He took a step toward his father, and at that point all hell broke loose.
Pot and pan were flying everywhere as the zombie lunged this way and that in an attempt to get Arthur. Back and forth around the kitchen they went, tears clouding Arthur's vision. At last, Arthur knew what he had to do. He looked to his right and saw the only weapon there was, a large kitchen knife. He grabbed it, and with a quiet "I'm so sorry Dad," to himself, Arthur plunged the knife it to Denis Henry Slate's bloody chest.
Again and again Arthur stabbed and slashed until his father crumpled to the ground, finished off for the second and last time. Arthur did the only thing he seemed to know how to do at the time. sit down and cry. He cried for a good ten minutes before he finally got the courage to go over and look out the window.
The what he saw made his blood and stomach churn. In the streets below, people were being slaughtered left and right. People were running, but every so often a zombie would catch up to a person and rip them to shreds and begin the slow process of devouring the corpse, this would take about 5 zombies a period of around 30 seconds before they ran after another. People were jumping out of window to avoid being eaten, only to dash their brains out on the street below. Cars were flipped and on fire, alarms were going off everywhere. It was the worst thing anyone would hopefully ever see in their entire lives.
In his haste, Arthur ran to the door and out into the hallway. almost at once he came face to face with yet another bleeding zombie. The zombie opened its mouth, and was about to lunge when a bullet whisked past Arthur's left ear and went into its head. Arthur turned around to see a group of 6 armed men in combat positions. One man stepped from the group and addressed Arthur.
"Is your name Arthur Rutherford Slate?" asked the man. He was tall, thin, and dressed all in blue camo. The name on the front of the uniform said 'No. 11243, Skyline Emergency Response Corps'
"That would be me," Arthur responed as calmly as he could, which wasn't very calm at all.
"We have a warrant for your service. Resistance is futile," the man in blue said. One of the men behind him put out a tazer from his belt and shot Arthur square in the chest. Arthur crashed to the ground, writhing in pain. He had seen people get tazed, but he didn't expect it to hurt so much.
"Welcome to the Skyline Response Corp, kid," was the last thing Arthur heard before slipping into unconsiousness.