Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle

startled awake by the ferocious pink mouse-dog barking at the front window.   I kicked out of my sleeping bag and grabbed for the gun next to me.   I couldn’t see anything in the dark.
    “What is it?” whispered Peter, panic in his sleepy voice.
    “Someone’s trying to get in.   Stay here!”   I found the gun and jumped up, taking off for the front of the house, towards my living room.  
    As soon as I got there, I saw that someone had broken the window, and was reaching up to unlock it from outside.   There was just enough light from the moon and stars to see that the raider’s hand had a gardening-type glove on it to protect it from the shards of glass.
    I flipped the safety off my gun and yelled, “Get the hell out of my house or I’m going to blow your friggin head off.”
    The hand froze.   Then I heard whispering.   “Shit, man, you said no one was here!”   The hand pulled out of the window and some sounds of scrambling around followed.  
    I could see some forms moving but no faces.   Another voice came out of the dark, this one mean and growling.
    “All we want is your food.   Give it to us and we’ll go away.”
    “No.   I don’t have any to give.   But I do have a gun and I don’t mind sharing some of my bullets.   I’ll put ‘em right in your brain, that way they’ll be easy for you to carry.”
    “You think you’re funny, bitch?   I’ve got a gun too.”
    I ducked away from where I’d been standing, taking a spot just behind the edge of the wall.   Depending on what kind of gun he had, that bit of wood and drywall might not make any difference, but it made me feel safer.  
    “Just get the hell out of here,” I said loudly, trying to sound tough.   The rest of my warning was drowned out by the sounds of Buster barking in another part of the house.
    “Bryn!   They’re at the back door too!” yelled Peter.
    I heard glass breaking.
    “Shoot their asses!” I yelled.
    The figures in my front window took off, yelling and calling out to each other.
    A loud BOOM! shook the walls of my house and set my eardrums to ringing.   The muffled sounds of shattering glass and screams rent the air.   They sounded like they were far off, even though I knew they weren’t.   I shook my head, trying to get the rest of my hearing back.
    I quickly gave up trying and left the front of the house to go back to the family room, where I had left Peter.   I could see him now, in the light of the moon that was shining in through the big hole in my back door - the one that used to be covered in panes of glass but was now just a half door on the bottom with a simple frame on top.   He was lying on the ground over our sleeping bags, unconscious.  
    Buster came trotting over, sitting down next to Peter’s face to lick him.   I was worried about him, but patting him down all over his chest and neck to see if he’d been shot revealed no blood anywhere but on his forehead; and I was pretty sure it was from his gun hitting him rather than a bullet, since there wasn’t any hole.   The dummy had knocked himself out with his own weapon.
    I got up and walked over to the door, looking tentatively out of the giant hole.   There was a kid lying on the ground out in the weeds of my yard.   He wasn’t moving but a gurgling sound was coming up from his chest.   I was kind of bummed to find that my hearing had returned to normal at that point.   His death gasps sounded wet and disgusting, continuing for a few seconds before finally stopping with one last, faint wheeze.
    “Holy shit,” I whispered, “you killed him, Peter.”
    Peter didn’t hear me.   He was too busy being unconscious, and I was glad for him.   I’m not sure he would have been able to handle this part.  
    I stepped outside the back door, shoving it hard against the kid’s legs to get it open.   I crept up to him as quietly as I could, grabbing him by the arms and dragging him over to the side of the house.   We weren’t going to have time to bury him or do anything else with him for that matter, but I didn’t want him blocking access into and out of my house.   The idea of eating him flitted through my mind and made me almost vomit on his bloody chest.   No matter how hungry I got, I knew that was never going to be an option for me.   There were just too many other things I knew I could find.   Hell, I could go live in an orange grove and eat oranges for the rest of my life.   Anything but another human