Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle

here for good.
    I opened the door and nearly gagged at what I saw there.   I took two steps back, forgetting that I shouldn’t just be standing there with the door wide open.   But I was too stunned to reason properly and do the smart thing.
    Sitting on my front porch was a gray skinned, brown-haired thing , its eyes open and staring at my knees.  
    Someone had chopped off the head of the kid Peter had killed and left it for me to find at the front door - a grisly warning that took me less than a second to fully appreciate.   It was a promise of retribution staring out at me from the dead eyes of the boy who’d died too young, all because he was hungry and desperate enough to try and steal from me.
    I took deep gulping breaths and fought my instincts to slam the door, instead carefully closing it and slowly moving the deadbolt back into place.   I ran back to the living room and dropped down on my knees next to Peter, jiggling his shoulder roughly.   Buster just watched me curiously.  
    “Peter!   Get up!   We have to leave now!”
    “What’d you say?” he said, confusion all over his face, his speech sounding slurred.   “What time is it?   How long have I been sleeping?”
    “They friggin cut someone’s head off and put it on the doorstep!” I nearly screeched, trying to keep my emotions under control, but losing it anyway.   “It’s the kid you shot!   They cut his head off!”
    Peter sat up, now suddenly very wide awake, pressing his hands to his mouth, his eyes looking around the room.   When they finally stopped on mine he whispered through his fingers, “That’s what they did with my sister.   They’re eating the rest of him, I guarantee it.”
    “Wwwhat?!” I whispered, so freaked out I could barely get the word out.
    He dropped his hands and used them for leverage to stand.   “The canners are here, Bryn.   They’re here in your neighborhood.”   His face was white, with probably no more color to it that mine had right now.
    “Come on,” I said, jumping up, trying to get a handle on myself, even though my ears were ringing from my sky-rocketing blood pressure and my hands and legs were shaking with the adrenaline pumping through my veins to reach my heart and every other part of my body.   “Go get your damn bike.   Climb over the fence and bring it around back.   I’ll help you get it over.”
    Peter stood.   “Wouldn’t it be easier for me to ride it over on the street?”
    I looked at him like he was nuts.   “Wouldn’t it be easier for them to see you and eat you, you mean?!”
    “You have a point there.”
    “You’re damn right I do.   Now go. Get. Your. Bike.   I’m going to the cop’s place to get his.   Bring your gun.   Shoot anything that moves.   Put bullets in your pockets.   And Peter,” I grabbed his arm and squeezed it hard, “for the love of God.   Don’t knock yourself out again.”   I pulled him into a quick hug, not even thinking about it before I did it.
    “I’ll try not to,” he said, patting me on the back and then pulling away to walk out the back door.   I watched as he stepped over the pool of gooey dried and stinking blood on the slate step just beyond it.   He didn’t even look down; he just kept on walking to the fence.
    I ran to the front door and swallowed with effort.   I was going to have to walk around the head to get out of my yard.  
    I inched the door open, almost wishing it wouldn’t be there anymore, but quickly realizing how stupid that would be - since it would mean the canners were here right at this very second, moving severed heads around like chess pieces.  
    It was still there.   Looking at me.   Blaming me for its current situation.
    I slowly inched out the door, shutting it behind me as quietly as I could.   I ducked down, using the bushes to hide my form as much as I could.   I looked out and tried to see if there was any movement coming from the houses or yards around me, pulling my gun out of my waistband and taking the safety off as my eyes scanned back and forth.   I almost felt sorry for anyone dumb enough to show his face to me right now.   I wasn’t going to hesitate - my new rule was to shoot first and ask questions later.   Or just not ask any questions at all.
    After confirming as best I could that I was alone, I snuck two doors down to the cop’s house.   The front door was wide open and had a big brown X on its inside surface, which had me freaking out all over