Her head pivoted, first to the right -- to stare at the wall, then slowly toward me.

I was at the foot of the bed. Don’t remember walking into the room.

The picture in her hand was of our kids, and us. A 4th of July picnic, when the two were much younger. In matching U.S. flag shirts, we surrounded the base of a tree. Cash on my knee, Charlene standing between Julie and me. All smiles.

Julie’s eyes were flat and lifeless now. A clump of hair was chunked out of her skull. A creamy white foam crested her lower lip and poured down her chin. Long sticky-looking strands of saliva stretched from her chin to her chest. She was not taking good care of herself at all.

In a two-handed grip, I raised my shovel, ready to spike it down into her face.

She didn’t move though. Didn’t come at me. She didn’t do a thing except look back down at the picture in the frame.

I’d not of believed these things still possessed anything human in them before now. I thought they were gone. Whatever disease had entered them had destroyed their innards and spoiled the soul.

This time when I swallowed, I felt plenty slide down my throat. It was not what I’d expected.

“Chase?”

Was Allison really yelling for me?

Julie’s head turned again, looking past me toward the open door. The picture frame dropped. A hollow sound of wood frame on hardwood floors, and the quick splack of glass spider-webbing all at once.

In an instant, Julie was on all fours on the bed, and like a wolf, charging for the opened door.

I had a mere second to register the attack about to happen, and swung downward with the shovel. The sheet-steel flattened her out on the mattress. When her arms rose, fists planted, she pushed herself up. I battered her with the shovel a second time.

“Chase,” Allison said.

“Kinda preoccupied,” I said.

I spun the shovel 90 degrees, so that the spade was no longer flat when I swung downward at her head. It was perpendicular. Although it did not slice through the back of her neck, it did cut in deep. The blood did not spray, but oozed.

I hacked at her neck repeatedly until the most of the spine was severed, and her head hung dangling by some skin and muscle off the side of the bed.

She wasn’t dead. Her hand still moved. Her fingers rolled into fists, and unrolled, and rolled again. She was not a threat. She would not sneak up on anyone, if she’d ever managed to get off the mattress and out of the house. If anything, she was now dying. It might turn out to be a slow and painfully agonizing death, I couldn’t know for sure. I didn’t know the science behind their make-up. I left the bedroom and closed the door.

“One down,” I said.

Allison was not at the top of the stairs.

I ran into the second bedroom. Cash’s. It was done up with Star Wars memorabilia. Action figures on shelving, and posters from all the movies. The bedspread and curtains depicted famous light saber battle scenes from the different movies. Hated to admit, but happy for my son. It was an awesome room. Beat the bunk beds I had in my apartment for him and his sister to share.

I went to the next room. The master bedroom. “Allison?”

I ignored the queen sized sleigh bed, the expensive dressers, and vanity. I hated the slippers by the bed, and the robes hanging on a coat rack in the corner. The wall mounted flat screen television was nice. I used the wood handle to smash the screen as I checked the closets and the bathroom.

No one.

In the hallway, I stuck my head into that bathroom -- and found nothing. “Allison?”

I pulled open the hall closet, just to be sure. Neatly folded towels, extra sheets, and bathroom supplies filled the shelves.

I ran down the hall, past the doors without pause, and down the stairs. At the bottom of the last step, I stopped, and listened.

“Allison?” I whispered. “Alley?”

A dish broke. No mistaking that sound. I went right, toward what I assumed to be the kitchen. Through the dining room, I saw a standoff. Allison held her hedge clippers closed, like a two-handled sword. She thrust the weapon out and at Donald, the one-handed asshole.

I hate to say this is going to be fun, but I’d be lying otherwise.

“Hey, Donny,” I said, “you go after my kids, huh? You try to eat my kids?”

Donald turned his head. My voice was more interesting than the threat Allison posed.

“That’s right,” I said. “Here I am. I’d love for you to come and get me.”

He stepped around the kitchen island. I hated the hanging pots and pans. The whole kitchen decor sucked. The tiled back splash, and chrome appliances. The marble counter tops were horrendous. Might be expensive, might be color-schemed perfectly, but it look like shit to me. I’d take my kitchenette, with apartment provided stove and refrigerator any day.

Donald lunged. Fast. Wasn’t expecting it. Thought he was a slower zombie. Figured it was how Charlene got the better of him and why Allison held him at bay. I was wrong.

Like a linebacker, he hit me square in the chest. I reeled backward. Landed flat on the dining room table. A chair toppled over. I pulled my legs up and kicked out. My feet planted onto his shoulders and shoved him back into the kitchen, against the island.

Allison used a frying pan. Swung like Babe Ruth. Had his head been a loose baseball, it would have sailed out of the park. Instead, the clunk to the skull knocked him to his right, into the side of the refrigerator.

I got off the table, turned, and flipped it. I dropped my shovel, stood on the bottom side of the table, and pried free one of the legs.

“Chase,” Allison said. A warning.

I spun back to face my ex’s husband. He looked so old. Decrepit. This had nothing to do with his being infected and now a zombie. It was just who he was.

“My turn,” I said.

I swung. His skull caved as the table leg crashed into his ear. A tooth flew out of his mouth. I swung again. He dropped to his knees. The skull had cracked. I saw an overhang of white bone above the ear, and severed jawbone below. I swung again. He fell flat onto his face. I stood straddled on either side of his back, and swung, chopping downward. The leg splintered as it smashed time and again against the back of Donald’s skull.

“Chase,” Allison said.

I swung.

“Chase.”

I swung.

“Chase, that’s enough. We have to go. We have to go now.”

I stood over the corpse. I looked at my handiwork. Don’t let people lie to you. Revenge is satisfying. Fulfilling. It makes you feel better about yourself. Makes you feel like you came out on top. I took in a deep breath and sighed with pure gratification. “Let’s check the garage,” I said. “And the basement.”

I knew my kids weren’t here. I had to check the rest of the house. I couldn’t just leave without verifying they weren’t hiding under the car, or in the dryer.

“I got the basement,” Allison said.

“I’ll check the garage.”

We checked everywhere. Behind, under, and around things. It was like I thought. My kids were not here. There was no note, no . . .

Phone charger.

I ran back upstairs, and into my daughter’s room.

Julie was still sprawled out face down on the bed. A foamy puddle of spittle soaked the throw carpet under her face. That unbreakable string of saliva connected the pool to her mouth.

She moaned and groaned as I walked around the bed and snatched my daughter’s charger off the nightstand, and unplugged it from the wall. I lifted the broken frame off the floor and scattered the glass away with my fingers. I dug the actual photo free, looked at it for a long few seconds before folding and stuffing it into my pocket.

I took the charger from Cash’s room, too.

Downstairs, Allison stood by the door. “Everything okay?”

I held up the charger. “It’s not. But this helps,” I said.