“Remember, we’re supposed to find something bigger than our place,” I laughed as she buckled in. Kate started reading the glossy four-page brochure.“Yeah. Listen to this. Six bedrooms, five and three-quarter baths, master suite with dressing room and full bath, nursery and nanny’s quarters. Master suite includes marble spa, shower system, elegant fixtures, fireplace, and French doors opening to a private deck.”“Holy shit!”Kate and I announced our find to the family and we arranged a viewing on Friday. We had to clean house first. Our agent was bringing prospects through Friday at noon. Wendy organized the cleaning and staging. She went so far as to put cookies in the oven and leave them on the kitchen counter when we left. Our house smelled delicious.The house we went to see left us all breathless.The master suite occupied the entire third floor. The dressing room wasn’t an alcove, it was an entire room the size of one of our bedrooms. Two smaller rooms adjoining the bedroom were set. Catching up, Lisa stopped, horrified. “No!” she gasped, but without enough force to change anything. The woman’s life ended with a desperate gurgle, and Lisa thought of her own parents, the parallels between the two situations clear. Her mother and father ordered her to hide, not revealing herself no matter what happened, realizing they’d die yards from her hideout. The woman’s kids—whether biologically or not—watched the zombies consuming their only hope of surviving. Lisa had the benefit of safety to reflect on how her parents were spared the horror of becoming what they most feared, something these children didn’t share. As her friends ripped the woman to shreds, Lisa approached the house. She stopped to pick up the woman’s pistol, mere feet from the savagery unfolding, and carried it to the porch.“Stay back or I’ll shoot!” a young boy declared.Holding her hands up, palms exposed, she lowered her voice. “Don’t. It’ll only draw their attention. They’re hungry for blood and will stop.
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