Wrath

I doubted the existence of monsters.
Mankind were the monsters. The rapists, the paedophiles, the murderers. They were out there. They were real. In truth, I always thought the dark things we saw on film, or read about in books, were just projections, the parts of ourselves we couldn't accept. We rationalise the demons within us.
I want to laugh, but I'm not capable, even in scorn.
Rationalisation.
Who would have thought our need for things to be explained, for things to fit, would end it all?
I used to be a policeman, a long time ago, and I saw the very worst we could be, every single day. Because of this, I've always thought it easier for people to believe in monsters than to face up to the neighbour who beats his wife, or the paedophile who snatches children from the school gates, or the tanks that roll over broken bones on desert tracks.
Mankind were the monsters, was what I used to think.
But things change. Now I know the truth, and a real monster dominates my thoughts.
Outside, the darkness finally lifts. A crimson dawn is heralded by a thousand screaming sirens. Light creeps in from the base of the curtains. The world has changed forever.
I slug back the last of the whisky and the bottle slips from my grasp. The remnants of an old, well-loved foe trickle into nothing.
I raise the gun. My hands tremble.

***

God is angry, at least that’s what Zombie Priest says. The end of the world is nigh. Steven doesn’t care. He just wants to make amends, wants to prove that he’s a good man. Most of all he wants his son back.

But when the sun fails to rise and people start to die, Steven must find a way to protect his family if any of them are to see the light of day again.