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.The plane jolted as we began to move.I felt a spinning sensation as the aircraft turned around.My stomach performed a summersault when the C-17 accelerated forward at an incredible speed.Within the space of a minute, I felt my body slump and lurch and my hearing diminished.We were in the air, on our way to Halifax, Canada.I let my head slump back against the soft cushioning of the seat and listened to the drone of the revving aircraft engines.The sound was somehow stimulating, like a welcome noise of victory.We’d finally made it.I closed my eyes and let the drowsiness of slumber wash over me.I felt as though I could sleep for a thousand years.Chapter FifteenI dreamed of my mother in London.She was a striking woman, with pale skin, jet black hair and lively green eyes that didn’t miss a trick.Eileen Noonan lived in Galway, Ireland until she met my dad, Michael Wilde.Dad had wanted to visit the place where his ancestors originated from in the old country, before they immigrated to the States, sometime in the early 1800’s.Michael Wilde and Eileen Noonan had quickly fallen in love and stayed in Galway for a while, Dad worked for local building companies as a laborer until he was fired several times.They married and moved to Finsbury Park in north London, with Dad having aspirations to be a diamond merchant.My sister, Vicky and I were born two years apart when my parents lived in the English capital.I was the younger sibling.The marriage was strained; I guess a lot of it had to do with lack of money and my Dad’s wayward shenanigans.Sometimes he was flush following the result of a good transaction, but he’d quickly blow the cash and we’d be struggling again.Eight years later, my parents decided to make a clean break and move to the States.Why they chose a crappy little Pennsylvanian town called Brynston remained a mystery.My first days in school in Brynston were somewhat confusing.The other kids laughed at my accent and wanted to know why I ‘talked all funny.’ I was in my last year at Brynston High School when my mother dropped the bombshell and said she was moving back to Ireland.Vicky had already moved out and was a student at San Francisco University.Dad moved to New York, Mum didn’t stay in Ireland, she moved back to London to an area in the north-west of the city called Kilburn.I stayed put and wasted my life in Brynston for some bizarre, unknown reason.I’d visited my mother, Eileen a few times in London, the last time being a year ago with Samantha, my on/off girlfriend of the time.I hadn’t had any contact with my family since the undead apocalypse, apart from seeing my Dad in zombie form on a yacht in Manhattan.I’d shot him in the head.A fact that haunted me ever since.The weather was sunny in my dream.It must have been summertime and I somehow knew we were in London.The light seemed dimmer than in the States and I vaguely recognized the small garden of the little semi-detached house.My mother was standing in the kitchen looking through an open window and watching me and my sister play in the garden.The small backyard was half grass and half moss stained concrete and a narrow gate at the far end led to an alleyway.The back door hung open and smells of cooking wafted outside.We were all younger, my sister and I were kids.Vicky wore a red and white tartan dress and wore her black hair tied back in a pony-tail.I was dressed in navy shorts and a white T-shirt with a picture of ‘Bart Simpson’ pulling down his shorts on the front.My dad always found that shirt amusing.Vicky held a Barbie doll and I pretended to shoot her toy with my Action Man figure.“Brett, play nice,” my mother called from inside.“Vicky doesn’t like guns and nor do I.”The garden gate rattled and we all looked around to the source of the noise.My dad staggered into the garden.He was a tall, skinny man with a mop of thick, black hair.His face was white and cracked and crusted blood surrounded his mouth.His eyes were milky white, like they were covered with cataracts.He opened his mouth and let out a long, monotonous moan.My sister screamed in terror and dropped her Barbie doll before running to my mother inside the kitchen.I stayed rooted to the spot, watching my father stagger closer.More zombies clattered through the garden gate behind my dad.I turned to look at my mother.She hugged Vicky and smoothed her hair.“Why is this happening, Mummy?” My sister looked up to face my mother.“Why did God let this happen?”My mother smiled weakly.“God is sleeping at the moment, honey.”I swiveled back to face my father.Now, I was no longer a child and Action Man’s gun was real, firmly held in my grasp.I raised the gun and fired one shot.The bullet moved through the air in slow motion and stopped halfway between me and my dad.The ground tilted, the sunlight faded.I sat in the passenger seat of the Mustang.The breeze blew in my face from the glassless windshield frame.The stars shone brightly in the night sky as the car traveled speedily through a bleak, sandy desert.The Doors played on the stereo and Jim Morrison was driving, singing along to one of his songs, ‘People Are Strange.’ His long, dark hair hung in slight curls to his shoulders and he stared at me with unblinking, piercing blue eyes.Jim wore his trademark black leather pants with a plain white T-shirt and dusty cowboy boots.I heard singing from the back seat and twisted my head around.Another version of myself sat in the back seat between Julia and Eazy, two of my traveling companions who had died in Manhattan.All three of them stared at me with accusing, scornful eyes.Eazy was a muscular black guy with a corn-row hairstyle.He’d shot himself in the head after being infected with a zombie bite.Julia was an English girl with long, strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes and a lovely smile.She’d died when she tried to follow me jumping between building roof tops.My alternative self usually cropped up as a vision at times of extreme danger and regularly liked to gloat.I felt anxious and wanted to get out of the vehicle.I turned back to Jim.“Where are we heading?”“Ah, be cool, man
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