“No!” I scream, but I’m too late. Again.

The thing falls, just so much twitching gore.

That is not my husband.

I don’t see it at first, the angry scream of the bite on his shoulder. Too late. Again.

He’s still disoriented from the change, doesn’t see me. Years of chopping wood for the cold winters up here, you learn to handle an axe.

I love my husband and my kids, but I can’t think about that now.

That is not my brother-in-law.

That’s the only way to survive this. Act, don’t think.

I make sure they’re down. Even the one at the curb.

That is not my son.

That’s the only way—to become mindless, just like them.