The Chief put his hands on his hips and regarded James, long and hard, then nodded as he came to some internal decision. "James, I don't want this to be the last memory you have of your father. I know he hasn't given you the best life-"

James snorted, loud and hard. He couldn't help himself. He nodded slightly at one of the two men who had served as his father figure for many years. "Sorry, Chief. It's just, that's beyond a bit of an understatement."

His real dad thumped on the door again and leaned into it. The wood creaked slightly in response.

James giggled at how his dad's nose had turned up like a pig's where it pressed against the glass. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just..."

He didn't know how to explain the tornado of emotions inside himself. He should probably feel sad that his dad had turned into a zombie, but he was just feeling overwhelming relief that he wouldn't have to worry about him again, even if it meant he might be shipped off into foster care. That tonight was the last night he'd have to shimmy down the drainpipe to escape.

He looked back at the Chief who was staring at him without a hint of anger. Maybe he could convince the Chief to adopt him? Adopt all of them. Why hadn't they thought of that before? The big, burly man was a widower, but he'd always acted like a loving uncle towards them. How much farther was it to just take on the role of dad?

"I wish you could have known the man your father was before your mother passed," the Chief said.

James winced. By some tacit agreement, no one usually mentioned James' mom.

Only once in all of James' life had his father mentioned his mother.

On that shining occasion, his father had collapsed into tears when he came home drunk instead of flying into a rage at seeing James' face. Paul Brown had sunk to his knees and howled his grief.

"Your face is just like hers," he'd blubbered, pointing at James who hovered in the bathroom doorway, ready to slam it and crawl out the window. "Sarah, my Sarah. So sweet. Best woman ever. Every time I look at your goddamned face, I see exactly what you took away from me on that goddamned day you were born." Paul tore at his hair.

James had been frozen in shock. In all his years, his father hadn't once mentioned his mother. He'd found a few pictures of her in a locked box that he'd asked Petra to pick open for him. It was true that he was the spitting image of her.

Guilt tore at him. He would give anything to have his mother back. He hadn't meant to kill her.

"I hate looking at you," his father said, low, and so full of bitterness and loathing that James' recoiled. "Get out of here, boy. I don't want to see you for a week!"

James flew to the window and down the frosty pipe that was bolted to the brick wall. He'd barrelled down the street and around the corner, straight into the solid body of Father Lee who was walking with Chief Koch.

"James," the priest said, holding him back by the shoulders so he could bend down and look into the then-seven year olds face. "We were just coming to visit you. Where are you off to at this time of night? And without a coat?"

James glanced back up at the apartment above the laundromat. "Uh, my dad asked me to get him...some cigarettes."

He caught the look that passed between the two men.

"Have you had supper?" Father Lee asked.

James' nodded. His usual PB&J sandwich. Mrs. Evers, who owned the IGA, let him do little jobs for her like sweep out the grocery store every night at closing and she paid him in food.

He shivered and wrapped his arms around his skinny frame to warm it up. His thin t-shirt wasn't giving him much protection from the late-October wind that already carried the promise of a long, cold winter on it's breath.

"Well, since we're all out here and the wind is starting to pick up, why don't we go to the café? Shelley just baked some banana bread, I believe. I sure could use a slice. Would you like some, James? My treat."

The boy turned his head slightly at the muffled sound of his father's sobs. He nodded. He'd seen the Priest and Police Chief around town and they'd always been friendly.

That was the first night he'd stayed in the rectory pantry. Petra was already there, asleep in one of the bunks. When the Priest opened the door to the room, she'd shot straight up and flattened herself against the wall, with a sharp knife ready in her hand.

"Petra, it's okay, it's just me." At the Priest's voice, Petra had relaxed and climbed back under the covers.

Father Lee had flipped on the light, and held out a hand behind him, inviting James to step forward into the room.

James had stared at the priest. Him and the Chief had mostly talked between themselves at the café, leaving James to eat the hamburger, fries and three pieces of fresh banana bread they'd bought him. He used to love standing behind the café and smelling the food cooking. It was definitely his favourite place to dumpster dive for food, but he couldn't believe how much better the food tasted when it was fresh.

"Petra, this is James. He needs somewhere to sleep tonight. Do you mind if he bunks with you?"

Petra looked at him warily. They knew each other from school, of course, since there was only one Grade 3 class and they were both in it.

"Is it just for tonight?" she'd asked.

The priest shrugged and looked at James, who was caught in Petra's stare. "I don't know. We'll look at other arrangements if he needs it again, but it's late tonight and he can't sleep outside."

"I'll warn you, I'm a light-sleeper. Try anything and you'll regret it," Petra warned and pointed the knife-tip at him.

James shivered. He didn't doubt her sincerity. The girl was the same size as him, but better fed. She could probably take him, not that she'd have reason to. He didn't have the words to express it. He just knew he never wanted to make anyone feel like his dad made him feel.

"You don't gotta worry about me," he'd said.

"Have to," the priest corrected.

"Huh?" James cocked his head to the side.

"You don't have to worry about me. Proper diction, please," Father Lee explained.

"Dick-what?" James suppressed the giggle. The priest hadn't just said 'dick', had he?

"Diction. The words you use when you speak. Please use the correct ones. You sound uneducated when you say 'gotta' instead of 'have to', and James, you are a smart boy."

"Oh, okay." Warmth and confusion bloomed in his chest.

The priest pointed at the top bunk. "You can stay up there. Petra, can you clear it off? I'll go get some blankets, but I'm sorry, James, you'll have to sleep in the clothes you have on. I don't think Petra has anything suitable for you, and I certainly don't. We'll get you some things to keep here for the future."

Petra crossed her arms and frowned at him. "So, he will be coming back?"

"Petra, would you rather he sleeps outside?"

She didn't have to ask why it might not be safe for him to stay at home. In small towns like this one, it was no secret that his dad was a violent drunk, just like he wasn't surprised to find Petra here because he knew that her mom was a drunk, too.

He'd overheard Mrs. Evers telling Mrs. Wilson that Petra's mom was a 'whore' too, but he didn't know what that was. He'd tried looking it up in the big Roget's dictionary in the classroom, but couldn't find it under H, and he sensed it wasn't a word he wanted to ask his teacher, Ms Murphy, about.

He looked up at the priest who was nodding at him. Maybe one day he could ask Father Lee. Wasn't he supposed to not judge people and keep their secrets and stuff?

"No, I guess not." Petra got out of bed and began moving her school bag and a few clothes from the top bunk.

"Excellent. I'll be right back with some blankets. James, there's a bathroom across the kitchen. Help yourself to food in the fridge."

When the priest left, he'd been faced with Petra, who'd again crossed her arms and was glaring at him.

"Thanks for letting me stay here," he'd begun. "This'll be way warmer than the dumpster behind the grocery store."

She'd twitched slightly at that, then just nodded and climbed back into bed.

Now she stepped forward and slid her hand into his, squeezing it in reassurance.

His zombie-dad moaned again.

The Chief's eyes filled with pity for Paul Brown. "I don't know if you know this, but I went to school with your dad, James. He was a lot of fun. Always had a joke ready."

"My dad?" James was incredulous.

Chief Koch gave a little laugh. "Yeah, he did. He was a pretty good guy."

Back then, hung unsaid in the air.

The Chief laid a hand on James' shoulder. "I won't stop you from coming out to help me, or doing it yourself, but we can't leave your dad like this. He might attack someone."

James gulped. Bile rose in this throat at the thought of driving a knife into his father's skull.

"He was an awful dad, but I'd like to be the one to do it. It just feels like the right thing to do." James gulped and watched his dad who was now smearing his face across the glass. He heaved a deep sigh. "Or at least try to do it. Maybe this will be one of the few good memories I'll have of him."

"Let's go, then," the Chief said. "Petra, Viktor, please stay here. For your own safety."

James drew in a shaky breath. Petra squeezed his hand hard before letting go. Sweat beaded his brow as he followed the Chief.

Father Lee said from behind him, "You can watch through the window, okay? I need to go out with them."

"Sure thing, Padre," Viktor replied. His voice trembled ever so slightly.

Petra's "Okay," was laced with tears.

The three of them stopped before the door. Paul's moans increased in volume and his hands came up to push on the glass.

"The door opens in, so we'll have to open it quick and push him outside. Do you have a broom?" the Chief asked.

"Yes," Father Lee responded. Before he fully turned, Petra had already run and fetched the large rectangular broom from where it hung on the wall.

"Here you go," she said.

The Chief gave her a reassuring smile. "We'll be okay, Petra."

She nodded, eyes wide as saucers.

"James!" Viktor called. They all turned to look. He held up a large butcher's knife. "You might need this."

"Ya think?" James laughed and took the knife.

Father Lee gave a strained smile. "Thanks, Viktor. That was good thinking."

"Olly, you get the door," the Chief said and Father Lee stepped up and wrapped his handle around the round, iron handle. He quickly crossed himself and began mumbling a prayer. "On three. One, two, three!"

Father Lee yanked open the door and Chief Koch thrust forward into Paul's chest with the broom, knocking him backwards. Rushing out, he pushed the bristles down onto Paul's neck, grunting with the strain of keeping him down.

"Quick, James! Do it now!"

James' legs turned to rubber. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He forced himself to take a step, then another.

He raised the knife which was visibly wobbling. Father Lee enclosed his hand.

It was several seconds before James finally heard Father Lee saying, "You don't have to do this, James."

James nodded and relinquished the knife. "I'm sorry."

The priest smiled slightly and shook his head. "There's nothing to be sorry about, James. This is something no one should have to do."

Paul was snapping and snarling at them. Chief Koch was leaning on the broom and had managed to step on one of the zombie's hands to trap it. "You need to hurry. I can't hold him much longer."

The kitchen door opened and Petra and Viktor ran out. "We'll help!" They dropped onto Paul's legs to help hold him down.

Father Lee knelt beside Paul's head and laid a hand on his forehead. He mumbled a few words, then forced the head to the side and drove the knife home from the back.

Paul's body jerked then relaxed, along with all of them.

The walkie on the Chief's shoulder crackled. They could hear screams in the background before Deputy Morris cried, "Chief! Are you there? You gotta get down to Main Street! Oh, shit!" His last word was drawn out before the transmission  cut off.

NaNo Word Count: 2212

Total Word Count: 3857