Baby, It's Cold Outside


"Baby, it's cold out here," my wife's voice comes from behind the steel door.

That's how they get you, mimic the voices of those you loved. I watched my wife die in my arms last year. If they had come then, I would have opened this door. I don't know what these creatures are. Half machine, half alien or animal. I don't know. I just know when the nuclear winter set in, that's when they appeared.

"Don't you care what the neighbors might think," the voice keeps going.

Neighbors took off for the Oklahoma last month. Heard there might be some untouched lands out there. I didn't want to go. I figured I'd stay here and have a few more drinks. In reality, I can't stay. I've got to go away. This place isn't safe anymore, but this won’t be my last night.

"Lend me a coat," the voice starts again, this time more aggressive.

I make my way over to the handgun across the room. This is going to get messy. Bullets have changed a lot since I was a kid. Used to just be these little oval shells. Now they drill through, or explode on contact. Humans have all but stopped shooting each other. We're too busy trying to kill whatever these monsters are. I guess that's a sign of the times.

The pounding at the door gets harder, but it doesn't give. It stops, I don't check outside. That's how they get you. They pretend to have left, you peek out, then you've got a neck full of venom and have to stay put until they're ready to feed on you.

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