Dillon stared in horror as the dead cat continued to walk toward him. His brain keep screaming for him to run, but his feet were frozen to the road. Each of his legs felt like they weighed 100 pounds each. Why wasn't he running? Somehow he knew that if the cat got to him that it would bite him. And then what? He didn't want to think about it. He couldn't think about it.
The cat let out another yowl, its head twisting to the side with a grimace of pain. Blood flew from its nose and splattered on the pavement. Three more steps and it would be sinking its dead fangs into his leg. He began to shiver uncontrollably. And yet, his legs would still not move.
That cat was dead! he thought. How could it be moving? How could that arm from the river be moving? What in the world was going on?
Just then, a red pickup truck came blaring around the curve. It was speeding toward him but slowed to a halt just beside him. The window rolled down exposing a young man in his early 20's. A cloud of smoke poured out and the man peered out, bleary eyed and obviously drunk. Loud rock music was blasting from the speakers. Wasn't that AC/DC? Dillon could make out the sounds of Hell's Bells. His eyes never left the cat though. But it had stopped in its tracks.
"Wass wrong wif dat cat?" the man slurred, leaning out the window. The strong smell of beer and cigarettes floated out of his mouth like a toxic cloud. But Dillon didn't care. He had found his legs after all. He ran around to the back of the truck and hopped in. He had no idea who this guy was but he just wanted to get up off of the ground.
"Isss dat cat sick? Is it mad?" the man grunted. Dillon looked down, expecting the cat to be ready to pounce up on him. Instead, he saw something very strange.
The cat wasn't walking anymore. It was quivering all over like someone had stuck an electric wire to its head. In fact, its head was shaking more than the rest of its body.
"Raaaaawwwwwr!" the cat squalled, dropping to the road with violent convulsions.
"There's something wrong wif dat cat," the man said, "Is it yours?"
"No," Dillon said softly, his voice betraying him like his legs had earlier.
And then with a meaty, wet pop, the cat's head exploded. Brains and blood flew all over the pavement, painting it with red globs. It was a horrific landscape. And then it was over. The cat lay still. It appeared that it was dead again.
What does that even mean? Dillon thought. Dead is dead....isn't it?
The man, who had been staring at the whole thing in a daze of alcohol, seemed to sober up all of a sudden at the sight of the cat's exploding head.
"Hey man," he said, "That was some freaky stuff. What did you do to that cat?"
Dillon felt numb. He just wanted to get home. To get to someplace safe. He jumped out of the truck and ran down the road....away from the truck and the dead cat. The dead cat that had just been walking around and trying to bite him.
He heard the guy yelling at him to come back, but he didn't listen. He only had one thought. He had to get home. The guy stopped yelling. He heard the truck pull off with squealing tires. He didn't care. He just wanted to get home.
His lungs were burning in the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Screaming for air and for rest, they were the only part of him that felt like it was truly alive. The rest of him felt as dead and cold as the arm and the cat that he had just seen. But at least his legs were working now. He was almost home. It was just up ahead. In just a moment, he would be in his own house with his mom and his dad. At least, his dad should be home from work by now. It was getting late. And then everything would be okay. He wouldn't have to think about what had happened. He wouldn't have to talk about it. He could just pretend that it had never happened.
Sprinting the last few steps to his front door, he tr