It was a friend that talked me into building the AR 15. I don't know why I actually did it, besides the fact that they look hard core and I guess every guy secretly, or not so secretly, wants their own machine gun. The process of building the AR 15 was fairly easy and cheap. Spaced out over a few months I purchased one piece at a time and in what seemed like no time at all I was sitting with my friend in his living room, his two year old bouncing off the walls and his wife rolling her eyes at our hushed voices and excited chatter as we delicately assembled our guns. Like I said, building the AR 15 was my friends idea, so technically he saved my life.
Head down, I raised one hand against the sharp wind and fat flakes of snow that had just begun to fall; the AR 15 swaddled in a borrowed blanket. Brushing the snow from the windows of the Rodeo I gently placed my bundle in the back seat. The suspension squeaked as I sat in the drivers seat and turned the key. As the engine flared to life the radio began to murmur quietly and lukewarm air drifted through the vents feeling frigid on my face and bare hands. The amount of snow that had fallen since I'd arrived at my friends was alarming. The parked cars looked like igloos built on the bank of a frozen river.
As the car began to heat up I began to notice something peculiar. Lights were on in almost every home that I passed, which in itself isn't strange, but there seemed to be a lot of activity within each house; people running here and there, a man screaming at a woman, two dogs barking ferociously at a young boy who seemed unconcerned by their flashing teeth. Suddenly a car swerved from behind me and took off up the road going way too fast for the road conditions, which were just white. The car didn't have its lights on despite the late hour; it disappeared quickly from view.
As I approached the much busier street ahead of me I was immediately aware of flashing red and blue lights reflecting off of the still falling snow. Cautiously, I pulled onto the street and slowly drove past what appeared to be a car accident involving only one car. Two police cars pinned the car against the curb. I peered through the windshield, whippers flipping side to side, and saw that there was no one in sight, no policemen, no scared civilian. I figured the incident must have turned into a chase on foot and drove on.
I don't live far from my friend, but it was apparent that not many people were handling their vehicles in the snow as well as I was, there were quite a few cars that had driven off the road and it seemed as though the drivers were satisfied to wait out the storm in the warmth of their cars because not a one of them was out trying to get their cars unstuck. Thank heaven for four wheel drive. I pulled onto my street and parked the car at the curb. Before going inside I made certain to lift the windshield wipers to prevent them from being buried in the night. My feet crunched slightly in the fresh snow and shivered as I hauled my weapon to the front door, I couldn't blame those people for staying in their cars, it was bitter cold.
Twenty minutes later I was on the couch wearing only a pair of boxers and slippers, sipping a cup of hot cocoa and gazing fondly at the AR 15 on my coffee table, the furnace pumping warm air from the vent beside me.  The TV was on, but I wasn't watching, I was thinking about cleaning the gun, just a once over before bed. That was when the lights went out, the TV screen went black and all was silent.
I just sat for a moment. Listening. I heard nothing. Snow seemed to do that, muffling the noise of car tires and shutting doors. I felt my way to the closet and fumbled for a blanket and flash light. Then I heard the first scream. It was a woman's scream, one that tears the throat and curdles blood. The most terrifying thing about the scream was how it cut off midstream, before the screamer could finish, leaving a quiet tension vibrating in the air, hanging just above my head. A chill ripped up my spine, prickling the hair on my neck; I breathed out, realizing that I'd been holding my breath.
I was standing stock still, my hand still stretched into the closet for the flashlight, I was waiting, waiting for some sign that the scream had been that of a girl attending a party at a neighbor's house or just a typical teenage girl scream; those were common enough. Like shattering glass a sign came, only it wasn't the sign I'd been hoping for. Another scream rent the still night beyond my windows and doors followed by a snarling yell; the snarl sounded like nothing I'd heard before. It sounded human, only, not.
I lunged for the coffee table and pulled the AR into my grip and stubbled down the stairs. It was pitch black in the basement, but luckily what I sought was close at hand; ammo. Only a few days ago I'd bought hundreds of rounds at the gun show. Conveniently, they were stashed in a backpack. I pulled a fully loaded banana clip from the bag and zipped it shut then slang the bag over my shoulder. I rammed the clip in and cocked the gun, fear sank from me like melting wax. I was prepared. I was unstoppable.
There was a crash and a thump from upstairs, my breath caught as I strained my ears for any sound. Another sickening snarl drifted down the stairs and in that instant I was sure my heart would stop beating from fear. Pure, prickling, terror filled my every cell. Something was in my house.
Almost instinctually I leveled my weapon. Heavy footsteps thumped above me accompanied by what had to be sniffing, something was trying to follow my sent. Adrenaline surged through my veins mingling with the terror to give me just enough nerve to inch my way up the stairs, one step at a time. On the landing I stopped and exhaled slowly and quietly in an attempt to steal myself for what I was about to do. Centimeter by centimeter I leaned forward until only half of one eye was peaking around the door frame. I caught myself from gasping in fright as I saw it, or saw him. There in the cold light seeping from the broken window stood the hunched figure of a man. He was standing next to the closet, only he was not rummaging through its contents like I'd hope he would be. He was facing me. I couldn't see his eyes but I knew he was looking at me. He wore a dress pants and a collard shirt that was torn and drenched in glistening liquid. He tilted his head back just slightly and sniffed the air. Suddenly the man bolted forward with inhuman speed, snarling with rage. I pulled the trigger long enough to unload six earsplitting rounds and the man dropped quickly. He was dead. He had to be. The body was still, lifeless. At that moment I realized a throaty yell was still streaming through my mouth. I shut my teeth with a snap and lowered my gun.
Someone had to have heard that. If not the yelling and snarling, I was sure the entire neighborhood had heard the gunfire. Giving the body a wide birth I walked to the window and the sight that met my eyes nearly pulled another yell from my throat. Bodies in the street. A house on fire. A car folded around a tree with the driver hanging limply from the door. A snarling woman chasing a screaming child. I looked to the left, two people, a man and what looked like a teenage girl were sniffing at my front door. I shrank back into the darkness and listened as they began pounding against the dead-bolted door, throwing their bodies into it with sickening, bone-breaking force.  In my hast to get away from the door I stumbled over the dead man's body and cried out. The thumps at the door increased.
I ran down the hall and into the bathroom locking the door behind me. I fumbled with the lock on the window and tore the blinds from the seal. Standing on the toilet I contemplated the best way to climb from the window into the backyard. Suddenly the front door burst open followed by those disgusting snarls. I tossed the ammo bag through the window and dove after it.
In any normal circumstance a bellyflop into snow in only my underwear would have been met with yells and cursing, but this was no ordinary circumstance. I sprang to bare feet, both slippers had lost themselves during the flight to the bathroom, and leveled the AR 15.  Snow bit at my toes and fat flakes melted on contact with my back and shoulders. The air had been cold earlier and then I had been dressed for it, the cold now was almost paralyzing. I scanned the wintery yard. The man and girl were working on the bathroom door. It wouldn't hold as long as the last. A flash of movement caught my eye near the end of my property, I'd built the tall wooden fence only a few months ago, there was a figure scrambling over it. The figure landed spryly on its feet and sniffed the air. I tensed as it moved from the shadows into the whitish light. My neighbor who was in his mid-eighties snarled at the sight of me and began to sprint toward me, his stringy white hair flapping behind him. I hit him square in the forehead with a single round and he slid on his face to my feet. The bathroom door continued to thud behind me. Screams and snarls filled the air accompanied by sirens and horns. I had on only a pair of boxers and the snow showed no sign of letting up. I adjusted the backpack on my shoulders and raised the AR 15. It was going to be a long night.