"Lemme guess, Vlad Rosokosovski? More than likely he is the man you speak of. He's in Kyoto, with some... Friends from the past. I was gonna head over there anyways. I'll get two tickets." Sam said. Then , he had an epiphany.
Aiden! His concert is tonight! In the middle of a highly populated city, were if anyhting happened, like a small dead-raising virus, it would spread like wildfire. CELLPHONE!!
"Alexis, I'm heading to Kyoto, need to talk to Vlad. Stay with the kids. I'll be back soon." He said as he dialed the number for Aiden.
. . . . . .
Jaden burst through the front door of his house, panting and wondering how he'd tell his family about the creatures. His father galred at him, he still loathed Sam, and that Jaden spent time at his house.
"Dad, their back!" Jaden exclaimed.
"Who? The Beatles? The Spice Girls? Elvis? Hitler? Who is?" His father said sarcastically.
"The ummm" Jaden didn't want to say the word, as if saying it would make this real, and not some horrible nightmare. "UNDEAD!" He finally yelled. His father made a fist with his good hand and slammed his fork into the table. His mother dropped the plate she was washing onto the floor, it shattered into hundreds of pieces. His sister, for once, shut up, clearly now was not the time to start whining and complaining because she wasn't the center of attention. But she did start to cry.
"Go get the guns." Jaden Advised.
"Whos advice is this? Yours or Sams?" His father asked with contempt.
"Dammit! Does it matter, we'd say the same thing, just get your gun!!" Jaden yelled, clearly startling everyone, he'd usually been quiet when his dad got all pissy.
His father went upstairs to grab his Wilson Combat 12G shotgun, his mother grabbed the Kar98K off the mantle in their living room, and his sister grabbed a Civilian MP5 that fired .22 rounds, noone trusted her with anything more. Jaden made a habit of leaving his stuff lying around, so he picked his DSA up from where he'd left it, against the wall. For teh next five minutes, he checked and rechecked everything on the rifle. The magazines, the receiver, the cocking mechanism. He loaded the large, curved banana magazines made in .308 for the gun, making sure every bullet would be used.
Deep thought #1: In the end, everyone dies. No one can outrun time, death itself is always breathing down your neck, just waiting to slip the noose over you. But, in your time of death, what matters is not when or how or even why. What matters is what you do with it. Do you sit down and call it quits, or do you get up, stare your killer and death itself in the face, and laugh copiously, right until the end.