Survive This and Everything will be Fine

Coming out story that gets interrupted by the zombie apocalypse. We had to pick a reoccurring theme or word. Clearly, I chose "fine".

I was not fine. I was 15 minutes early to the diner. My doctor said that I could control my anxiety with breathing exercises, but what do people who don't have anxiety disorders know about dealing with them? But I persevered as I tried to slow my heavy breathing. My arms pricked with needles as the blood left them to bring oxygen to more useful parts of me that I would need ready in case I ended up choosing the flight option. Fighting seemed so terrifying.  By fighting, I meant coming out to my family. Well, more accurate would be that I was coming out to my parents, I had already told my younger brother. I sat for twelve minutes of anxious agony while my heart leapt every time the door chimed with a false positive. When they eventually arrived I waved them over with what I hoped was not a visibly shaky hand.
                My parents sat down in the opposite side of the booth from me and my brother slid in to share my side. They gave me a cheerful hello and that’s all it took to get the guilt flowing. My brother on the other hand gave me a conspiratorial nod of solidarity masked in a flippant “hey”. I tried to disguise my unsuccessful attempt at slowing my breathing by a diversion of asking how they were. As my mother launched into her latest workplace drama, my anxiety that had by now grown exponentially, manifested itself as an inner monologue and was offering me (quite unbidden) its opinion on the situation:
                Look at how happy they are to see you. See how pleased they are that you initiated this family gathering? They think that you missed them and not that you have news that will make their lives more difficult than your continued existence already offers. What a wonderful little daughter you are!
                They're not homophobic; they’re open minded individuals. We have a good relationship. Everything will be fine.
                Ah, take a look at you. You're an optimist now then? Well how nice for you. Everything will definitely be okay then. Everything you fear will never come to fruition because YOU think everything is fine.
                Shut. The f**k. Up.
                I’m just trying to prepare you for what you know is coming. I’m helping.
                No, you're being a dick.
                I am you.
                Would you shut up? Everything is going to be fine!
                Whatever you say dearest. They're talking to you, you better start pretending you're listening and not trying to stifle a mental breakdown.
                I broke from my revere and attempted to follow the conversation. I had nearly caught the train of thought when the dull sound of flesh hitting glass pulled our attention to the front of the restaurant. The cause of the sound was just what it seemed; there was a woman bashing on the pane of glass next to the entrance. Her left shoulder was brown with coagulated blood. Everyone in the restaurant, patrons and employees alike, had stopped what they were doing and stared as the woman threw herself repeatedly against the glass. Gradually people began to nervously titter, and as it crescendo-ed my anxiety accompanied it.
                ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod
                I heard a muffled voice come from my brother as he laid his hand on my shoulder.
                "What?" I asked. The heart beat in my ears was making it hard to hear.
                "You're talking to yourself."
                I became aware of the fact that I had been mumbling, “its fine,” over and over.
Our attention was again grabbed by the woman, whose battering had increased in both frequency and strength. Just as we heard the window crack and a jagged spider web appear on the pane, a van haphazardly pulled into the parking lot and stopped abruptly as two men in hazmat suits rushed toward the woman. Sensing the movement behind her the woman ceased her battering and ran at the men. She got halfway toward them and then a shot rang out. She dropped heavily to the ground -blood flowering from where her head hit the pavement. It was at this point that the restaurant came alive. People began screaming and running toward the exit as a symphony of chaos ensued. My family and I sat in our booth. Silent and still; me holding my brother's hand and my father holding my mother's. Underneath the screaming, there began a growling: deep and hungry sounding. I don’t know how to tell the difference between a scream of panic and a scream of pain but when you hear them next to each other you just know. Then added to the cacophony of screaming coming from outside was a wet, angry, chewing sound. We were alone in the restaurant now.
                Oh s**t. Oh f**k. F**k f**k f**k f**k. Okay lady listen up, actually listen to me for once and everything WILL be fine. Now, get to the kitchen.
                I pushed my brother out of the booth and grabbed his and my Dad's hands and pulled them toward the kitchen with my mother trailing in tandem. All four of us stumbled toward the kitchen. I began frantically looking for a cleaver and my family, cluing into the reason for my fervor, followed suit. I found the cleaver, my dad settled on a frying pan, my mother a rolling pin, and my brother a meat tenderizer (how appropriate). I barred the back door with an errant broom and herded my family back into the front.
                "Ready?" I asked. Everything was quiet now except for the shuffling of feet from outside. There were no more screams.
                At their simultaneous nods, I screamed and the things outside growled. They poured in and my anxiety turned to adrenaline. I was glad I picked the straight edged knife; it made pulling it out of grey matter easier.
                To your left.
                 In a perverse way, this felt cathartic.
                Go in from under the chin, no skull in the way.
                This was the doom I had always felt coming.
                Your dad’s vomiting, cover him.
                This was the justification for my anxiety.
                Help your brother with the one in the hazmat suit.
                This state of action suited me.
                It ended with the four of us standing there, panting and covered with blood. Lying before us were 23 bodies that were hungry no more. It seemed a good a time as any.
                "Mom, Dad, I'm queer."
                They stood there with their mouths open, looking blankly at me as they tried to catch their breath. A minute went by before their mouths closed and their expressions turned comprehensive and I realized my words had only just reached them.
                “Okay.”
                The sound of approaching helicopters filled the heavy silence and an amplified voice instructed any survivors to make their way to the rooftop.
                Aren't you excited for how awkward this ride is going to be?
                I’d rather fight another horde.

Author's Note

This is for a creative writing assignment, any constructive criticism would be appreciated.