Paradise is for Dreamers

We've barricaded the doors and the windows, but still our defenses continue to crumble. I run frantically to and fro about the bottom floor looking for anything that can be used as a weapon, but find nothing. Finally, in the darkness under the staircase, my hands palpate and grasp a wooden plank. It's pliable and ready for battle. People are huddling in corners. Some of them I remember from high school, but haven't seen in years until tonight. Others, classmates and neighbors, obviously arrived here with me.
The ruddy brown walls remind me of cellars into which I've only wandered briefly, but never lingered. Sections of wallpaper peel off in self defeat. Board in hand, I arrive in the main room. I can hear the others trampling around on the floor above, and I know that it's only a matter of time before they'll be here. I need to rest, but every upholstered chair and threaded couch has been piled against each possible entrance. Instead I plop down on the dusty floor, cross my legs, and place my head in my palms in quiet frustration. Bitter weeping, sobs of fear, and polarized bickering reach my ears. After what seems like only moments, someone is calling my name frantically from down the hall. I recognize the voice as Jake's, but am still reluctant to raise my head.
The screeching scrape of a couch's wooden pegs against the hard floor sends a shock wave coursing through my body. Instantly, I know, they are here. Grabbing my sole weapon mid-leap, I'm furiously running down the hall toward the screaming breach. Jake and his brother are valiantly attempting to push the barricade back into place, but they are only stalling the coming onslaught. The buzzing hum is clearly audible behind the strained door. As I begin pushing back, the gray hands reach for me just around the door's edge. Cautiously I hammer back at them to the full extent of the plank's power. The hands withdraw, the door is shut, and the humming begins to die down.
Jake, smiling at me, rests his back against the jumbled furniture and slinks toward the ground.
"Thanks, man. Nice club." His teeth are spattered in blood. Every crease between his teeth is darkening with crimson blood. Sitting there with his teeth dripping red, Jake seems to have lost a degree of humanity, like the cannibals of exotic lore.
Lowering my club, I slowly say, "Yeah, no problem." Jake begins to chuckle, turning toward his speechless brother. His brother's gaze catches my own, but I don't hold it long enough to discern any meaning before I force myself to turn away.
Walking away from our scene of narrow victory, I stroll back toward the main room. Once inside, I immediately notice the glass scattered across the floor and the red stains streaking toward the hallways. So, it is a lost cause after all. Upon crossing the threshold into an adjoining room, the silence is violently broken. Friends and family fight in futility against their flying attackers. Bounding forward, I swing the board through the air, striking several of them down. They are surprisingly strong and don't succumb quickly to my blows. More enter the room as I run back to the hallways. At every exit, several of them stand guard rebuilding the barricades we had built to keep them out. They are keeping the last few of us in. Back again under the stairs, I put my back to the wall and strike out at the encroaching hands.
Sitting up in my bed, my eyes ache as they adjust to the bright moonlight filling the room. My hand on the wall beside me firmly solidifies reality. Lying back down, I stare at the ceiling. For once, I don't have to grasp onto the fleeting remnants of this dream, for every detail is ingrained in my mind. A hum emanating from the hall causes me to hold my breath and listen. The washer is running.