Electric Nights at Home Plate

The divorce papers sat on the kitchen counter like a dead thing. Sarah had left three weeks ago, and Marcus had been operating on autopilot since—showering, commuting, sitting through meetings where everyone nodded at things they didn't understand. He'd become a fucking zombie, really. The walking dead of corporate America, forty-two years old and somehow surprised that the life he'd built could just... dissolve.

Then came the night of the lightning storm.

He'd promised to take his nephew Jax to baseball practice, because Sarah was gone and his sister was working double shifts at the hospital, and someone had to show up for the kid. The storm broke during the third inning—sheets of rain that turned the dirt infield into chocolate soup, then that strange, purple-veined lightning that makes your hair stand up.

"We gotta go, Uncle Marc," Jax had said, gripping his bat like it was the only solid thing in the world.

But Marcus didn't move. He stood at home plate while parents screamed from the dugout and the coach's whistle pierced the air. A bolt of lightning struck the outfield fence, close enough that he tasted ozone. Something cracked open inside him—some calcified place that had been sealing itself over for years.

"One pitch," Marcus said, pulling a ball from his pocket. "Just one."

Jax wound up and threw. Marcus's bat connected with a sound like god clapping, and the ball soared into the storm-darkened sky, a white arc against purple clouds, until the rain swallowed it whole.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything like it. Not the hollow buzz of alcohol or the nicotine scratch of a cigarette or the adrenaline of closing a deal. This was different. This was real.

"Uncle Marc?" Jax said, tugging his sleeve. "You crying?"

Marcus wiped his face, not caring that his nephew would see. "No, buddy. Just something in my eye."

But they both knew it was a lie. The zombie had felt something again—maybe just for a moment, but that was enough. The lightning had woken the dead.