He remembered the last thing she had said to him.
Dean crawled closer and hugged Sophie’s body. Her corpse was cold. He held her and cried. His hands were bleeding freely as he lay there. He stroked her cheek and was dismayed that he had smudged her face with his blood. He tried to wipe it off but only succeeded in smudging it more.
That made him angry. With a growl he forced himself up from the floor. His joints complained, but he bit through the pain and picked up Sophie’s body. He carried her into the bathroom and ran the water. Then he started to clean her. And finally, he started cleaning himself.
Next, he took care of his wounds. He found a stash of medical supplies in the bathroom and applied generous doses of antiseptic to the palms of his hands, after he had washed them thoroughly. He wrapped them in bandages and turned back to Sophie, picked her up, and placed her body back on the couch in the living room.
“Is it going to hurt?” he heard her say as he stood over her.
“I promised ... to not let anything hurt you... I’m so sorry, babe!” Dean started to weep again, but the grief turned into anger only moments later. In a fit of rage, he picked up the coffee table and threw it into the wall. The table shattered, as did the family picture that hung on the wall.
Dean looked down at his hands. The blood was already seeping through the bandages. He looked past his hands and saw the state of his clothes. He smelled the sharp odor of urine and gagged as bile rose once again. Sinking suddenly to his hands and knees, he threw up violently on the living room floor. Tears streamed down his face, partially due to the nausea, partially in grief.
When he was done, he looked at the floor between his hands. There was nothing left in his stomach. The floor was covered in sickly yellow bile. But there was also blood. He watched with detachment as the small pool of bile and blood crested against his hand, quickly soaking his bandages.
DEAN SQUEEZED HIS EYES shut, pinching off the memory as well as tears of despair and sadness. A quick look told him that Sports Fan was still there.
So, his mind drifted back once more. He remembered what had happened next. He got himself properly cleaned up. Sophie hated dirty things...
He had a shower, wrapped his hands again, and found fresh clothes that fit pretty well. He ended up spending the next couple of days there, and only ventured out when Sophie’s body started to smell. He buried Sophie’s body in the back yard. The effort of digging tore open the scabs on his hands, but that didn’t matter. He stood over her grave for a long time, blood dripping slowly from his fingertips.
He remembered a zombie appearing at the fence. And he remembered picking up the shovel at his feet and walking towards the gate.
He decided to check in on Nuggets the next day. She would have wanted him to do that. Taking care of Nuggets was now one of the things that kept him going.
Dean came back to the present with that thought. He needed to get back to Nuggets. Nuggets needed him.
A flash of movement broke his chain of thought.
Sports Fan’s head had jerked to the side. Half a second later, the fat dead man moved. Dean had no idea what had drawn Sports fan’s attention, but he was glad that it was finally moving away from him.
C’mon. Keep going... Dean urged him on. Sports Fan didn’t let him down and waddled around a corner, disappearing out of sight.
Dean’s next challenge was to get his cramped body to unfold and stand up. He took a deep breath once he got to his feet. The distinct odor of rot filled the air, but he could also taste freshness. He looked up at the sky. The sun had moved lower, but he would still have at least an hour of daylight. The sky itself looked ... clean.
In some strange way, Dean felt clean too.
He’d had a couple of terrible days. He had even toyed with the idea of ending his life. But then he had remembered the dog. Sophie didn’t need him anymore. Nuggets needed him. So, he had looked around for a place with a doghouse. He had broken into an abandoned house and collected a bag of food, a bag of treats, and a not-too-heavily-used chew toy.
And he’d spent the next day with the dog. By the time he left Nuggets, he felt a new purpose.
No. That’s not entirely true. More like clinging on to a new purpose.
Dean carefully scanned his surroundings, listening for any movement. Then, with a satisfied nod, Dean took the first few steps towards his target. The Natural History Museum would not have been on top of other people’s minds. But Dean knew he would find the tools of his new trade in there.
Chapter 8
Joe
November 5, 8:05 P.M.
Joe sat at his usual spot, behind the radio in the media room. The sun had gone down, and the lights were on. He needed a break from his endless scanning for contacts, so he got up from his chair.
He looked at the window. It felt like a black maw, ready to swallow him. As he walked closer, the light behind him created a reflection. Now it was him in that window. Trapped.
He shook his head and stepped closer. He could not see far into the darkness outside, something for which he was thankful. Joe had no desire to see the monsters that surely lurked beyond the fences ...
He had spoken to Phil on the radio about half an hour ago, at their usual frequency and time. Joe was glad to hear that Phil was still doing fine, although he did say there were a few more zombies outside his place today.
“How are you holding
