Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Before Clare had left New Orleans at seventeen to attend college in Chicago—the city where we ultimately met—they had been as close as a mother and daughter could be. But spending the majority of four years a thousand miles from home had given Clare some much-needed perspective about the unhealthier aspects of their relationship, such as Jill’s smothering love and frequent guilt trips.
So, by the time I’d arrived on the scene, Clare was already primed to fall in love with someone who adored her completely, brought out her best, and didn’t fawn all over her mother—something all her previous boyfriends had eagerly done.
My constant presence in her daughter’s life—and, admittedly, the fact that we got engaged before Jill had even met me—had caused a lot of grief and tension during Clare’s twenties. In recent years, however, Clare and her mother had repaired their relationship to an extent, so even though Jill still didn’t treat me with much respect, I knew how devastating the loss would be for my wife.
Worse, Clare’s family—both the maternal and paternal halves—had longevity on their side. And given Jill’s healthy diet and daily exercise routine, she could’ve lived for another thirty years.
Who could’ve guessed that one minuscule zombie scratch would be her downfall?
Gently, I pushed Clare a few inches from my chest, so I could see her face in the moonlight. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and my chest tightened.
“What do you want to do?” I forced myself to ask. “Or rather, what do you want me to do for her?”
Another tear rolled down her cheek, and I resisted the urge to wipe it away.
“What are you asking?”
I exhaled loudly, stalling for time. “Honestly? I don’t think… I mean…” I gulped, reluctant to say the words. “Listen, all the antibiotics and painkillers in the world won’t help her. We both know that.” A breeze rustled the trees, and I took the opportunity to shift my gaze toward the woods. “It’s clear now that a scratch from a zombie is just as deadly as a bite. Just takes the victim longer to turn.”
I kept my eyes on the forest, afraid to look at her. After a long, unsettling moment, her forehead thudded against my chest, and her body shook with sobs. I wrapped my arms around her and said nothing. I couldn’t bring myself to lay out the only two viable options we had: shooting Jill now or waiting until she turned and shooting her then.
A couple minutes of uncontrollable weeping passed, and then Clare stepped out of my embrace, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and fixed me with a determined gaze. Apparently, she’d cried herself into a decision.
“I get it. Mom’s gonna die, and there’s nothing I can do to save her.”
I could tell she was summoning every bit of resolve she could muster.
“Eventually, she’ll turn into a monster, and I don’t want to see that happen. I don’t think she does either. If it were me in there…” She nodded toward the van. “…I’d want to die before I turned into a disgusting, relentless cannibal.”
I gripped her hand and she squeezed back.
“The thing is,” Clare continued, “that’s not me in there. Mom didn’t ask for a goddamn pus-sack to scratch her, but she has a right to choose how she goes. If she wants me to end her suffering now, I will.” Her eyes watered, and despite the impressive facade of strength she displayed, I knew she was on the verge of crying again. “And if she’d rather wait… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
I almost voiced my concerns about sleeping so close to a soon-to-be-zombie, almost suggested we strap her down to the sofa before attempting to sleep. But I kept my mouth shut—the timing simply didn’t feel right.
Besides, I could tell Clare had more to say.
“But I’m afraid, Joe. I mean, she’s my mom, my responsibility. But will I really be able to kill her when the time comes?”
I pulled her toward me, embracing her once more. “You know I’d never let you do that. Even if it must be done, you’d never get over it. I know you.” I squeezed her again. “So, when the time comes, I’ll be the one to pull the trigger. Not you.”
“Oh, Joe,” she said, her voice muffled, “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You don’t have to ask me. We’re a team. We always have been, and we always will be.”
She looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with more tears. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me either. We’ll get through this together, just as we have with everything else.”
She nodded sadly. “I’m so grateful for you, Joe. I couldn’t have survived any of this without you.”
“Well, I haven’t done much yet.”
“Are you nuts? We’re still alive, aren’t we? The fact that you’ve gotten us this far is fucking amazing.”
Clare rarely used the f-word, so whenever she did, I paid close attention.
I smiled. “I appreciate that, baby, but the truth is… I had help. A lot of it.”
Chapter
6
“I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go.” – Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
My gaze flicked toward the battle wagon—and the silhouettes within. Casey’s head was bent forward, and George currently stroked the shaggy bangs from his eyes. Perhaps she was comforting him over the death of his father—and trying to allay his guilt over having had to shoot him.
She had no time to grieve for her dead husband, no time to accept her sudden widowhood—or the bizarre circumstances that had ripped her family apart. She was a mother first—always and forever.
Clare followed my gaze. “I’m grateful for them, too. They’re good people.” She turned and caressed my cheek. “And they helped you get back
