Katie shined the flashlight on her face and looked atherself in the mirror. She saw a stranger looking back at her. "Who thefuck are you?" she asked. She hid the laugh and smile with her ugly hand.
A strong feeling of nausea came over her, and out of pureinstinct, she threw open the toilet lid and vomited into it. Stomach acid andjagged remnants of potato chips splashed into the bowl. Dammit. We couldhave drank that. She held her hand up to her head, wondering if she wasgetting sick. Having the flu while running from the dead was the last thing shewanted. Her forehead was warm, and her body was covered in a cold sweat.
It was almost like when she was pregnant with... no. Itcouldn't be that. Katie threw the lid of the toilet down and sat on it. Itcouldn't be. It had been how long since? Shit... shit... shit. Katie squeezedher eyes shut and put her hand to her head, not even noticing the pain of herruined fingers as they brushed against her greasy scalp.
This can't be happening. She leaned backwards and took adeep breath. It's just the stress is all. Too much stress, not enough eating.It was bound to happen sooner or later. People get sick all the time because ofstress. But she knew it wasn't. She remembered the horrible first months whenshe had been pregnant with... what was his name? It didn't matter. He was dead.
Katie rose from the toilet bowl and bent down to look atthe cabinet underneath the sink. She saw a toilet brush, a few spare rolls oftoilet paper (Those would come in handy.), and one of those abrasive bathroomcleaners that she had grown up applying to her parents toilet until she movedout with her husband. What was her husband's name again? She supposed thatdidn't matter either. He was dead too. What good was a dead man's name?
She sat on the floor and looked at the cleaner in herhands. Inside would be coarse granules of blue powder. She could smell theharsh odor coming from the cardboard cylinder. Suddenly, she felt hungry. Shecould end it all, her own life and the life within her... if there was in facta life within her. She could end it all now while the others were searchingthrough the building, looking to make their last meal. That's how she alwaysthought of scavenging and scrounging. They were all just looking to make theirlast meal.
They probably wouldn't even miss her. They would just goabout their day, and she would be another casualty in a holocaust that had noend in sight. They would probably forget about her in a matter of days, the waythey had all forgotten about that father and his kids... and Zeke. Sheremembered his name. She remembered how he had made her feel.
The canister tumbled from her hands, and she rushed overto the toilet to throw up some more. She remembered his name. She didn't wantto, but it was there. Inside of her, she possibly carried all that was left ofhim. If she killed herself, it would die too. But would it stay dead? Or wouldshe curse the damn thing to a life stuck in a womb, its barely formedappendages wiggling in a rotting prison for the rest of eternity? The thoughtwas too repulsive, and Katie sat on the floor next to the vomit-filled toiletand cursed herself for being stupid and weak. She cursed Zeke for being sostrong and charming, and gentle... she couldn't forget the gentleness.
"Fuck you, Zeke." She didn't mean it. It wasthe type of swear that one threw out when they had given up trying to changeanything. For Zeke she would carry the baby. But when it was out of her, andshe was sure she could kill it and make sure it stayed dead, well, then itwould be bye-bye world.
Katie rose to her feet and pulled rolls of toilet paperfrom under the sink. She stuffed it in her bag and said, "No wonder I'vebeen pissing so much."
****
Clara sat on the roof of the building. From outside, thezoo's gift shop and administration building looked bland and uninteresting.Inside, it was more of the same, but she found that the roof appealed to her.The sun beat down on her as she reclined in the loose gravel that covered theroof to help keep it cool.
It was a clear blue day. The temperature was somewhere inthe high eighties, but it wasn't that uncomfortable. There was a wind blowingin from the east, and it only slightly smelled like burning buildings andcharred humans. She could deal with it.
She thought about the way of the world and wondered aboutits future. These were mere exercises in thought, as she knew perfectly wellthat the world was beginning a slow process of rot and decay. She imagined afuture where humans huddled inside stone fortresses, raining down rocks and boulderson a never-ending horde of dead things. Would the human race survive longenough to dispose of all those that had come before?
Clara wondered about the dead in the water, like thatChloe girl must have become by now. Would a shark eat them, or would they floatendlessly in an ocean, perhaps washing up on some shore somewhere for humans todiscover when the world had reset itself? How long could the dead stayanimated?
They looked bad. They smelled bad, but they didn't seemto actually be wasting away. Something was holding them together. Something waskeeping them active. Perhaps whatever virus was coursing through their bloodwas shutting down all unnecessary systems and keeping the bodies justfunctional enough to allow them some sort of motility. Of course, the idea of athinking virus or bacteria was frightening in and of itself. The dead'sbehavior spoke of instinct, not design. They wanted to eat, nothing more.Perhaps their brains had just rotted to the point of only knowing endlesshunger.
Clara rolled over on her stomach, her backpack underneathher head. It was so nice out. She could easily fall asleep if it weren't forthe buzz and bang of the dead
