Shane pulled me to my feet and looked at me sorrowfully. "She's done for, Tom. Go back inside; I'll do what needs to be done."
I gently, but forcefully, removed my best friend's hand as tears flowed down my cheeks, and my posture straightened. "Thanks, but Emma's my wife and she's my responsibility." My voice was only a whisper, but he nodded his understanding. He patted my shoulder, gave it a tight reassuring squeeze and stepped away to direct the cleanup of the zombies we'd put down.
Emma lay on her back. I silently dreaded the impending transition—the evil transformation as she became one of them was building. I wanted to turn from her and vomit, but I couldn't tear my sight away from the bloody, mutilated shell of my lover, my soul mate. After a minute or so, her legs twitched spasmodically, her beautiful face contorted into a sneer, and her lips curled back to reveal white teeth encased in a snarl. Her mouth opened wide, and she screamed the terrible high pitched screech I'd grown to dread. Her head turned on the remaining filament of her neck, and her eyes glared at me as if I were a piece of raw flesh hanging on a meat hook. The red-eyed wildness I've witnessed so many hundreds of times in the monsters I'd had to put down stared at me. Emma's body bent at the hips and her torso rose from the ground. Her elbows slid back on the rough alfalfa to support her. She moaned loudly and gnashed her teeth as we locked eyes. I sighted down the slide of the .45 caliber Glock and focused on the forehead of my one and only Emma. Along with Emma, part of me died that day when I squeezed the trigger.
At three in the morning, I stopped screaming. I continued to struggle in the dead of night against the strength of several strong arms even after my cries died away. Slowly I emerged from the recurring nightmare that plagued me for the past three nights. As I joined the living, I stared wild-eyed at the people around me.
Connie Diuduid and Janice Holescheck pushed through the men in the room and sat on the edge of my bed. Connie held my hand tightly while Janice wiped the perspiration and tears from my brow, face and neck. They each attempted to console me as the men drifted away to return to their own rooms. Connie gently took the wet cloth from Janice's hand and continued to wipe my neck and chest. Shane nodded at Janice and she rose. They said comforting good-byes and left Connie to attend me.
Connie pulled a chair close to the bed and sat. "It'll get better over time, Tom. The pain will fade and eventually disappear. Relax and try to go back to sleep. I'll stay with you till morning."
I sat up in the bed and shook my head. "Why did Emma go outside with two almost empty magazines in her weapons? Each only had a single round in it. Why would she do that? She'd been trained and knew better. No one goes out there under armed or alone. It's almost like she wanted to die. I can't get over it. She could have avoided the danger by running back to the building, so why didn't she? And the confused look she gave me when she saw me standing there. I can't get that out of my head. What was going through her mind at that moment?" I looked to Connie for answers, but she shrugged, ran her fingers through her thick blonde hair and hastily looked away.
"I don't know, Tom, I don't have the answer." She moved to sit on the edge of my bed. "Lie down and try to sleep. All of us depend on you, and you need to be rested. I'm here for you, and I'll stay close." Connie pushed me back and down until my shoulders merged with the bed and my head sank deeply into the pillow. She moved the chair away, flipped the light switch to off and sat beside me and stroked my shoulder. I was aware of her closeness until I drifted into a fitful sleep some time later.
The next morning, Martin Radcliff Sr. chaired a meeting to discuss the catastrophe that befell Emma. He was a few years older and a few inches shorter than me. I felt lethargic and knew my red-eyed, unshaven appearance was totally out of my norm. But it was how I felt.
"Tom, I've discussed Emma's death at length," Martin began, "with Shane, John and Ed Jarnigan. John was in the northwest tower and sounded the alarm when Emma left the safety of the compound alone." He nodded at John.
John ran his fingers through his short, black, kinky hair. "All I know is what I saw that morning. Door six flew open, and Emma charged out of it alone. She wore shorts and
