His wounds were pretty bad, and he was sure they were infected. Pus came out of them, and they smelled pretty bad, like horrible breath in the morning. His ankle hurt, and he could hardly put weight on one leg without causing a sharp jolt to shoot through his thigh. His arm refused to stop throbbing, which made sleeping extremely difficult.

  He needed to be at his top performance if he was going to make Angela pay.

  Stepping over the dead body of the woman, he went deeper into the house. That’s when he heard shuffling coming from somewhere. He followed the noise, and when he pushed the door open, a smile stretched across his face because it was in that moment he knew that whoever had brought him back from the precipice of certain doom—whomever he’d made a deal with—was listening to his prayers.

  Because there they were, James and Angela, the very two people he’d been hunting for days, bound like tributes, waiting just for him.

  “Well, well,” he said.

  The first word came out as dry and cracked because the only noise that had come from his vocal cords in the past few days was moaning and grunting. The second word made him sound like himself.

  James’s eyes went wide in disbelief. Angela retained a scowl, the same one she kept giving him back in the town hall, the one he came to despise so much. He wanted to twist her little neck to wipe that expression off her face.

  Patience. Savor the moment.

  “Well, look at that,” he said as he shambled forward, determined to keep smiling all the way, just to show them how much he was going to enjoy this. “I’ve been looking for you this whole time, Angela. And here you are, ready to be delivered to me. I should be thanking that woman.”

  He got down on one knee in front of Angela and put a hand on her thigh. She closed her lips and stared at him the way a defiant but helpless teenager would.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he asked.

  “What did you do to Krista?” she asked.

  “Hey, help us out of here, man,” he said.

  Ben threw his head back and laughed. It caused his body to vibrate with pain, and his lungs burned from the exertion. “You must be out of your mind. Neither of you is getting out of here. You’re gonna pay for trying to kill me.”

  “Ben.” Angela’s soft voice reached him. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you need to think rationally. We’re not your enemy.”

  “You are my enemy. I don’t give a shit about the loonies out there. You tried to kill me, and now you’re gonna pay.”

  A table lay nearby, a bunch of bloodstained knives splayed on top. Ben picked out the smallest and dullest-looking one he thought would do the most damage without actually killing a person.

  He took a step toward Angela, his fingers fidgeting as he tried to decide whether he should torture her or do something else to her. Whatever it was, he was going to kill James first. He didn’t want any distractions.

  But before he could properly entertain that thought, a muffled bang came from nearby. He instinctively turned toward the source of the sound, as did Angela and James. The sound had come from a nearby door.

  Then came another thud, followed by a slow scratch.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the door. When neither responded, he repeated, “Huh? What is that?”

  Distractions.

  Even before finishing that sentence, he plodded to the door, white-knuckling the knife in his hand. The fingers of his free hand inched toward the lock.

  “Stop,” Angela broke the silence, causing Ben’s fingers to jerk in startlement. When he looked at her, she had a grievous expression on her face. “Don’t do it.”

  If anything, that only made him want to do it even more. Ben pinched the lock and turned it. It clicked loudly. He waited to see if anything would come barreling out. When nothing happened, he grasped the doorknob, twisted, and yanked it open, the knife pointed in front of him.

  What lay ahead of him was utter darkness.

  “Come out,” he said.

  He became aware of how clammy his hand was. No one obeyed his command, so he took a tentative step forward.

  “Come on. I know you’re in there. Come out before this becomes nasty.”

  He kept the knife in front of him as he stepped closer to the dark room. That ultimately turned out to be a mistake.

  Something small jumped at him from the darkness. It took Ben a long moment to realize teeth had sunk into the skin of his hand, drawing blood. That split second felt like an eternity, and he stared with fascination at the little boy who’d bitten his hand and refused to let go.

  Then came the pain, potent like a defibrillator and painful unlike anything Ben had felt in his life. His throat finally loosened, and he let out a caterwaul. The bite must have hit a nerve because Ben’s fingers involuntarily dropped the knife on the floor. Not that the dull piece of shit would have been able to help him anyway.

  “Get off!” Ben shouted.

  He pulled, but the kid was yanked along with his hand into the light. The boy was emaciated, his head seeming too large compared to the twig-like extremities with protruding bones. His T-shirt and shorts were dirty and wet, and he smelled like stale sweat, piss, and shit.

  Ben punched the kid in the face. All it did was make him growl louder and bite harder. They were spinning in the room. Ben hit his back against something and lost his footing. He fell onto his back just as a loud clatter exploded in the room.

  ***

  When Ben crashed into the table, he sent the knives flying all over the floor. One of them, a kitchen knife, conveniently landed near James’s foot. He knew this was his chance.

  He outstretched his foot as far as he could, but he couldn’t reach it.

  Shit.

  He wiggled forward, causing the burning in his wrists to intensify. The tip of his shoe brushed the handle of the knife. He moved it, but only just a little, and not closer to himself.

  The struggle between Krista’s son and Ben was still ongoing, Ben on his back, the child above him, holding a firm bite on his hand like a rabid dog. Ben was punching him in the face, but the boy seemed unfazed by it.

  James carefully placed his shoe on top of the handle of the knife and reeled. The handle slipped out. He tried again. On the third time, he had a firm enough grip to drag it across the floor toward himself.

  Yes!

  He got cramps in his legs as he moved it toward the pipe where he took the handle into his hands. He placed the sharp end of the knife against the thick rope and started sawing.

  ***

  Ben yowled at the pain in his hand. Hitting the boy did nothing to stop him. He happened to turn his head and noticed the dull knife within his reach. He used his free hand to grab the knife. His fingers flared up in pain as they squeezed around the blade.

  He brought the dull tip toward the kid’s face. His eyeball exploded like a piece of candy filled with red liquid. It should have been enough to stop him, but it wasn’t. In fact, the bite only seemed to grow stronger. Ben’s little finger and ring finger felt like they were in a vice.

  He screamed as the pressure intensified. A sound of crunching came from the boy’s mouth, and then Ben’s hand was free at last.

  Two fingers were missing—one down to the first knuckle, the other entirely, along with a small portion of the outside of his hand. Blood gushed out in waves, and all Ben could do was scream in terror at his missing digits—digits that protruded out of the boy’s mouth. He screamed in terror, not in pain, but he knew that would come soon, too.

  The sight of the kid, now one-eyed, chewing on Ben’s fingers, made him blind with fury. He jabbed the knife forward on a whim. The tip embedded itself in the boy’s throat. The severed fingers immediately plopped out of his mouth.

  But Ben didn’t stop there. He got up, pushed the boy onto his back, and then stabbed him in the chest over and over.

  ***

  James kept trying to cut the rope, but it refused to give in. Ben was stabbing the kid on the floor, even though it was clear that the boy was already dead. Raindrops of blood sprayed the air like confetti every time Ben pulled the knife out of the child’s chest.

  Then, satisfied with his work, he looked at his mutilated hand. James knew what was coming next.

  Come on! Come on!

  The muscles in his forearms were stiff from the cutting. But he was too late.

  Ben turned his head toward him. It was covered in blood, and although those eyes weren’t bloodshot, they were full of malice that no infected could ever display.

  ***

  The pain in Ben’s hand was immense. He would take care of it, but not just yet. First James and then Angela.

  He picked up the dull knife then stood on heavy legs. He dragged himself to James, whose eyes widened in terror.

  No need to make him suffer. Ben would give him a quick death. It was Angela he wanted to spend time with.

  “Sorry, dude,” he said as he raised the knife.

  He was about to bring it down, but something knocked the wind out of him from behind, as if he got punched. James’s face vacillated between terror and confusion. His eyes darted from Ben’s face to his chest.

  Ben looked down to see something sharp and covered in red sticking out of his chest. That definitely wasn’t supposed to be there. The knife fell from his hand for a second time, clanging on the floor loudly.

  His violently trembling fingers inched toward the object sticking out of his chest.

  A fire poker, he finally understood.

  The gravity of what he was seeing hit him hard. Before he could process the blooming pain, the poker pulled back into his chest all the way through his back. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

  He lay on the floor sideways, staring at Angela’s darkening silhouette until she turned into someone else. A face he suddenly longed to see so bad, one that he had taken for granted.

  Melissa stared down at him. It was the look she gave him whenever they got into a fight.

  Help me, he tried to say and reach out to her, but he couldn’t move. As his vision darkened, Melissa dissolved into Angela, the scornful look still plastered to her face. Then, she was gone, too, and only darkness remained.

  His final thoughts were, Melissa, where are you?

  Krista

  Krista stared down at the dead body of the man who had posed as a police officer. He was splayed on the floor, the fire poker sticking through his back and out of his chest. His eyes were wide open, a rivulet of blood trickling out of his mouth and from the tip of the fire poker.

  When Krista’s eyes searched the floor, she gasped like a person resurfacing after being underwater for too long. At first, she didn’t actually see him. She saw an image from her worst nightmare, and that couldn’t possibly be a reality.

  That was it. This was all a nightmare. It had to be. No way was Nelson, her son, who still had an entire life in front of him, dead. That wasn’t how things worked. That would be completely unfair, to rob a child of their future like that. If such a cruel thing could be allowed to happen, then this wasn’t life.

  It was hell.

  Then she actually, really saw him, and her throat closed up.

  “N-Nelson… Baby… B-baby…” She fell to her knees in front of him.

  She didn’t try shaking him awake or telling him to come back. It wouldn’t have changed anything, and she knew it. Besides, the pain that had overwhelmed her left no room for anything else.

  Krista held Nelson’s limp body in her arms as she rocked back and forth, letting out wails as loud as she could. It felt far too insufficient, like taking a small sip of water after not drinking all day.

  My baby boy. My beautiful son. My Nelson.

  She couldn’t tell how long had passed when she gently lowered Nelson back onto the floor and closed his eyes. She couldn’t help but notice how he looked a lot more like her son dead than when he was sick. That thing that she’d kept in the walk-in closet hadn’t been her boy.

  “Baby…” She caressed his face, her tears falling onto his chest. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  There were so many other things she wanted to say. So many more times she wanted to apologize. But none of it would bring Nelson or Eric back.

  “Krista…” a soft voice next to her said.

  In her agony, Krista hadn’t noticed that James and Angela had freed themselves. They were standing next to her.

  Just end it. Kill me so I can be with my family.

  She looked up at them. The anger she expected to see on their faces wasn’t there. Only compassion and pity. They weren’t planning on killing her, and she hated them for it.

  “Just go,” Krista said.

  “You can come with us.” Angela’s hand softly touched Krista’s shoulder. “We can—”

  “Don’t touch me!” Krista shouted, forcing Angela to step back. “This is all your fault! If it weren’t for you…”

  She knew the blame was misdirected, but her son was dead, and she needed a scapegoat. Except she’d already found one—herself.

  Krista had hoped that the outburst would make Angela more hostile. All it did was crystalize the pity on her face even more.

  “I said just go, and leave me alone already!” Krista shouted.

  She put a hand on Nelson’s cheek and sobbed like she’d never sobbed in her life. She felt as though she could cry for days and still not let all that pain out.

  “Angela… We have to go,” Krista heard James’s soft voice in the background.

  She didn’t care. The only thing that existed was the pain and the dead body of her son. She didn’t even hear when Angela and James sneaked out of the house. Long after that, Krista’s tears dried up, and even though she wanted to cry more, she couldn’t.

  “I’m so sorry for failing you, Eric,” Krista said.

  She imagined her husband staring down at her with a scowl. But just as quickly as that image came, Eric’s glower turned into a smile. It’s okay, that expression said. You did your best. You fought bravely, but it’s time to let go now.

  Yes. Yes, he was right. It was time to end all of this.

  Krista knew exactly what she had to do. One final task that would purge the pain and take her to her family. All of a sudden, her grief for Nelson and Eric was gone. She could see them again. She just had to do that one thing.

  “Nelson, want to go for a ride?” she asked as she picked her son up.

  She winced at how light he was. Picking him up effortlessly, Krista walked out of the room, weeping and gazing at Nelson’s face. It was like carrying him upstairs to the bed after he had fallen asleep watching TV in the living room.

  “Everything is going to be okay, baby. We’re going to see Daddy soon,” Krista whispered into his ear.

  She entered the garage, opened the car’s backdoor, and gently placed Nelson inside in a sitting position. His head refused to stay up, so Krista leaned it against his shoulder. She gave him a peck on the forehead. It felt like ages since she did that.

  She closed the garage door, went around the car, and sat in the driver’s seat. She rolled down the window and adjusted the rearview mirror so that she could see Nelson’s face. It was just like driving him to kindergarten.

  Krista smiled. The pain had ebbed away almost entirely, only traces of it left in the distance like watching turbulent ocean waves on the horizon from the safety of the beach. Krista reached for the key in the ignition. She’d left it there after getting Joe out.

  She turned the key. The engine coughed and then roared to life. She wasn’t sure it was going to work because this piece of junk seemed to die on them at random and most inconvenient times.

  While still in neutral, Krista stepped on the gas pedal. The engine screamed in the enclosed interior of the garage. Krista turned on cruise control and let go of the gas pedal. The engine continued wailing.

  Krista held on to the steering wheel and looked in the rearview mirror. Her son was there, but not really. He was gone. She might have lost her mind, but she knew at least that much.

  She was all alone. Everything she had fought for, everything that fueled her to keep moving was gone. And with that final thread severed, there was nothing else holding Krista bound to the world of the living.

  After all, why stay when she could go to her family?

  She was starting to get sleepy, so she leaned the back of her head against the headrest. She readjusted the rearview mirror so that she could see Nelson. She wanted his face to be the last thing she saw.

  It was becoming harder and harder to keep her eyes open. She didn’t fight the urge to close them. She had heard that carbon monoxide poisoning was one of the most painless deaths, but she hadn’t ever given it a second thought until now.

  “Nelson… Eric… I love you both so much,” she said.

  She opened her eyes to take a final look at Nelson’s face in the rearview mirror then closed them forever.

  And against her closed eyelids, she saw Eric holding Nelson by the hand as they ran toward a flock of pigeons to scare them away. Nelson giggled at the birds as they flopped their wings and dispersed in the air.

  “Good job, buddy,” Eric said.

  He looked at Krista with that look that said “I love you.” Wordlessly, she told him, “I love you, too.”

  “Mom, come on!” Nelson shouted.

  Both he and Eric were beckoning her over into a large, bright beam that shone onto the park. Krista smiled.

  She gladly followed them.

  Heather/James

  Heather woke with a start. It could have been a sound that had woken her up or the bright rays of sunlight. When she opened her eyes, she realized it was actually Abby’s shaking that did it.

  “Sis. Sis,” she called out in a whisper.

  “What is it, Abby?” Heather’s voice was croaky from sleep.

  “There are more and more of them outside,” Abby said.

  Heather blinked and rubbed her eyes.

 

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