Kryptonite

There is an eerie calm that washes over someone's expression once they have embraced their own end. "Eerie" because it isn't the peaceful calm that settles in after a storm leaves and the sun casts heat on your skin once more. However, it isn't like the calm that raises the hair on your neck before a storm arrives. It's the type of calm that you would experience if you were to awake in the eye of a hurricane. A type of calm that can only be seen in a body that is slowly losing its soul.

Valerie startled awake to the feeling of her heart taking a sledgehammer to her chest. Eyes wide and sweat overflowing from every pore, she clutched onto her bed sheets as though they would save her. The smooth pima cotton smelled of Tide and Bounce as they wrapped her in a cocoon of warmth and safety. She looked around the room she was in a bit disoriented, trying to reconcile the reality she faced with the past of which she dreamt. She was in a room. Her room, she realized belatedly. Freshly painted walls halfheartedly concealed the stench of death that desperately clung to them. Various weapons decorated her walls like paintings, just in case. She would never be caught off guard again. White tiles covered her floors because it was much easier to clean blood from tile than carpet. It was strange how even the smallest changes in her life still managed to unnerve her. She forced her hands to release the sheets and her knuckles ached at the change in position. Valerie ran her hands over her face, removing some of the sweat that dripped from there, relieved that the liquid on her palms was clear instead of red. She couldn't help but wonder what the point of sleeping was when her nightmares transcended reality.

Valerie tiredly slung her feet over the side of the bed, but they hesitated before touching the ground. The very notion of leaving the comfort of her warm sheets for the cold, harsh tile floor gave her pause. Valerie forced herself through the motions of showering and dressing and eating and doing her hair and putting on makeup. She stared long and hard at her reflection in the mirror as she donned dark red lipstick. It stood out like war paint against her pale white skin. When was the last time she went outside? Her black hair was long once more and swept up into the black hat she worn. The matching black dress she wore hung all the way down to her ankles. A tear slipped from her eye, leaving a trail of wet mascara behind as she flipped down her veil to hide her reflection from herself. She saw little sense in fixing her makeup, now.

The whole incident began in a Podunk town in South Dakota on May 15, 2062 where a caustic new drug, nicknamed "Kryptonite", was crafted in the back alleys of the city. Valerie watched the progression of the story from the first outbreak until electricity was no longer an obtainable commodity. At first they thought it was a virus as the doctors examined the brains of the first people to turn ravenous. The term "infected" stuck long after it was discovered that the change that occurred in people was the result of drugs.

But for different people, it started in different places at different times. For Valerie, it started on September 25, 2062 in the sanctity of her three bed room home. Valerie watched the news, unblinking and frozen to the spot with terror. Her hand clenched the remote so tight she was sure it was going to break in her grasp. The newscaster, the one that had been spouting off safety tips and ensuring everyone that everything was going to be okay, had just been mutilated. The infected took down the camera man first. Valerie couldn't see the attack, but the mic picked up all of audio and played it for all to hear. A disembodied voice cursed before it let out a body chilling scream, a type of scream that would be more likely associated with an animal than a man. Then, the whole nation just watched through a fallen, cracked lens as the reporter was eaten.

The worst part for Valerie about watching this gruesome news scene was that the newscasters lost their calm demeanor. The people on the television were always supposed to be in control. For years she had watched weathermen stand in the middle of hurricanes and evenly, al a bit loudly, explain their causes. She had watched them stand next to dead bodies and retell the police's report. The newscaster dropped her mic as her eyes reflected the sheer trepidation that she felt. Valerie watched with the nation as the newscaster took off down the street as fast as her black pumps would allow. It wasn't fast enough. The woman on the screen took off to a good start, but she soon wobbled, stumbled, pitched forward and fell. The infected were upon her before she even made contact with the pavement. Valerie could hear the silence set in as the whole nation gasped collectively. Someone in the newsroom finally moved as the screen filled with all the colors of the rainbow and more and a message stating that there were "technical difficulties".

How could they not have noticed the infected coming their way? How could the news agency allow such a graphic scene to run on for so long? Why wasn't the government containing the situation? Slam! Valerie's bones nearly jumped straight through her skin when she heard the door to the garage close. She couldn't stop herself from screaming as her husband, Warren, entered into the room half limping half running and slathered in blood. She didn't remember throwing the remote at his face, but when he yelped in pain and clutched his forehead she regretted her actions.

"Ouch! Val, calm down. It's okay. I'm okay," Warren reassured.

"You-you're covered in-in-in-" Valerie stuttered. She wasn't used to high stress situations. She was a school teacher, a grade school teacher. The worst injury she ever encountered was a scraped knee.

"Shhh. Shhh. It's okay. It's not mine." Valerie wasn't sure if that made the situation better or worse. He wiped his hands off on one of the few clean spots of his pants before caressing Valerie's face. His hands were strong, powerful and, most of all, calming. In fact, everything about him exuded a quiet lull of safety. She relished the protected feeling that her cheek rubbing against his hands gave her. Slowly, his hand slipped from her face to give her shoulder a slight squeeze.

"I need you to gather some supplies while I change, okay?" Valerie just nodded,

There was a loud knock at Valerie's door that broke her from her train of thoughts. She didn't recognize the sound at first. It was so different to hear knuckles rapping away on metal as opposed to wood. She knew who stood at her door before she opened it. Charlie was a broad wall of man with a wide set of shoulders and level head on top. His eyes were a radiant green, a sign to all that he was one of the few people that survived contact with the new drug. Regardless of whatever transpired before he met up with the small group of survivors, he managed to keep the whole group cohesive after Warren died. All of the survivors that Valerie knew owed their lives to Charlie as much as they owed them to Warren. Charlie took a moment to assess her and Valerie couldn't help but fidget underneath his jade, penetrating gaze. When he moved to hug her she practically collapsed into the much needed embrace.

"It'll be okay," Charlie whispered into her hair. Valerie just nodded, trying hard not to leave smudges of her make up on Charlie's white button up shirt. He took a step away and looked at the newly refurbished house.

"Looks good in here, Val," Charlie said.

"Thank you," Valerie replied quietly. She didn't yet fully trust herself to speak.

"Are you ready to go?"

Valerie nodded "yes" and he drove her to the funeral home.

"What was it like?" Warren asked. The whole group, minus the two people that were standing guard, sat around a dining room table with the moon that shone through a massive hole in the roof as their only source of light. They weren't strangers to new comers, but it had been a while since they had come across anyone that was truly alive. Everyone watched the newest member with an odd combination of wonder, fear, awe and mistrust. Before he was truly accepted into the fold, he would have to explain how he came upon their current camp.

A very bruised, cold and unshaven Charlie just shook his head slowly. He was emaciated to the point that his joints could have poked through his skin, almost half the man he was before the outbreak. The blanket the group had provided him swallowed up his thin frame. It was an itchy, ragged, old thing, but Charlie held on to it as though it was crafted out of the finest silks.

"At first, you feel all-powerful as the drug brings you up to your 'maximum physical potential'. Then, you phase in and out of clarity, but you're never really in control of yourself. There is this incessant need to feed. If there are people that haven't come in contact with the drug, you target them first, because they taste-" Charlie cut himself off with a shake of his head, "It makes you less hungry. If it's just you and the infected though, you eventually turn on each other."

"Is that what happened to you?" Warren pried.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Valerie said.

"No." Warren's tone was absolute. "We need to learn everything we can about this drug." Although they were never said aloud, the words "We need to know that we can trust him" silently hung in the air.

"It's fine. I understand. It's not every day you see someone with eyes like mine that isn't planning on eating you." Charlie laughed a little, but it was corpse of a laugh. It was as if someone had hallowed out all the mirth in the sound so that only the tone remained.

"That is what happened to me. I was locked in a safe house with a group of survivors that I had found. One was a little boy about six years old. We had just met up with three more bringing our total to twelve. It was supposed to be a safe place." Charlie paused for a moment as he was sucked away into a memory he would like to forget. "One of the people we met up with had a little bit of the drug with him. He was a dealer. Can you believe that? Of all the people in the world to meet up with we ran into a damn dealer. He showed us the drug. It was a green pill about this big around," Charlie made a circle with his thumb and his pointer finger and Valerie couldn't help but think that a pill that size would be better suited for a horse than a human.

"We didn't show it to the boy. We thought he would be too young or….God, I don't know what we thought. He found the bag a few days later and emptied it into his mouth, thinking that it was candy. By the time we figured out what he had done…." Charlie looked like he was about to break down. His head hung low as he dug his nails into the palm of his hands.

"He was just a kid! And he was so hungry! He didn't know what he was doing! How could he have known any better!?" Banging his tight fists against the table, Charlie defended the child against claims that no one made. Warren placed a reassuring hand on Charlie's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It was a soothing action that he had practically trademarked since the outbreak had started.

"It's okay, now," Warren said.

Even with the assurance, it took Charlie a few minutes to compose himself once more and continue with his story. His fists slowly relaxed into hands and he pulled the blanket tighter around him. Honestly, Valerie was surprised that he still possessed the energy to hold on to any strong emotions for a long period of time.

Once his breathing evened out he continued, "We were locked inside. And in that state, I couldn't think straight enough to let myself out. I remember, just, clawing at the doors and walls like an animal for days. The drug wears off in three weeks, more or less. If you can survive that long without any serious injuries, then you're perfectly fine when you come down from the high. I just…gathered the remaining supplies and walked out." The way Charlie said the last sentence led the Valerie to believe that he was still in disbelief over surviving the drug. His pitch was a little higher and he punctuated his words with a small shrug and a shake of his head.

He didn't say what everyone was thinking. He didn't mention that he would have had to kill his previous group of survivors. He didn't talk about what it was like to wake up in a room filled with people that you recently ripped to shreds and gorged upon. But he didn't have to. The guilt in his green, green eyes told the tale of his transgressions to anyone who looked.

When Valerie and Charlie arrived at the funeral home, there were already seven other cars there.As much as Valerie wanted to hold one, there wasn't going to be a wake; she couldn't afford it. With so many funerals on tab, it wouldn't be feasible to provide every single person with his or her own viewing. Instead, only the ones with the deepest pocket books or the highest ranks in society were able to afford the absorbent cost. Valerie did, however, have enough funds to hold a procession. It wouldn't be a very long one like some of the ones that seemed to go on for hours as they crept by the front her house, but it would be long enough.

The people running the home wanted her to take one last look at the coffin before they loaded it up into the hearse. Valerie consented and allowed the funeral arranger to lead her into the back room where her husband's coffin lay. It was empty. Of course it was empty. Just a noble coffin with satin lining and a mahogany cover. Warren's body was set on fire after he was infected along with three others that passed the same night. It was the best they could do for their dead at the time. Lord knows where the ashes scattered to. As far as Valerie was concerned they breathed in pieces of him as he burned away. The idea of tiny flecks of her husband sticking to her lungs made Valerie nauseas.

Valerie nodded her consent and the pall-bearers - all of them from the military and all of them strangers - hefted the coffin to their shoulders and carried it outside to the hearse. Everyone in her small group of survivors that didn't have another funeral to attend at the time lined the way to the black car. Sixteen people dressed in black and clutching tissues in a death grip watched as men carried a brown, wooden box down a red, felt carpet and placed it into a black, metal hearse.

Valerie had asked Charlie to ride with her, but he politely declined, saying something about how car should only be inhabited by the family members. Valerie was the only one to ride in the limousine that followed the hearse and the loneliness was smothering her in a wet blanket of silence. To distract her from the nothingness that surrounded her, Valerie stared out the window as the funeral procession slowly rolled down the street. People were reconstructing buildings at an amazing pace, like ants remaking their crushed hill. Cookie-cutter houses were surrounded by cookie-cutter shops and the ever present Infected Relief Station. Everything was newer and cleaner than it had ever been in Valerie's lifetime.

It looked like a bomb had gone off. There was fire in the streets. Not on the buildings or being carried by people, although there was plenty of that as well, but literally in the streets. 100 miles away from home and the effects of infection never seemed to get any better. Cars were left unattended and set ablaze to keep the infected at bay. Leaked oil caused lines of fire to burn intermittingly in the middle of traffic lanes. The buildings didn't look too much better off. Windows were shattered and doors were completely blown off their hinges. Jagged edges jutted from what once constituted smooth surfaces. Many walls were blown out from people neglecting to turn off their gas as they fled their overrun safe houses.

Warren checked the procession in his rear view mirror. All five cars were there and all peoples were accounted for. He turned on his signal and hopped the median. The small sedan they had hotwired didn't take kindly to the action, but it did as it was told. All five cars followed in suit. He reached over and clasped onto Valerie's hand with one of his own.

"You're shaking," Warren stated as he stroked his thumb over Valerie's fingers. Though, Valerie didn't miss the way his own hands rattled every time he lessened his grip on the steering wheel.

"The compound is so far away. What if we don't make it?"

"It will be just fine. We'll make it." The words sounded like he was convicinv himself as much as he was convincing her. Warren checked the rear view mirror again cautiously. All five cars followed in suit. "We'll all make it. There are enough drivers and gasoline to keep us from having to stop for more than fifteen minutes at a time. I've got it all worked out. Just trust me. We'll get through this."

Valarie gripped his hand tightly and brought it up to her trembling lips, placing a quick kiss on the back of his palm. Warren pried his eyes off the road for a moment to shine smile at his wife.

"You have to be strong for them," Warren continued. "You're just as much a leader in this group as I am." Valerie snorted at the very idea of being even half the leader that Warren was. "I am serious! All of the people in the group look up to you. Being a medic gains a lot of respect during war time." Valerie smiled a bit. She would hardly be considered a medic before the infection broke out, but she had reset more bones and stitched up more wounds than she could count. Her hands stopped shaking as she watched her loving husband lead the group to safety. Warren always knew how to calm her down.

Warren checked the rearview mirror. Only Four cars followed in suit.

The limo crawled to a stop in front of the grave yard. Rows upon rows upon rows of white symmetrical tombstones lined the lawn. Every direction Valerie looked was a perfect, snowy white line of dead bodies. In front of where the limo stopped, stood a white tent that guarded an empty hole and waited to receive an empty coffin offering. The driver opened the door to let Valerie out of the limo, but she didn't move away from the car until Charlie came over to help her out. He led her to her spot in front of the frilly, white seats set up for guests. A small boy the age of nine ran up to Valerie and threw himself into her lap. Instantly, a small smile graced her face.

"Hello, Ave," Valerie greeted. She had saved Ave a month before he passed. The boy was huddled, unconscious in a box of pecans in one of the buildings her exploration group scavenged for supplies. When he awoke, Ave said that his mother had placed him there with a bit of water for safe keeping. That was three days prior. Ever since, Ave had been a colorful addition to the group. Many survival groups wouldn't allow children because they were just another mouth to feed, one that was loud and couldn't help defend. Valerie never saw it that way and neither did Warren. Having a child around was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, he reminded them of the innocent, naive joy they all experienced before the outbreak. On the other hand, he reminded them of the innocent, naive joy they all experienced before the outbreak.

"Hi Mrs. Val," Ave said, though his words were muffled in the fabric of her dress.

"My condolences."

Valerie looked up to see an older woman with a wrinkle for every year that she had been alive. Grey hair flowed over her shoulders in stark contrast to the black of her blouse. The woman was short and looked frail, like her bones would break if she tried to move. It was a wonder that someone like her survived the outbreak.

"This is my GG, Grandma Sophia," Ave said, brightly.

Valerie's eyes lit up with a vague sense of recognition. While she had never met the woman in front of her, Ave had spent many nights telling tales about his great grandmother who was "the kindest person to walk the earth but the most strict too" and "the bestest baker ever." She managed a secret bunker that housed hundreds of her neighbors, family, and friends while the outbreak was at its worst. Through all of the boy's tales it was almost as if Valerie knew the woman personally.

Now knowing who this woman was, Valerie noticed a few more subtle attributes she initially missed. Gracie projected an air of confidence as thick as fog around her. While she was a small woman, her presence could only be described as dominating. Her voice was smooth and free of even a mite of tiredness that one would assume someone of her age may possess. Her steely blue eyes silently promised Valerie that the old woman wouldn't miss a single beat. It was no longer a surprise that such a frail looking woman would survive the outbreak.

"Thank you," Valerie said. "It's nice to meet you." She extended a hand that Sophia shook firmly.

Sophia nodded. "Ave has told me much about you and Warren."

Valerie smiled a little bit knowing exactly how exuberantly, not to mention overdramatically, Ave told stories. "I'm sure he has."

"Can I sit with Mrs. Valerie?" Ave asked his great grandmother.

"No, Ave. These seats are for the family members," Sophia said. She cast Valerie an apologetic look that sent a pang coursing through her chest. A slight smile still clung to Valerie's lips, but it was barely hanging on.

"It's fine," Valarie said, patting the seat next to her. It would have otherwise remained empty anyway. Sophia looked doubtful about the idea being a good one, but the older woman held her tongue. Ave settled in next to Valerie and Sophia sat in the seats directly behind them, next to Charlie. It was just Ave and Valerie on the front lines.

The night was cold and unregulated as Valerie stood guard over the campsite in silence. There were 37 people huddled in shivering piles inside a warehouse that hadn't gotten much use after the outbreak. Valerie didn't know it at the time, but it would be the most people her survival group would protect and include at a given time. Everyone was tired from the week's travel. Everything ached from the marrow in their bones to the tips of their hair. After so much fighting and running and carnage, the rest was both much needed and much deserved.

Valerie heard them long before she saw them. Their moans and shuffling footsteps instantly gave their positions away. They were approaching from the north. Valerie held up a signal to Warren and Chalie who, in turn, quietly alerted the rest of the group. Baring the children and the injured, there were 25 well abled bodies to fight. Then, their eyes could be seen like green glowing beacons in the night. There were only three. But as time rolled on, more eyes could be distinguished from the darkness. Five. A dozen. Twentyish. Fiftyish. About 100.

They weren't zombies in the loosest sense of the word, though that is what most had taken to calling them. Zombies were slowly dying, dumb creatures that acted only out of instinct. The people controlled by the drug were smart to a certain degree. The infected didn't amass into hordes because noise attracted the disease-ridden like moths to a light. It was just more tactical to hunt in packs. The infected didn't blindly cling on to chain link fences as their prey shot them from the other side. Instead they made short work of climbing over the barrier or breaking through the gate. They didn't bumble around in forests and buildings as they waited for food to come to them; they stalked their game until they caught their kill.

Everyone was on high alert, as stiff as boards and crouched on the balls of their feet. When there were only a few, they didn't smell that bad. However, three weeks of decay wreaked havoc on the human anatomy. When they traveled in a horde, it was everything anyone could do to not gag on reflex. A very lucky few weren't any worse for the wear from the drug. They only smell they emitted emanated from the week old innards of whatever they had previously consume. Some stank of their own insides that were colorfully on display for the whole world to see. Others still smelled like charred flesh and burnt hair from when they were set ablaze. And if the acrid stench of festering wounds didn't get to you, the sight of them probably would. Blue blood became red under oxygen and red blood became black over time. Many sprinted along, green-eyed and crazy. A few were crawling across the floor and crawling with maggots, using their arms to drag the dead weight of their mangled body. They marched onward ignoring the yellowing pus oozing out of green tinged orifices created by unsavory incidents. Brains exposed and limbs cut to the bone, they limped, ran, and stumbled their way towards the band of survivors.

It was a village against an army, and the fight seemed helpless at first. The horde grew and grew in size without showing any hint of being deterred by the barrage of the attacks that the survival group shelled out. But under Warren's tactical finesse, the uninfected rained a torrent of bullets down into the oncoming horde. The night air filled with the sweet ringing of gun shots and panicked hum of recharging. The noise attracted more attention, but, in the end, only ten or so of the horde made it to the doors of the warehouse and only half of those broke through. With only two of their own dead, the group considered it a good night.

The coffin was placed on its stand in all of its glory for the people to see. One by one, visitors walked up to pay their respects. The few people from their survival group came up first. They each said their condolences and gave a few words of encouragement. Their family members passed by next, in a blur of "thank you"s that Valerie didn't feel she deserved. Following them were members of the group that defected or were separated for one reason or another. Their hollow faces still looked worn and tired from their struggles. Friends from before the outbreak also stopped to pay their respects. There weren't an abundance of them left, but it was good to see familiar faces from a time when the nation was at peace.

Once everyone was seated again, the priest began his spiel. He wasn't the priest of the church that Valerie and Warren belonged to, though they only attended on Christmas and Easter. However, when Valerie went back to that church the people there informed her that the original priest had passed. They also told her that the new priest was overloaded with funeral sermons for the next three months. The priest that was currently speaking was appointed by the government. He was a good speaker with a strong, clear voice. Even though his message didn't own the personal touch their old priest's would have had, it resonated with all those that heard it. While Valerie couldn't bring herself to focus in on the words, she could focus on the cadence and it was soothing. It had a sort of melodic ring to it. For some reason, she felt less grief when she heard it.

There was a break in his rhythm that caused Valerie to break free from her thoughts. She looked up to catch the priest wipe away a lone from his eye before it fell.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "Even before the outbreak, there would be some funerals where only three or four people showed up. Then, after the outbreak almost all of the funerals became like that. It's just…It's just so good to see so many people here. I didn't know Warren personally, but I know that for there to be so many people here right now he must have been a great man." The priest cleared his throat and regained a bit of his stately composure. "Valerie will now give the eulogy."

It wasn't often that the group was attacked in broad daylight; however, today was one of those anomalies. The band of survivors walked ankle deep in limbs, guts, and bones. By the end of the day, they would have to burn their shoes, socks and pants along with every body lying motionless in the town. The center of the town square had become a bloodbath, the likes of which the survivors had never before beheld. The streets were already strewn in gore when they arrived in the tiny village. The infected that attacked only piled up on top of them. For some stretches, Valerie couldn't see the cobblestone pavement, let alone step on it. She made her way towards her husband on a road composed purely of stiffening bodies.

She shot off three rounds into the body of an infected that was holding a machete above Warren's head. The infected jolted with life as each live bullet tore through her flesh. It was like she was performing a sick sort of dance. The machete fell with a clang to the ground and the woman's body followed in suit with a thud. Warren turned around, eyes wide in surprise, just in time to see the woman fall lifelessly at his side.

"Hah. Saved your life," Valerie quoted from a children's movie the two of them enjoyed on one of their earliest dates.

"Hah. Saved your life," Warren mimicked in a high pitched tone. The two of them laughed at their inside joke before he reeled in his wife and kissed her on the lips in a soft thank you.

"Looks like we just about cleaned this place out," Warren said. There were only three infected left and they were already gunning it out of the town. A few members of the team took off after them.

"I'm going to head after them to give them back up," Valerie said. Warren nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that he had become a better shot than most.

There was a respectful silence as Valerie approached the stand. Her shaking hands clutched onto her note cards, making the movement even more noticeable. She wanted to do Warren justice and words would never be enough. She looked out over the sea of thirty people that had showed up to pay their respects. It seemed as though every pair of eyes tracked her every movement with precision. She could feel them burrowing into her skin like termites.

"If you are here, then you, or someone you know was saved by Warren," Valerie swallowed hard to force the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat back down. She watched as family members held on tighter to the arms of the survivors from the group. "It's fitting. The name Warren actually means protector. He was just that and more. Warren was a good man, one of the greatest. There wasn't one time that he opted to help himself instead of someone in need of protection. I know that most of you only knew him from our group, but he had always been that way." Those that knew Warren from before the outbreak nodded slightly in agreement. "He was a lawyer for the military. You wouldn't expect that type of kindness from a lawyer, let alone one that worked for the government." This comment earned her a few forced smiles and a couple of chuckles from Warren's past work mates. "Yet, there wasn't a single person that Warren encountered that he didn't try to help in some way. The people that he worked with loved him. He would come back with cakes the size of Ave," Valerie motioned to the boy, "from citizens that he had saved from going to prison. And he wouldn't just stop there. He would keep up with people that he helped. Send them holiday cards and birthday notes to them and their kids."

Valerie stopped to control herself. It was almost impossible, now, to hold up the dam that kept her tears at bay. She shuffled the cards in her hands around nervously to fill the silence with the faint rustling of paper. She knew she couldn't drag out this pause for too long, but her heart was beating in her throat again and she had to take the time to force it back down. After a few shaky breaths, she continued.

"He tried to save everyone we came across during the outbreak. We couldn't pass by a house or compound without having to stop and tend to those who were on their last leg. And, though he was nice, he was also firm. Warren was able to make the tough decisions when no one else could. He was able to keep us together when the world was dark and the walls were literally coming down around us. He was a leader, a fighter, and a friend. And he was the best husband. And-" Valerie's voice cracked the same time her dam did. There wasn't much left to her speech, but she wasn't going to be able to finish it. Valerie looked at the coffin. She knew it was empty, just satin and wood, but she spoke the words to the body that would never lie inside. "I love you." She whispered through her quiet sobs. Valerie slowly made her way back to her seat.

Valerie didn't see the green eyed man until it was too late. His large hands gripped her shoulders tight enough to bruise the spot, completely restricting her movement. A loud scream clawed through her throat and escaped past her lips. It held within it all of her fears of death and dying. She didn't want to be eaten or ripped apart or do the same to others. Valerie struggled against the man's grasp to no avail. When he let out a thick moan into her face, she could smell the rotting flesh on his breath. It was rancid and made her want to vomit. He smiled, seemingly elated by her discomfort, displaying his crooked rows of jagged teeth. Valerie watched rapt in terror as a maggot poked its head out of a hole in the man's mouth. It wiggled free from the spot and inched along the man's lip, until it tumbled over the edge. The maggot pulsed and spasmed in the air before it died with an imperceptible splat on the ground. The man's head cocked back before it came down to penetrate the soft flesh of her neck. Valerie closed her eyes and waited for a pain that never came.

All too fast, the man's hands released her. She whipped around in time to see Warren tackle the infected man to the ground. Her gun was still in the hands of a younger girl who needed it more instead of in her holster or hand. She didn't have the time to try and get it back. Without missing a beat, Valerie located her latest melee weapon, a sturdy crowbar, lodged three inches into the skull of a dead infected woman. She stomped down on woman's head down with her foot to get enough leverage to dislodge the piece of metal, and yanked up on the bar. With a crack, the bar broke free along with a few fragments of the woman's skull.

Valerie rushed towards where Warren and the man fell. It was already too late. The man had Warren pinned the ground and it was easy to see the chunk of shoulder that Warren was missing and the fresh blood smeared around the infected man's mouth. As Valerie made her way to her husband, the infected pulled on Warren's arms until they popped out of place. Then, he continued to pull on Warren's arms until the skin of his biceps began to separate from the skin of his shoulders. Warren tried to yell out, but the sound evaded him. His lips were parted in a silent scream that was only broken by lung wracking gasps for air. Valerie brought the hunk of metal down into the infected man's head. Back- splatter sprayed her face in bloodied gray matter, but she didn't care. It took all of her upper body strength to shove the man off of her husband.

"Warren!" Valerie cried collapsing to her knees at her husband's side.

"Heh…Saved…Your life," Warren said. His voice was hoarse and quiet and completely wrecked by his heavy panting.

"Just hold on. We are going to save you." It was a lie - a bold faced one at that - but there was a part of Valerie that believed it. She wanted so much for everything to be okay. Her heart yearned for nothing more than her husband's life.

"Val…I love you." His arms twitched as he tried to fight through the pain and raise them to her face.

"I love you too, baby. I love you too." Valerie slumped over her husband's body and held him close, listening to his slowing heart beat until she heard it stop. "I love you. I love you. I love you," she cried into his bloodied shirt.

"You can't stay there, Val," Charlie warned cautiously. Valarie didn't realize that he was standing right behind her until he spoke. He too held a melee weapon in his hand that hung useless at his side.

"Just give me a min-a minute," She stuttered through her tears. His hands slowly pried hers from her husband's slowly reanimating body. They both knew that she didn't have a minute. Those that were infected turned in thirty seconds. The transition was clean enough to use to tell time.

The bagpipes rose up in a cacophony of melancholy harmony until the music was so loud that not even thoughts could be heard. The sound seeped into Valerie's ears and filled her very soul with their powerful tones. Every rise and fall of the bagpipe's bag could be felt in the air around her. As the tempo of the song increased, so did Valerie's heartbeat.

A moan rose from Warren's lips; the song of the dead. It was low and painful as it pulsed through his entire body. Slowly, he stood from the spot he fell, his arms limply dangling at his sides. He moaned again, this time a little louder.

"You don't have to do it, Valerie," Charlie spoke, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Valerie's heart wrenched painfully in her chest tangling its veins with her lungs and ribs. It was weird to hear her full name come from Charlie's lips. Not even her parents called her Valerie. Only Warren ever called her Valerie. Even at that, he only did so when the situation was serious. Like when he proposed to her. Charlie's other hand reached down for the gun she had taken back from the young girl. He could take this burden off her shoulders. He wanted to take care of her responsibility.

"No," Valerie choked in a rushed huff. "I-" she swallowed audibly. "I can do it," she told him. "I can do it," she told herself. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from her gun, but he kept a hand on her shoulder. Moral support.

"Will everyone please rise for the 3-volley salute," the priest said, raising his hands. Everyone followed the order. Warren's army training was one of the few things that kept the ragtag group of survivors alive for as long as they had lived. He deserved the sendoff of every single one of those gun shots, but Valerie didn't want to hear them. She didn't want to hear the sound of a gun being fired again for as long as she lived.

A small hand gripped at her own, calling her attention to the boy at her side. Ave was crying big, fat, wet tears. He probably didn't want to hear guns being shot off either. Valerie rubbed her thumb over Ave's tiny, fragile hand. She had to put on a brave face for - if no one else - him.

Valerie raised a shaky hand to level the gun at Warren's head. She needed to do this. He would do the same for her.

"NO! Stop! He can come back from this! We can save him! Stop! Stop!" Ave's prepubescent voice cried out as the boy ran towards Warren and Valerie. Valerie watched as Garth, one of the many members of the group who didn't live to see the uprising squelched, grabbed Ave around the waist and held him back.

"NO! NO! NO!" Ave repeated loudly. Garth squatted down to Ave's level and clasped the child's face in between his large hands. Tears slipped over his fingers and down his forearms as he stared deep into Ave's blue eyes.

"Look at me, Ave," Garth ordered, but Ave didn't comply. He struggled to free his head from Garth's grasp and run to Warren. "Ave. Look. At. Me," Garth bit out. The boy's pleas died on his lips as he gave into Garth's words and accepted his helplessness.

A squeeze on her shoulder from Charlie and the sound of shuffling feet from Warren, drew Valerie's attention back to the task at hand.

"It's okay," Valerie mouthed. She wasn't sure if Ave could make out the words, but the child buried his head into her stomach and he cried into the fabric of her dress. There wasn't much else Valerie could do besides place her hand on his shoulder the way Warren would have done. She felt a weight and light squeeze upon her own shoulder and turned to give Charlie a reassured smile. While looking back at Charlie, Valerie noticed that there was a dainty, wrinkled hand upon his shoulder. She followed the arm up to Sophie's face and saw that another guest had a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes roamed the whole crowd following hand to arm to shoulder to hand. Everyone had placed a hand on someone else's shoulder in Warren's trademark fashion, forming an interwoven network of support. She couldn't even fathom who had started it, but it had caused a ripple effect through the entire gathering. Warren would have loved it.

Five perfect men in five perfect uniforms armed with five perfect guns stood in one perfect line. The drill sergeant's voice was hard and crisp as he barked out the orders.

"Attention." Ten boots snapped together in perfect cadence. "Stand by." There was a click as the soldiers clapped a hand against their guns. "Ready." All five guns cocked simultaneously. "Aim." Silence. "Fire." Bang. "Ready." All five guns cocked simultaneously. "Aim." Silence. "Fire." Bang. "Ready." All five guns cocked simultaneously. "Aim." Silence.

Tears cascaded down Valerie's face while her finger twitched in hesitation against the trigger. She stared at Warren's dead green eyes that stared right back at her, but did not see her. He shuffled closer.

"Do it," Charlie whispered quietly into her ear.

"Just give me a second!" Valerie snapped and jerked her shoulder away from his comforting hand. Why did she receive comfort when Warren was suffering? Charlie took a few steps back and Warren took a few steps closer. Warren's arms rose out in front of him, a task that would have been impossible for any uninfected human being, as if he wanted to stroke Valerie's face one last time. Maybe there was a fast acting cure. Maybe there was a way that they could still save him. But his arms hung from his body attached by a mere tendon. But the blood that he had lost was too great. But his eyes were too green to be natural. As he moaned again, Valerie knew that there was no other option than the one she held in her hand.

"Fire."

Bang.

Warren J. Halloway

Husband. Leader. Friend. Protector.

2051-2083

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©October 28, 2012 Regina Smith