Humanity's Death: A Zombie Epic by D.S. Black Page B

through her mind. Grayness threatened to
take over; her moral compass was cracking; right and wrong, good
and bad losing any real meaning. Her police uniform was in tatters;
a symbol of a torn past.
    She carried the bodies of her girls and Papa
outside one by one. Andrew brought a can of gasoline and handed it
to her. She said nothing. She poured the contents over the bodies.
Andrew handed her a box of matches. She opened it, took one out,
and struck it against the side of the box. She threw it onto the
bodies and flame engulfed in a fast whoosh.
    Andrew was crying. Candy just stared; her
thoughts darkening as quickly as the bodies of her family. She
watched them smolder; their white skin turning dark black. The
smell was abominable; but she breathed it in, refusing to try and
avoid the dead perfume of cooking flesh.
    The black smoot now covered her face like a
black, smudgy mask. Her red hair now showing through black dust.
Her soul now tainted with the decay of the New World.
    4
    Jack awoke, his vision a blurry haze of unimaginable
pain. His entire face screamed for mercy; and the world was black
from the right side over. He laid in his bed, surrounded by the old
wood of the swamp shack, and the always present swell of the dying
world. He had no idea how he'd gotten there.
    What had happened? How was he still here? These
questions rushed through his mind for only as long as the throbbing
pain allowed. He let out a low bellow of agony. The memory of Papa
chewing on the remains of the girls sparked in his psyche. How did
he allow this to happen? His life is over. It is a forgotten
memory. Part of the world that once was, and will never be again.
His hopes, dreams, and worst of all, he feared, his humanity, his
wonder and joy, forever lost in the dark haze of a darkening,
insidious world.
    He tried to move, but to no avail. The pain
swelled once more. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to breath,
though his body forced the air in and then out, causing grief mixed
with self-hate to plunder his soul, his mind, his heart, every inch
of him calling out, without saying a word, to please just let him
rot, just let him die now.
    “Candy.” He barely spoke; it came out of a
hoarse whisper.
    But she heard him none the less. The door
creaked open, and in she came carrying something in a brown bottle
with a white screw on lid. She didn’t say a word. In his now left
sided vision, mixed with the pain of failed suicide, he saw her
battered police uniform; it was covered in dirt and the stench of
swamp water; clotted portions of smoke smut blackened the once
pristine and pressed uniform. The odor of a recent fire followed
her, and lingered with her every step. Her face was emotionless;
her eyes unresponsive, her cheeks smothered in dark soot. She
walked with impatience, and stood over Jack for a moment, staring
down with blank eyes, almost as though he didn’t exist. He felt her
firm grip on his chin, and a bandage tore from his face. He
screeched in agony.
    “Shut up.” She said and forced his face in the
opposite direction. The sound of the brown bottle's top twisting
open, and then the striking sting and smell of alcohol smothered
his face. His legs jerked, his hand gripped the dirty sheets, and
he cried tears of discomfort, hate, and suffering.
    She wrapped a new bandage on his face; he then
heard an old wooden chair scratch against the splintered floor;
candy plopped down beside him. Her stare focused on the floor, and
her elbows met her knees. Jack stared at the top her head; her
filthy red hair, meshed with sweat, blood, and soot, half clung,
half dangled from her scalp.
    “Candy…” Jack murmured.
    “I have to go into town. Your wound is gonna get
infected soon. The humidity, the moisture causing it to fester.
That's the last of the alcohol and bandages.” She said.
    “Where is Andrew?”
    “He's waitin outside. I have to go now.” She
stood, and walked out of the room without another word.
    He laid helplessly, unable