Come Out Of The Wilderness

It had been almost a year since he had seen another human being. He had worked hard at forcing himself to remember what it was like. Physical contact, companionship, friendship, even a conversation was becoming a foreign concept to him. Sure, he tried to speak, chatting with objects he came across on his travels. A half eaten corpse here, an abandoned car there, but the lack of interaction soon meant that he became lazy, he speech slurred, and over the months it actually became nothing more than grunts.

Despite this, in spite of everything that had happened, all of the people he had lost to the virus he knew that one day he would find someone else, maybe even more than one. Survivors of the war between humans and zombies. So when that day arrived, when he walked over the crest of the hill in the Scottish countryside, he wasn't surprised.

He was also not too shocked by the number of people he found. It looked from the distance he was away from it, as if the entire town was still alive, or at least had been repopulated in the year since it all began. Most of the houses had either lights in the windows or smoke drifting from the chimneys. If was getting dark, he had lost all track of the seasons or time of day, but light and dark was still within his realm of comprehension.

What did shock him however was that upon seeing them, the only thing he could think about was running up to them, ripping open their chests and gobbling down the warm organs that lay within. He was famished and the smell of their living flesh drove him over the edge. He charged at them.

Of course, even children had been taught how to defend themselves, and so they opened fire on him, and when they burnt his infected body, there was a look of surprise etched upon his face.

Time Heals All Wounds

"When I caught you with him, lying in our bed with the man I called a friend, the man who helped me start the business that kept you in such a well kept lifestyle, I wanted to kill you both. Do you know that?" Martin Wilkins spoke to his wife as she sat next to him on the sofa.

She barely raised her head from the book she was reading, not giving him the light of day. It had been three months since he had caught them.

"I wanted to hurt you, him I just wanted to kill, get him out of the way. You though, I wanted you to feel what it was like to have your heart ripped out. To see the look on your face as that pulsating muscle broke apart. Did my face look anything like I imagine yours would?" He asked her as they sat down to dinner one cold and stormy winters night. The spent very little time together now. She was out a lot. Working he guessed, he didnt leave the house himself. He worked from home writing novels and short stories for magazines. Mostly under a false name.

Leslie Grange the long suffering wife of Martin Wilkins took a long deep sip of her red wine, stared right across the table at him. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but stopped and returned to her meal. It had been six months since he had caught them, and charged out of the house in the pouring rain. Tail lights casting a red glow on their faces as he sped away.

"The only reason I came back was to try to hurt you, but that wasn't what happened. I couldn't hurt you any more by coming back becuase leaving you did it all. I came back to hurt you, and now can't leave because all I want to do is see you smile. I love you you know. I always did." Martin opened his heart as the snow battered against the window. There were carollers in the neigbourhood, he could hear their harmony floating across the night air.

Leslie sat by the open fire, staring into it a glass of mulled wine in one hand, a tissue in the other. It had been 17 months since he had caught them, and charged out of the house in the pouring rain. Tail lights casting a red glow on their faces as he sped away, 17 months since the doorbell rang a few hours later and he had walked silently over the threshold.

"I never stopped loving you. It was all my fault. I know, I never paid you enough attention, I can't remember the last time I told you I love you. We had some good time, and it doesn't have to be over you know. There's still plenty of time left, it doesn't have to stop." He wept as he cupped her face in his hands, stroked her hair.

Leslie raised her eyes from her book, she sat curled in her chair by the fireplace. Her eyes were red with tears, her cheek cool from his touch. "I love yoú" She spoke to him at last.

It had been 20 months since he had caught them, and charged out of the house in the pouring rain. Tail lights casting a red glow on their faces as he sped away, 20 months since the doorbell rang a few hours later and he had walked silently over the threshold while the two uniformed police officers whose car he had hidden in told his wife about the accident.

It had been 20 months since Martin Wilkins died, his car careening off the road, loosing control on a bed, the road slick from the storm that raged. It had been 20 months since his wife spoke to him, since she had smiled, but now, before the roaring fireplace where they had shared so many memories, the corners of her mouth curled up and she shivered as he ran his fingers through her hair. Noting more than a breath of wind. "I love you Martin." Leslie cried and smiled simultenously, finally admitting to herself what had happpened.

"Goodbye my love." Martin whipered in her ear as the world faded to black and he finally ascended, his heart at peace, his business done.