The sun would have come out, the zombies would have all died, and we would have repopulated the earth with battle-ready mini-Cyruses. I might have said this before, but life isn’t a movie. Also, Gabe was too young for me, and didn’t have appropriate genetics for breeding. I helped her hobble back into the apartment, while the continuous storm grew angrier, blowing with all its might. Rain beat down on the roof so hard we could hear it through the wind and rumbling thunder. I brought her into the bedroom and allowed her to lie on my bed. Picking up the abused comforter from its resting place, I placed it over her, awkwardly. I was no mother, no caring father. I didn’t know how to console the dying or aid the sick. Clearing my throat, I looked out the window—a distraction from the situation at hand. The sight that greeted me was no better. A little girl stared back from the building next door. Tiny, bloody hands clawed at her shut window, white eyes gazing at me hungrily. I tugged at the cord on the blinds until they gave way, shutting the disturbing image from Gabe’s view.
