We padded down the street, softly, quietly, carefully. Rico had become very good at trying to stay as silent as possible. I wasn't sure how he picked up on that — maybe he was a lot smarter than I had previously given him credit for. The best trick I had taught him was how to sneeze on command, which is actually pretty damn impressive for a dog. Still, I hadn't taken him to be particularly observant. But I was glad to be wrong. I glanced down at him, at his coat that was once a pristine white and now was dirty and dingy. His head was lowered slightly, eyes darting about every which way, nose constantly working, ears checking this direction and that direction. He was alert. And because he could hear and smell things before I could, that was a very good thing for me. Because these streets were no longer safe. Nowhere was safe anymore. Somehow, despite all the pop culture about zombies and how everyone had said how much they wanted the zombie apocalypse to occur…it had. No one knew why. No one knew anything, except that they had to survive.

Well, some did not. Some, I had found, had very quickly opted out. Rico had found one such person that had not quite gotten the job done. They had taken some pills, they had said, but apparently not enough, or not the right kind. It had been a shock. Rico and I had gone in to looting mode to scavenge some supplies. Not every house was empty, so we left those alone, but most were. It was early enough yet that a lot of good things were still to be found. As we raided the kitchen cupboards for food, even finding some canned dog food for my beloved white German shepherd, Rico had suddenly whipped his head to the side, ears pressed forward, eliciting a snarl from his lips. I had nearly dropped a can of peas on the ground in surprise at his sudden reaction. I followed his gaze, but saw nothing. I gripped his brown leather leash a bit more tightly. I still was unwilling to let him go freely. I didn't know if he knew how to defend himself against the chompers, or if he even knew that he should and that they were not friendly creatures who would stop to pet him and give him a treat. But after the initial snarl, Rico fell silent. His gaze, however, remained fixated on a spot. Setting the can of peas down on the counter, I looked about for a set of knives. Bingo, by the stove. I grabbed a large chef’s knife, noting that it was still very sharp. I might not be able to carry it around with me if I could not find or fashion some sort of cover for it.

“Rico, lead on,” I whispered very faintly.

With measured steps, he walked out of the kitchen, through a family room, and paused at a hallway that connected to a few other rooms — probably bedrooms and bathrooms. He stopped there again, and I paused to listen myself. After a little while, I was not sure if Rico had lost his poor doggy mind, and I was going to make us leave, but I heard a cough from one of the rooms. Rico responded with a very, very soft growl, deep and low and rumbling in his chest. I put a hand on his head to steady him. Chompers didn't cough. Growled, yes. Snarled, absolutely. But they did not make any other type of sound that was even remotely human. Putting a palm in front of Rico's face to silently give him the stay command, I looped his leash handle on a closet doorknob and crept in to the hall way.

The knife carefully held in my right hand, I decided now was the time to make my presence known. “Someone in here?” I asked softly. I heard a gasp come from the room on my left and the sound of scrambling. Slowly and steadily, I reached for the door handle, glancing quickly at Rico. His dark brown eyes had not left the scene. I returned my focus to the door. “I'm going to come in. I don't want to hurt you. Are you all right?”

“No, just leave me alone!” replied a desperate, raspy, yet definitely female voice.

My hand found the pewter door knob. “I'm coming in.”

I slowly turned the knob and opened the door. The first thing I noticed was the ugly green tiling on the floor. The next thing I noticed was the unmistakable scent of vomit. Having been to many a frat party at Iowa State University, I knew all about that scent. On the floor, curled up in the fetal position by the toilet, was a woman. Her dark hair was in a very messy bun, as if she had slept in it for weeks. I stepped inside, glancing around, unsure of what to do at this point. I worked with sick animals, not sick people. And I didn't want to get too close to her. It was just what this world had become. You didn't get to close to anybody, period, end of story. I remained on my feet, as much as I wanted to crouch next to her and try to help. Instead, I kept a firm grip on the handle of the kitchen knife and asked, “What's wrong with you?” Delicate as usual, Bea.

The woman lifted her head and with some effort, raised the front half of her body upright so she could actually look at me. Her face was worn and haggard, dark circles beneath her eyes, and her lips were chapped. She could not have been much older than my own mother. A sharp pang of pain tore through my heart at the thought, and it must have shown on my face, because she lowered her eyes. “I know, I look like shit.”

I uttered a small little sigh and a terse smile. “We all do these days." That seemed to reassure her, and she pushed herself up enough to sit back, leaning against the bathtub behind her with a low grown. I stepped a little bit closer, but remained on my feet. “So are you okay? Is this your house?”

She nodded weakly, and I instantly began to remember the amount of food that was in my backpack left in the kitchen. Guilt washed over me. “I'm sorry; I'll return the food I took and then we'll leave.”

The woman shook her head. “No, no, take it all. I won't be needing it.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion before I saw a large, dark red stain on her pink pajama bottoms, just on the side of her thigh. My eyes widened. “Are you bitten?”

The woman looked as though she were going to cry, but I think she was too dehydrated to actually produce tears. She looked up at me, her eyes full of sorrow, and nodded with a deep breath and a quivering exhale. I glanced away, up at the ceiling with a sharp inhalation of my own. Damn it. Too many people had already died.

“That's why I'm in here,” she whimpered. “I knew I was going to turn, so I came in here to — to take some pills. To just end it before it could happen. But I threw them up. I — I didn't mean to, it just happened, and now I can't even stand up anymore. Please, I think it's going to happen soon. You should go.”

I was torn. I felt as though I couldn't leave her here to suffer and die alone and worse yet, produce another zombie that would kill more people. But I knew she was also right.  It would be better for the survival of myself and Rico if we left. Then I remembered the knife in my hand. My eyes quickly glanced down at it, which seemed to draw the woman’s attention as well. “My chef’s knife,” she croaked. I looked to her and nodded. “I don't think I can keep it with me — I couldn't find a cover.”

“No,” she replied. “There is one. If you look in the small drawer just on the left of the stove, there will be a cover for that knife. You should take whatever you can from here to help you. Please, it's my gift so that you can go on living. I…I only ask that you do one thing.”

I nodded, a sinking feeling growing with in the pit of my stomach. I somehow expected her following words.

“Please kill me first.”

My breath caught in my throat. I had had to kill exactly one zombie since this whole mess of events began. I never, ever expected that I would have to kill another human being.

“I know, it's awful,” the woman continued. “But I don't think I have much time left, and I don't want to turn in to one of those…those things! I can't. Please, you can't let me.”

I shook my head. No. No way. I would never kill a living human being. But I couldn't actually get those words to come out of my mouth. It opened and closed again like a fish in a tank, but I could not actually form the words I wanted to say. The woman sighed and wearily patted the space next to her. I was still wary, but slowly, I stepped over and crouched, placing the knife well away from her before I sat, my body now an effective shield in case she tried to grab for it.

“Just sit with me, then. I don't want to die alone. If I can't convince you to put me down, then I just ask you stay with me until I'm gone. Oh, and lock the bathroom door on me. I don't want to get out and hurt more innocent people.”

I brought my knees close to my chest, resting my arms on them with a heaving sigh. This was so barbaric. And cruel. And just awful. No one should have to go through this ordeal. But I was glad to be there for this woman now. I brought my knees closer to my chest and fully wrapped my arms around my legs, leaning my head on the shower door behind me.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Mary. Mary McCubb.”

I nodded. “I'm Bea. Well, Beatrice, but people call me Bea. Bea Newman.”

Mary gave a small smile. “That's a really nice name. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

Mary sighed. “You know, it's not so bad to be on the older side of all this mayhem and misery. At least we got to live most of our lives in relative peace. Well, in better circumstances than these, anyway, without the dead rising to eat the flesh of the living. But you know, I feel so, so sad for the young people of this world. This is now what they will have to contend with for…well, who knows how long? For some of them, this is all they're going to remember. This will be their start in life. Maybe they will make it to the other side and know peace for the rest of their lives. But…”

She stopped then, and I had to ponder what she had just said. Who knew how long this would last? Who knew how bad it even was here, and in other parts of the world, too?

That was when I heard Rico whimpering. I had been gone from his sight too long, even though he could hear me. Mary seemed to perk up at the sound, although her brow was furrowed in confusion. “Is…is that a dog I hear?”

I nodded as I stood, remembering to take the knife with me as I did. “Yeah, my dog, Rico. Would you like to meet him?”

The smile on Mary’s face, though weak, contained more joy I had seen in weeks.

I stepped out of the bathroom and took Rico’s leash. He was only too happy to see me again, popping up a little on his hind legs with a whine. I reminded him of his manners. Just because we were in an apocalypse didn't mean he got to break all of the rules. No, quite the opposite. If the two of us were going to survive, we needed to go by the rules now more than ever. And that meant that Rico had to listen to me implicitly when ever I gave him a command to follow. Moving when I wanted him to stay, barking when I wanted him silent — these were things that could potentially get us killed in this new world.

I lead Rico in to the bath room, and Mary’s smile widened even further. “Oh,” she breathed raspily, “he’s so beautiful.”

“He isn't quite as white as he usually is,” I murmured. Mary chuckled.

“That's probably a good thing. A white dog may stick out like a sore thumb when you are trying not to be seen. Maybe you should try to strike a balance between clean and camouflage.”

I nodded. I hadn't even thought of that. Though most chompers weren't good at seeing things in general, they were fairly good at detecting movement, and a bright streak of white may just give us away. I made a mental note to see where this balance would lie. Mary reached out a hand before looking up at me. “Please, may I pet him? I just lost my dog a few months before all of this began and…”

“Sure,” I replied briskly, allowing Rico slack in the leash to go over to Mary. I didn't even want to hear about a dog dying, even if that dog wasn't my own. Right now, Rico was my everything. The thought of losing him was unbearable. I tried to put it as far from my mind as possible.

Rico was very cautious, sniffing the air around Mary. I wondered if he could smell the infection that was coursing through her veins right now, destroying her body. The chompers themselves definitely smelled dead, but maybe Rico could pick up the scent of the actual infection — or whatever it was that made people turn. But after a few moments, he seemed satisfied that the situation was safe and allowed Mary’s hand to touch the side of his neck. Mary’s body quite visibly relaxed, and Rico stepped in even closer, eventually coming to sit by her side just as I had done only a few minutes before.

I stood, watching the interaction with a strange sense of sadness and pride. Mary rubbed his head and neck with one hand, though I suspected what she really wanted to do was give him a giant hug. He was really good at those. She was weakening quickly, though, and having trouble keeping her eyes open.

“I bet you're a really smart boy,” she said softly to Rico. He tilted his head very slightly, as he always did when someone was speaking to him. This made Mary chuckle, although straight after, she began to cough violently. Feeling utterly useless and helpless, I rummaged about in the bathroom, looking for a washcloth. I found one and ran the cold water, soaking it before wringing out the excess and bringing it over. I knelt down and held the cool cloth to her head. Mary sighed, leaning her head against the shower door.

“Oh, that's nice,” she whispered. I knew it wouldn't last long — her fever had to have been tremendously high. Even from here I could feel that she was burning up like a furnace. But at least it was a little relief. Mary’s eyes opened and rolled back over to Rico.

“My little dog was such a good one, too. A little Corgi. His name was Maximus. Kind of a joke, since he was so tiny, especially since we got him as a puppy. But my husband and I, we loved that little dog so hard. We never had children of our own. Not for lack of trying. But he was sterile, my husband was. And we didn't have the money for adoption, so…we just sort of accepted that it would always be that way. Max became our baby.”

I listened silently, rinsing the rag when it became warm and washing it again with cool water. I knew that it was probably a waste of water, and there would be no telling when indoor plumbing would all of a sudden up and quit, but I had to do something. Mary kept on talking, her hand still slowly petting Rico. My dog had since laid down with his head resting on her near thigh. It made it easier for her to pet him since she didn't have to reach up. I wondered briefly if dogs could get infected, but again, quickly pushed the thought from my mind. Only with a bite, I told myself. No way could it happen otherwise.

“He did the funniest things, Max. Sometimes he would talk to you if you asked him something. He would do this yawn-yodel that was so adorable. And smart. So smart. Probably like you. What's your name, boy?”

“Rico,” I whispered. Rico’s ear swiveled in my direction at my voice saying his name, but he didn't move. Somehow, I think he understood the gravity of the situation. I think he knew she was dying and what a role he was playing in that very moment.

Mary gave a breathy chuckle, accompanied with more coughing, but a lot less violent. I had a growing sense that it was almost time. As the rag began to grow hot in my hands, I threw it in the sink. Her consciousness was beginning to drift. I didn't think it was going to make much of a difference at this point, and I wanted to conserve water while I still could.

“Mary,” I said softly. Her head lolled as she opened her eyes blearily at me. “Mary, I want to ask you if…if I could possibly stay in this house for a while. Not long, maybe five days just to rest before Rico and I move on. We have to get to Iowa City, but we haven't been able to rest anywhere for a couple of weeks.”

She closed her eyes and gave a slight dip of her head. “Like I said…use what you want. I will be in here, though, so use the second bathroom in the…master bedroom.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

I put a hand on top of her hand that had come to rest on Rico’s shoulder blades. My throat began to tighten as I recognized the tell tale signs of a dying body. I had seen it before so many times already with animals. While I had never seen a human die, it was remarkably similar. I tried to steel myself. I could not have Mary’s last memory of this Earth being one of a sobbing woman next to her. Some stranger she didn't even know.

“Mary,” I said again. A quiet hum came from her throat in recognition. “Mary, I…I'll do it. After you pass. I'll make sure you don't turn. And I'll bury you in your yard.”

“Next to Max, please,” she whispered. “His spot is back…back by the sycamore. Can't miss it. Bench. Stone.” Though her head was now dropped and her chin rested on her chest, I caught her smiling. “I get to see Max. And Jacob.”

“Is that your husband?” I asked softly.

“Yes,” she responded. “He is out there…somewhere. He turned at work. Couldn't get back to me. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to him. But now…now I get to see him…and Max…we'll all be together again.”

With effort, she raised her head and eyes to look up at me. “Thank you for staying with me, Bea. Please…please survive.”

Mary’s head dropped again, her breathing now coming in loud wheezes. I squeezed my hand around hers, swallowing the lump in my throat and setting my jaw. “I promise.”

And that seemed to be all of the permission Mary needed.

It was a long while before I allowed my self to check her vitals, even though I knew she was gone. Being around a body that had just spoken to you earlier that day was a very eerie, disturbing thing. I placed my fingers to the spot her jugular vein would be and felt no movement. I placed my hand beneath her nose to feel for air movement there, but nothing. With a sigh, I looked at the knife I had placed on the counter top. I had promised Mary I would not let her turn. And she was gone. But still, the very act of driving my knife in to the skull of another person — not a zombie — was terrifying.

I looked down at Rico, who had since sat up and was watching me. His soft brown eyes filled me with resolve. I could not let anything happen to him. And that meant not allowing Mary to turn. At this moment, she was no longer a person, no longer a human being. She was a threat. She was a threat to me and to Rico, and that alone was enough courage to do what needed to be done.

I stood and took the knife in my hand. I didn't know how long I had before she would wake up again as a zombie, and I didn't want to find out.

I felt almost as though I should have said a prayer for her or something, but my parents had always been the religious ones, not me. Instead, as I bent over her and took a grip on the handle of the knife, I said:

“Mary McCubb, wife of Jacob McCubb. Mother to an amazing Corgi named Maximus. Gracious host.” I paused there, and decided there was almost no more to say. “I hope you find your family.”

In one quick motion, I had extinguished the infection in her brain.

I put the knife in to the sink, where the wash cloth still was. I turned on the water, piping hot, to wash away the blood. My hands were shaking, and I found that I was gulping in air quickly. I knew that it was a dangerous thing to do, but I couldn't help myself. Suddenly, I felt soft fur touch my palm and I jumped. Rico jumped as well at my reaction, but leaned his body against my leg. My breathing began to slow as I realized he was right there with me. I dropped to my knees and threw my arms around him, choking on my sobs.

Much to my great relief, the stove still had gas and would light with matches. And there was still running water, which meant I could cook just about anything on the stove top. There was quite a bit of food for both Rico and my self, and so we gorged ourselves for the first few days. After we had buried Mary, that is. We took one of the bedrooms that still had fresh linens on the bed and slept there for hours. This was the one rule I would allow Rico to break, to be on the bed with me. Partly because there was no other soft surface for him to sleep on in the room, and partly because I wanted to keep him close to me all the time. Our routine was pretty much the same for about four days. Sleep, eat, patrol the perimeter and let Rico do his business, eat some more, sleep some more. It was very quiet, and very peaceful. No chompers around the entire time. It would have been a good place to fortify and hunker down in, being next to a school that possibly still had supplies inside. But I couldn't stay here forever. I had to continue on to Iowa City. I had to find Sara.

So one day, as Rico and I came back in from the perimeter check and again found nothing to be concerned about, I decided this was the day we left. We had eaten a good portion of the food that we could, but there was still much left for us to take. There were even some other supplies such as a couple of flashlights and some batteries for them. I found the cover for the kitchen knife and took that as a weapon, although I hoped I would never have to use it ever again. I grabbed band aids and aspirin and antibacterial gel — basic first aid supplies in the bathroom cabinet. My backpack was soon stuffed with supplies for us both, and I found myself wishing Rico had a back pack of his own, like a pack mule. But even if Max had had some thing like that, it would have been way too small for Rico’s large, sleek frame. Maybe I would be able to make him something in the future.

I checked around the house one last time for anything small but useful I could stuff in to my backpack. The house was a large one with two bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs and another bedroom and bathroom in the basement. Not to mention the huge kitchen and two family rooms. It was a really nice place, although perhaps a bit large for just two people and their dog. Well, they weren't around any more. But still, it was a shame to think of this house in ruins at all. I hoped whoever came across it next would treat it well. There was still a little food left over, although I had taken every can of dog food or other packed meat like tuna that I could. I had to keep Rico fed, even above myself if that was what it took.

My eyes spied a wrist watch on the night stand in the master bedroom. It was a digital sports watch, otherwise I probably would have heard the ticking of a second hand on an analog watch. I picked it up. It was probably still more or less accurate, and read 10:37 a.m. Time was not something I had been keeping track of lately. It was secondary to survival. All I needed to know was sunrise and sunset. But I put it on my left wrist any way. It was a small comfort, knowing the time. It reminded me of how things used to be before. I wondered if this new world would ever need to know the time again like it used to so much in the past.

I also took a set of nail clippers from the bathroom. I had been chewing my nails to keep them short, but this would make the process a lot more sanitary and a lot less barbaric. I found some travel-size bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and mouth wash. I had showered and brushed my teeth at the house just this morning, but I took them any way, just in case I had the opportunity again some day to find a shower. There was not much else left that I could take. Everything else would either not fit in my backpack or it was not of use. I led Rico to the front door and turned around to look at the inside once more. I felt incredibly sad for some reason. This wasn't my house, but it felt like leaving home all over again. We were leaving what had been a sanctuary for us, full of everything we had needed. No chompers for days. That was a hard thing to give up in these times.

The thought of Sara hardened my resolve. Whether she was alive or not, I had to find out. I had to get there. While my sister and I weren't super close like some siblings, she was still my sister, and I still had to know if she was out there.