A Thousand Nights with You - 19. Gods and Devils

Fear.

I never felt this cold in my life. The chill gets straight into your bones, like a million shards of cold steel cutting into them. I shivered uncontrollably, I didn’t know if it was the icy water that I fell into that made me feel this way.

Dan, snap out of it, we need to run now!

I thought I heard my brother’s voice from a distance, but my body couldn’t move. My eyes couldn’t pull away from the raging river and the number of bodies floating lifelessly on them. I was lifted up, thrown over my brother’s shoulders. At least I thought that was what happened. My body won’t respond, and I can’t feel anything right now but this paralyzing cold.

Where is he bringing me? I need to find Mark.

My entire body is cramped into knots, threatening to petrify if I don’t see him right now. I felt like I won’t be able to breathe again. Then the moaning came. My head told me I should be scared, but I felt nothing. My brother fell, and I ate dirt. When I saw an infected piled on to him, a jolt of adrenaline went down my spine and I find my body moved on its own.

I am like a puppet, watching my body being controlled.

My leg kicked the infected so hard that her nose was completely caved in. I kept stomping on her face until I felt a hand dragged me away.

I didn’t snap out from my shock until we ran to an old estate. Grey’s bullet wound had reopened. He is bleeding and limping his way. Peter’s right arm was limp by his shoulder, hanging at an unnatural angle. Felicia and Grace had a few cuts on them, but there is still no sign of Mark.

This isn’t a nightmare. But I am desperately trying to wake up from it anyway.

Felicia banged on the first house we saw. No one answered the door. We tried to break in and then a voice said that he will shoot if we don’t leave.

“We are not here to rob you”, Grace begged and pounded again. “We got people injured.”

We heard a rifle loading and we left immediately.

Five houses down the street, we saw another occupied house. They might have medical supplies. Water. Food. Something we could use to patch up our people. A tiny toddler was playing with his toys in the hall. His father was sitting on an armchair watching the news on the TV. Grace knocked on the window to get his attention. He picked up his son immediately, but at least he wasn’t hostile. We begged to be let in, and for a moment we thought he was about to, until we saw it came.

It was about five foot nine. Pigeon chested and bare bodied. His skin is already mottled and grey and he was standing behind the man.

“Behind you!” Grace shouted.

But it was too late. The infected sank its teeth on his neck. The boy screamed as he dropped to the ground and we tried to kick down the door. Two more appeared behind from the back yard’s glass door. The mother came down from the stairs with an older girl. They tried to run back up but the infected already saw them. Tristan shot the one who took out a chunk of flesh from the man’s shoulders. He was already convulsing. I picked up the little boy and we ran out of the house.

I heard crying. Then more screams.

Those people who were hiding in their homes are now running out into the street. The screams are quickly drowned out by the moans. One fell, followed by another. The boy is screaming into my ears. I might be holding him a little too tight but I’m scared I would drop him. I heard gun shots. I heard skulls crashing and necks snapping. We ran down the street and climbed over the metal fence of a Cathedral. It was solid metal, and it might buy us some time.

“Shouldn’t we run off to the woods?” Felicia screamed.

“We can’t outrun them.” Grace shouted. Not with Grey limping. Not with me carrying a toddler in my skinny arms. My brother reloaded his rifle as soon as we get a reprieve. Felicia helped to take out all the ammo he stuffed into his backpack.

A woman yelled out a Hail Mary in the Cathedral front yard. We ran to the front and saw an old tiny nun in full habit, welding a bloodied candle stick and with three corpses at her feet. Five more are circling her as they poured through the metal gate. She was trying to lock it, but there are more appearing by the second. Tristan raised the rifle and shot the one grabbing her arm.

“No don’t! You will attract the rest here.” Grace said. But it was too late. More infected are already coming our way.

I put down the boy and told Felicia to bring him inside. I picked up a shovel and charged at one of them.

“Aim for their necks!” The nun screamed. Grace kicked one of them off balance while Peter and Grey tried to look for a weapon. Tristan found a rake, but it was too unwieldy and slow to kill. Before we can finish them off, two more got through the gate, and then another four. Behind them, the entire street is filled with the infected heading our way.

We are trapped.

Felicia ran out from the Cathedral, both hands carrying a bunch of candlesticks.

“Grab them!” She threw them at us and immediately we are killing them much faster. The metal candlesticks are light, long and spiralled like those fancy skewers we once used for barbecue. We stabbed at the soft flesh in their throats. It was a quick and clean kill. Easy to pull out as well.

Stab, pull, kick. Stab, pull, kick. Just like how Mark had taught me to use the spear, except that I didn’t have to kick to pull it out from them. But I mustn’t think about Mark right now. Within a few seconds, we would be overwhelmed. There must be at least three, four hundreds of them on the street. God knows how many more are coming.

“We need to fall back into the Cathedral now!” I shouted.

We turned just in time. These are the newly infected. Not like the blackened fiends that run like wolves. Many of them are still struggling with their motor coordination. As long as Grey kept a constant pace, he would be able to out walk them. The six of us used all our body weight to shut the heavy wooden door. Felicia stabbed the infected that were pushing against us. We barred the door, but the pounding grew louder by the second. I heard a chorus of cries and whimpering at the back. I turned and realized what made the nun so ferocious. She was protecting a bunch of children, the oldest probably only nine years old. She made a sign and prayed, clutching her rosary tightly.

The door is heavy but it won’t bear the weight of so many infected pushing on it. It is only a matter of time before it gives way.

Hail Mary, full of Grace…

I faintly hear her voice. The cries, the moans, the pounding of my heart, but all I could hear is a voice in my head that sounded like Mark’s. Where are you Dan?

Am I going insane? I need to look for Mark. He must be looking for me.

But I need to survive this in order to do that. The infected must die. They must die.

I scan around the Cathedral. There is nothing but rows and rows of heavy wooden benches and an elevated stage where the altar and organ is. Grey caught my eye and said, “Drag the prayer benches over the door!”

“No!” I said. “Let them break through. Stack the wooden benches against the alter stage.”

“The altar stage is only a foot high, we would be overwhelmed!” Tristan said.

“The children are there, we can’t let them pass through us.” The Sister said.

“DO AS I SAY!”

I commanded them with such authority that even I got frightened by myself. My brother and Grace didn’t hesitate to do it. And soon, the Sister helped as well. Grey couldn’t climb over the benches easily with his injured leg so I told him to get up the stage and gather the children against the wall. About twenty rows of prayer benches stacked against each other, blocking the way to the altar stage like multiple hurdles on a race course.

“Are you sure about this, Dan?” Grey asked.

“God knows.” I said. They all stared at me in horror. They trusted me to follow my crazy gamble. I must lie, I must sound confident, if not for the children’s sake. Some of them are too young to understand what we said but they could recognize the fear in our eyes.

I said to them, “Listen. These creatures are poor climbers, and they would need to climb over twenty rows of prayer benches to get to us. This means that we can take them out one by one slowly. They can break down the door, but not twenty rows of wood stacked against each other.”

I turned to Grey, handling him the shovel. I said, “Grey, you are the strongest guy among us. I need you to be on the shovel duty.”

“What am I supposed to do?” He asked.

“As soon as we kill one, push their corpse over to the bench below.” I said.

“We need Grey to help us kill.” Grace said.

“No, the corpses must not pile up on the stage. It’s hard to explain but we will die if that happens.”

Felicia was about to say something when the wooden door finally broke off at its hinges. Our hearts stopped as the horde poured in, pushing and crushing their weights against the prayer benches.

Hundreds? Thousands? We didn’t dare to count.

Some of them were crushed from behind, dropping down on their knees on the benches like they were praying. I held my breath and prayed to God that it would work. I never believed in anything. My family didn’t either. But right now, I needed to believe in miracles.

I mustn’t die. Not now, not yet.

The benches are over three feet tall and the infected wasn’t able to coordinate their limbs to climb over properly. With the weight of the horde pushing from behind, we see the first row of the infected behind crushed against the wood. Some bent over and had their necks crushed when the wave behind pushed them over the first row of benches. There were at least eight infected collapsed within the first minute.

“They are stampeding themselves to death!” Felicia said.

“It worked!” Tristan exclaimed. So far, only four of the infected got past the fifth row of benches.

“Let’s give them a hand.” I said. The five of us who are uninjured and mobile grabbed the candle sticks and climbed over the benches. Even those few that got past the first few rows couldn’t quite get themselves up on their feet. We impaled them before they could even get up.

A cathedral was built for their acoustic so that the organ and choir can carry the music to every corner in the hall. Right now, their moans filled every corner like a haunting death chant. We could hardly hear each other without shouting.

“Stay here, let them come to us.” I shouted.

We stood at the fifth and the sixth row. Never approach the infected unless they had lost their balance. That’s what I told them.

Just like that, we killed them one by one, mechanically. At least a hundred corpses piled up the first few rows that way.

“Bring it on!” Felicia screamed at the infected, taunting them. A maniacal glint flashed in her eyes as she impales one. Each and every of her kills feel very personal.

“We need to retreat now.” I said. There are enough corpses lined up before us to allow the infected to crawl over them easily like a ramp. I noticed some had started to flank us so we moved back at least seven rows before they trickled in quicker than we can handle.

We killed another hundred or so, before we need to retreat back again. By then, some of us are already showing signs of fatigue.

“Keep going. Each of us just has to kill one or two hundred of them and we might make it out alive.” I shouted to them since we were spread out.

“What if they keep coming?” Tristan yelled.

“Then we keep killing them.” Felicia said.

I didn’t know how long it went, or how many we killed. I tried to keep count of my kills.

Thirty-seven.

Ninety-eight.

By the time I killed over two hundred I had lost count. My body moved on its own like time doesn’t exist anymore. The entire cathedral hall was littered with corpses by the time we retreated back to the altar stage. There are many more of them coming in from the gates, but we couldn’t tell from the inside. A few hundred, a few thousands? We don’t know. My arms are cramped, and so are my legs.

The altar stage is much narrower than the hall itself and the infected takes a few minutes to climb up to the last row before us. Grey told me to take a rest. We only need two to handle the approaching infected at a time.

Hours passed. And it felt like eternity. We took turns to kill the approaching ones. A mechanical slaughter, I thought to myself.

Stab, pull, kick.

Don’t think about Mark, not yet.

Tristan took over Grey on the shovel duty. The corpses in front of the stage are starting to pile up like a wall. By late afternoon, when our shadows grew long, the wall of corpses is more than ten feet high. We were completely circled in. We waited almost twenty minutes before we saw the next infected crawl over from the top. It dropped to his death, breaking its neck even before the Nun could get up from the floor to finish it off. It’s a lot harder to throw them off the altar now. It took at least three of us to shovel the heap of bodies so that it is stacked just over the edge of the stage.

The whole hall stank of blood and rot. Most of the children had cried themselves to sleep. Tristan pushed the church organ against the wall so that he can step on it and peek out of the high window. There are none in the back yard. We had finally killed the last of them. For now.

There must be many more that survived the drop from the highway. But there is enough of the infected stench to mask our bodily scent. Tristan walks up to me, resting his forehead against mine.

“We made it, brother. I can’t believe it.”

The seven of us against two thousand infected. Somebody counted. Who would have believed it? Throughout all that killing, I felt like someone else was doing the killing. It didn’t felt like me. Even right now, none of it seems real.

The Nun introduced herself as Sister Beatrice Latoya. This is her orphanage. And she thanked us for saving her children.

“You are one mother-fucking-crazy-cunt.” Peter spat on the floor and said to me. He was smiling, but I was too dazed to notice that. The nun came to me, wanting to touch my face but realize that both her hands and her habit are soaked in blood.

“You look like a cherub, but you weld a flaming sword like Michael. God answered my prayers.”

I looked at her blankly, none of her words made sense. “I don’t believe in God.”

I didn’t mean to offend her. It was a factual statement. She looks at me gently and smiled. She said, “It doesn’t matter child, He believes in you.”

I smiled at her. I wished I could believe in something. It must be nice and comforting. Just like how I used to believe in Santa. Then I could wish all of this away. I told her, “People say that this plague is God’s punishment for our sins.”

“Those crazy fundies.” Grace snorted.

I didn’t know why I said that, was I trying to provoke her? Was I hoping that the Nun will convince me that there is a big old man watching out for us while letting the rest of the world dies? Was it anger? I didn’t know. But I wanted to lash out at something.

“To sin, means to miss the mark. What is the mark of God, my child?” She asks, and then she looks at the children with loving gaze.

Love.

Mark.

We do stupid things, desperate things for love. Just like Grey, hell bent on a hopeless crusade to save his wife. Just like me, hoping unreasonably that somehow Mark could survive that fall. And even if he did, he could survive the horde by himself. But that is love. We try, or die trying.

Something warm wrapped around me. I didn’t realize what was going on until I look down and saw the little boy I saved. He wanted me to carry him.

“Why didn’t you evacuate with the children?” I asked her softly as I picked him up.

She looked at the eight of them, now nine, and said, “How can I keep all of them safe on the run? I prayed to God for guidance. And by that time, they came banging on the gates.”

Then she turns around, looks at us and says, “But God had sent his angels in the end.”

Angel? I thought we are like the Devil. There is so much death in here. This entire Cathedral is piled up to the ceiling with corpses. And she calls me an angel? I didn't know if I should laugh.

I heard a loud thud. I thought another infected had fell over the edge. I stood up, the adrenaline pumped up all again. Then I realized it was my brother. He collapsed from exhaustion.

Sister Latoya told us that she had food and medicine in her quarters next to the Cathedral. The front is completely stacked with corpses, so the only way out is to climb out through the windows behind. We need to take the children out anyway. The stench of corpses is soon getting unbearable, not to mention choking with diseases. It wasn’t easy to carry them out, especially with Grey limping and Tristan fainted. Sister Latoya is a frail, old Nun, probably in her sixties. Her feat of strength is nothing less of than a miracle or an incredible adrenaline rush. Those little children stared at her like she’s some Angel/Ninja-turtle mixed into one. But it’s up to me, Grace and Felicia to carry them across. We are the one who had still any strength left in us after the energy crash.

The sky had turned red by the time we settled in and washed up at the Nun’s quarters. The Sister boiled us a pot of carrot stew while my brother rests on her bed. After I fed Tristan, he went back to sleep. He had carried me to safety, and an army backpack that must have weighed a tonne. I washed up his face and burned the blood soaked uniform that he was wearing. The little boy still clung to me like those Koala bears I saw in Australia. I still didn’t know his name, and I wonder if he realized that his parents are gone. I hope he doesn’t. I hope the Sister will tell him that they went somewhere nice instead. I can’t bring myself to lie.

I lifted him up onto the bed and asked him, “What’s your name little buddy?”

“Adam.”

“Well Adam, you are a big boy aren’t you?” I asked.

He nods his tiny head.

“This is Tristan. And he’s like a Koala bear too. Just like you. Do you know what a Koala bear is?” I asked him. He shook his head.

“Well, it’s like a Teddy bear, except that he’s real. And he doesn’t sleep well unless he cuddles something to sleep. You look perfectly cuddly, don’t you?”

The boy blinks with his big adorable eyes. Bright green eyes, just like Mark’s. And I put him down next to my brother, watching the both of them snuggle up and sleep. As soon as I hear their deep, slow breathing, I took the pistol and flash light from the bag and I walked out of the room.

Chatter.

Smiles and soft laughter.

Everyone was grateful to be alive. Grace is stitching up Peter. Grey has a fresh set of bandage. But I felt cold and disconnected. There is a big hole in my heart that even Grace couldn’t stitch it up.

“Where are you going?” Grey asked me as I open the door.

“I’m going to check the perimeter.”

It was a lie. The metal gate is now locked and the fences are more than six feet high. Grey saw through me. That’s why he followed me into the courtyard.

“Let me help you.” He said. He knows that I’m going to look for Mark.

I turn around and look at Grey.

“Your leg.” I reminded him. He sighs, as if he had forgotten about his wound.

“But I still need your help.” I said.

“Let me get my weapons.” He said.

“No, Grey. I need you to look out for my brother. When he wakes up, tell him that I’m sorry. Don’t let him come after me. Please.” I said so softly that I can barely hear myself.

“That’s a lot to ask, Daniel. We need you here.”

“I’m only a kid.” I said to him.

“You are Tristan’s kid. Our kid.” He said.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment.

“I need to go. I will come back by sunrise. If I don’t, then leave this place without me. Knock him out or drag him away if you have to. I beg you.”

I didn’t wait for Grey to answer. With my short little legs, I can’t even climb over the fence by myself. I felt Grey’s hands around my waist, pushing me up until I jump over to the other side of the fence.

“Thank you.” I said to him, turning to face the darkening woods.

“Daniel.” Grey called me back. “Come back safely.”

He smiles, but I didn’t understand why at that moment.

Confidence? Gratitude? Grey seems so different now. He’s not that despondent soul anymore.

Ever since we escaped from the camp, we had been on the run. We didn’t talk much about what happened. It’s like no one wants to remember them. When Grey said that we are family now, I didn’t quite understand what he means back then. As I run away, leaving my brother behind, I finally understood. Families look out for each other. And I didn’t realize I already had one when Grace opened up and told me about her past. I didn’t realize it when Felicia toughened up or when Peter offered me - the faggot or the cunt, in his words – food, and sat next to me and ate together. I didn’t realize it the first time when Grey said that we are family, and I didn’t realize it the second time when he said I am their kid. But as I run away, thinking about the countless times we had risked our necks for each other, with no words for thanks, no great speeches, just a muted quiet longing that we will see each other’s faces when we open our eyes when the next morning comes. That’s exactly how families are like. I suddenly remembered I had never thanked Mom or Dad. I mean for real.

Grey understood that. That’s why he didn’t stop me from looking for Mark. No need for grand speeches to express how we feel. Don’t jinx our lucky streak for being alive till this day or tempt fate by saying things like we live for each other. Just get him back alive. Just come back alive. That’s all his smile and his eyes are telling me.

I ran into the woods like the howling autumn wind.

The branches rattled angrily like a snake, sweeping up leaves and carrying the infected moans in the wind.

I should be afraid. But I felt nothing.

By that time, I could think of nothing but Mark. His voice, his face, his scent, I almost let my legs carried my body. I didn’t even know where to look. The sky is darkening. And if I still don’t find him before then. There is little hope that I will still find him alive.

By instinct or by luck, I found myself back to the river bank. If he had jumped off after us, the river might have washed him away. That is, if he had survived the fall to begin with.

No, I mustn’t rest until I see his face or his corpse. I ran along the river bank, spotting some bodies that are already bloated so badly that I can’t tell if it’s him.

The clothes, I thought. I can recognize him by his clothes. He was wearing a jacket and Tristan’s white shirt. Of course, his shirt wouldn’t be white by now. The jacket might also have been torn off or something. By the eighth body that I flipped over, I almost gave up hope.

Then I saw a body wearing that dark blue jeans and something that resembling a white shirt. But I can’t see the face, because an infected is crawling over him.

It was that familiar moan resounding in the darkening skies.

I charged up and made screamed out loud, hoping to grab its attention.

Do I shoot? What if I miss? What if the bullet shoots through the infected and kill Mark as well. Is it Mark?

It was a split second before I kicked it away and shot its head.

It is Mark.

Oh God. Blood and scratches are all over him. His face is hot, like fever. Is he bitten? Am I too late?

The infected moans snapped me out of the fear. I am not strong enough to carry him so I dragged him across the muddy ground.

Please don’t die. Please don’t turn. Where is the saw? Did I bring the saw? What if I need to amputate him?

I heard a scream in the distance and some running shadows ahead. I tried to drag him back to the estate but I had no strength left in me. The sky is a dark shade of blue and I almost tripped over a stone. The moans fill the cold, damp, air. I can’t tell how many of them but I can’t fight them off in the dark. The Cathedral is only about two hundred yards away but I can’t risk him being in the open like that. As soon as I see the first house, I dragged him into it, barricade it with the sofa, and pulled him up the stairs.

I wished I had learnt something about first aid.

I didn’t know what I’m supposed to do. Am I supposed to check for pulse? Is he breathing? I tried to slap him awake, and then I vaguely recall that you had to do CPR when someone drowned. I lifted Mark on to the bed, trying desperately to remember the CPR procedures. I think I’m supposed to tilt his head, pinch his nose and blow air into his mouth or something.

I placed my lips over his, trying to blow air in. Then I realized he was already breathing. Weak and slow, but he is breathing. There is no need for me to do CPR, but somehow I found myself kissing him instead.

Am I dreaming?

Is that why his lips are moving? Is he… kissing me back?

Mark opens his eyes slowly. He looks disoriented, a little surprised to see me. Then he smiled. And I realized I was practically molesting him while he was unconscious.

“Hey…” He said softly. “It was you.”

“I… I’m sorry.” I felt like I’d swallowed two feet into my throat. “I wanted to do CPR, but…”

“You call that mouth-mauling CPR?” He chuckles. I burst out laughing and crying at the same time. His hand touched the back of my neck and I felt like a dam broke in my heart. I couldn’t stop the tears. And I buried my face in his shoulders for a long time.

“Hey, I’m just kidding. It’s not that bad. I actually thought I was making out with Megan Fox in my dream-” He said weakly, interrupted by a coughing fit.

“You are hanging around my brother way too much.” I said.

He smiled.

“Mark, are you bitten? There’s blood all over you. And there was an infected over you…”

“I don’t remember. Everywhere is hurting right now.”

“I need you to get up. I have to check your wounds.”

The sky is almost dark now. This house still has electricity, but I can’t risk lights in the bedroom where there are windows. I helped Mark to his feet and made our way into the bathroom. He sank his weight into the bathtub. Mark said the infected turned in minutes. And it has already been ten minutes since I dragged him to safety. But Grace said that the infection time depends on the strain of the virus. If Mark got hit by the ‘slow burn’ HRN0, it might take days for him to turn.

I unbuttoned his muddied shirt. Unzipped his pants and pulled down his shorts. His body is caked in mud and blood. I can’t see much of his skin, much less to check his wounds. I took out the shower head, praying for water. Despite what I told Sister Latoya, I am praying a hell lot today. And God answered my prayers. There is water. Hot water.

Mark squirmed in pain as I wash away the dirt. That’s when I saw the huge gash across his right arm. The wound is wide open and badly inflamed. I need to stitch him up or it will turn gangrene. Shit, there are too many priorities I need to juggle but there is so little time.

Bite marks. I need to check for any bite marks.

There are none. Or some cuts were too badly torn open that I can’t tell if it was a bite mark anymore. It could’ve been a chunk of flesh being chewed away for all I know.

Disinfectant. I need something to clean his wounds.

Needles and threads.

Painkillers.

Jesus! Why didn’t I bring any of those with me?!

I dashed out of the bathroom, searching the house frantically with my flash light. If this family left in a hurry, there might be a chance for him to leave something important behind. Where would someone keep needles and threads?

I checked out the Master bedroom. Opened the drawers, all the valuables are gone, which is fine. I searched in the bed stands. Nothing. Went to the next room, it’s a study room. I opened the drawers. Needles and threads! Who keep such things here?

Fire. I think fire will sterilize the needle. Probably would need that. Kitchen. I dashed down and found a box of matches in the almost emptied drawer. Nothing else there except for a skinny looking pet hamster left behind by the owner.

I still can’t find any medicines and disinfectants. But I found a bottle of vodka. I remembered reading something about Vodka can be used to sterilize wounds and kill bacteria. Under such circumstances, I have no choice but to hope that it works.

I went back to the bathroom with two towels in my hand. I rolled one up and asked Mark to take a big sip of the Vodka, and then bite the towel.

“This is going to sting.” I warned him as I poured the alcohol over his wound.

His muffled cry filled the bathroom. I’m not sure exactly how to sterilize the needle, let it heat over the fire? Douse it in alcohol? I ended up doing both, just in case.

“Close your eyes, Mark. Think of Megan Fox. Or whatever that makes you happy.” I said.

He forced a grin through the grimace and nods slowly. I close my eyes, trying to visualize and remember how Tristan did it for Grace. The gaps are close, I remember. How did he tie the thread? That’s the most important thing. I soak up the blood with the towel, pressing the skin together as I puncture it with the needle, linking the thread across.

Take a deep breath. Don’t screw this up. If I don’t stitch properly, I will make things worse for Mark.

Eleven stitches.

Mark passed out for a while by the time I was done. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he asked for was the vodka. I cut up the clean towel and used it to bandage his thigh. The rest of the cuts are minor abrasions that should heal after I cleaned it. The only problem left is the fever. Should I risk going out to hunt for meds? Perhaps I can sneak my way back to the Cathedral and get some supplies back.

No. That would be too risky. It is dark and I don’t know how many are out there. How I wished I had some fungal powder with me right now. I helped him back to the bed, dried him up and covered him in a blanket. Mark grabbed my hand as I stood up.

“Where are you going Dan?”

“I need to find some food for you. Your body needs something to fight off the fever.”

He shook his head. “Nothing is going to help this fever, Dan. You know it.”

I refused to believe that. “You don’t know it.”

“Even if that thing didn’t bite me, I have open wounds all over. All it needs to do is to touch me.” He said.

“No. Not with all that mud-”

“Stay with me, please. And finish me off when I turn, okay?”

“I kissed you, so I am probably infected already.” I said as a matter of fact.

“So that was a kiss.” He grins. I can’t believe he still has the mood to make fun of me at this time.

I left without saying another word. Where am I going to find food for him? The kitchen is empty. There is nothing in the fridge. There are pots and pans but nothing edible. Then I heard a squeak. And I remembered the hamster.

I look at the emaciated, pitiful creature. “I’m sorry buddy. It’s either you or Mark.”

It felt silly to cry like a baby, skinning a hamster when I had slaughtered hundreds if not thousands of people today. Life is pretty screwed up right now. I vaguely remember from Tristan’s little Boy Scout survival guide on how to survive on rodents in the wild. Remove their skin and entrails, that’s where all the diseases are. That rule is meant for eating them raw. But I didn’t have to do that. There might not be gas in the stove, but there is water, pots and a box of matches.

“I made some stew.” I brought up the pot to the room. Mark looks deathly pale.

“Really? What is it?” He asked.

Hamster stew.

“Chicken.” I lied. I just hope it taste like one.

He sat up on the bed, smiling as I feed him with a spoon. His hand is shaking too badly to drink it by himself. He ate quietly. The flash light casts eerie foreboding shadows on our faces. But he said, “Thanks for the candlelight dinner.”

“It’s not funny, Mark.” I said, but I am grinning from ear to ear. And I am blushing all the way to my ears.

He puts a hand over mine, he said, “No seriously, Dan. Thank you.”

He looks at me, but I am unable to return his gaze.

Fear and courage are strange things. You can kill. You can put your life on the line. But you can’t look at someone you love.

“I lied about why I took two days to get to your side when I saw your signal.” He whispers, voice hoarse and weak. His speech is starting to slur, I wonder if he is getting delirious. I felt his hand searching for mine.

Then with great effort he continues, “I was sitting beside Dad’s body for two days, holding his gun next to my head. Everything that meant something in my life was gone. You literally brought the light back when you turned on this baby.” He looks at the flash light, reminiscing the time we thought that we are the only humans left in this world.

“When I was holding the gun next to my head, I keep thinking that tomorrow is not worth waking up to.”

He turns and looks at me, taking a deep breath, as if making sure that I am listening to something profound that he’s going to say.

“Then I thought what if the person flashing the light across the road is a hot chick?”

I burst out laughing and wiping off a tear at the same time.

“You are seriously annoying, Mark. I thought you are much deeper than my brother.”

He chuckles, then grimace in pain the next second. “But you know what? I risked my ass, dragged my feet through a horde of psychotic cannibals, and I found you instead.”

He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “Then I thought tomorrow is not so bad waking up to after all.”

I sat beside him quietly. Mark faints again, from pain or from exhaustion. I don’t know. I started seeing things in front of me. I saw Dad, sitting on an armchair, reading newspaper with his thick rimmed glasses. I know it isn’t real. But it feels real. I’m having a waking dream. Is this what it’s like to be infected? To be trapped in a perpetual dream?

Mark wakes up again, rambling and delirious. I slapped his cheek gently, hoping that he will snap out of it. His gaze focuses for a moment and he seems to recognize me again.

“Oh hey, it’s you again.” He smiles a goofy grin.

“Not Megan Fox this time?” I whisper into his ear.

“Not quite as sexy.” He mutters with his eyes half-closed.

Then I felt his hand on mine again. This time, he brings it over to let me touch his cock.

“What are you doing Mark?” I chided him. He’s clearly not being lucid right now, but I am already hard as a rock.

“Comfort me, Dan. Take away the pain, even if it’s for a while.” He said weakly.

“You are not thinking clearly, Mark.” I said.

“No, I’m scared Dan. I’m scared that this is it.” He shakes his head, eyes rolling all over the place. He is rambling again, “Make it quick when I turn, will you?”

He buries his face on my chest as my hand fondles him under the blanket. He lets out a little gasp when I started stroking him. It feels weird to be intimate like this. Infection, fever, stranded at the foot of a mountain with a million people on the road, succumbing to the plague, chances are low that we will see tomorrow morning. When Mark asks me to take away the pain, I don’t think he means just the body. He’s asking me to take away the ache in the heart, the losses we suffered, and the fear that is creeping under our skin. Wanking can take away all that for a few seconds. That’s why everybody beats their meat.

When I felt his penis throbbed, I pull off the blankets and lean over his body. Mark has way too much dick, even when half of it is buried under the thick bush of pubes - thick, long, slightly curved to the side and a roundish head that blushes the same shade of pink as my cheeks. I take it into my mouth lovingly, kissing it like I’m kissing him goodnight on his forehead. I licked off his pre-cum, lathering the rest of his cock with my tongue. The whole thing feels surreal, like I’m out of my body. Just like the way I’m slaughtering the infected with a zen-like calmness. Perhaps it’s the peace from watching him writhe in pleasure instead of pain, and from seeing him moan softly and primal, but not like those hideous creatures. Not yet, at least.

He came in my mouth. Pulse after pulse of cum, it taste of salt, of Mark and something else. I swallowed every drop and I watch him falls into a peaceful slumber. I barred the door with the chair. Then I joined him in the bed, snuggling up and whispering into his ears, “If you are going to turn, so will I. We will stay in this room together forever. Just like the old times.”

He was asleep by then, and probably didn’t hear what I’ve said. I lie down, close my eyes and feel his naked body, waiting for the dreams to descend on me forever.