Epilogue

Awareness slowly seeped into David's weary brain, taking time for him to gather enough energy to even attempt opening his eyes. But when he did, his vision was flooded, not with visions of either ethereal beauty or a demonic hell, but by a bright and crisp day.

Groaning, and being surprised by the sound of his own raspy voice, David rolled over, feeling exhausted in every inch of his body, and tried to figure out what was happening. He could see the sun shining outdoors. It was still mostly overcast outdoors, but there was enough sunlight he could see that the world outside, at least, seemed to be alive and welcoming.

Taking in his surroundings more fully, the first thing he noticed was the horrendous smell. Frankly, it smelled like somethi ... he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentiment, since he knew it was likely true. With the slowly dawning realization that he'd somehow survived, he tried to take stock of himself, before he attempted to check on anything, or anyone else.

His lips were badly cracked, his eyes caked, his skin felt like it was covered in filthy slime, and again, the smell was almost overpowering. He figured if he'd been lying there for long that he'd probably become acclimated to the smell, so it must be even worse than he imagined. Otherwise he was exhausted, thirsty, weak and starving. But, more than that, he was alive! Somehow he'd managed to survive, even though he'd been sure he'd died multiple times, only to be resurrected to painfully die time and time again. Yet, that realization didn't ease his concerns.

It was only after he figured out his own condition that he finally considered the situation around him. He knew what the smell was from. It was clearly from multiple dead bodies rotting in the still warm air, compounded by the shit and piss they'd each soiled themselves with. It was cooler than it was when he fell ill. He had no idea what time it was, what day it was, or how much time had elapsed since he'd fallen into incoherence. Clearly it was enough time for bodies to decompose, but not quite enough for him to have died from either dehydration or hunger. Speaking of which, he knew he needed water. He was clearly dehydrated enough to be in danger. He'd hate to see the color of his pee, but he knew he didn't have enough fluid in him to be able to. Besides, he could smell that he'd already voided everything in him.

As he rolled over to the edge of the bed, the dried remnants of his illness crackled as it peeled from his skin. There were no words to describe the ickiness of the situation, but he had more important things to consider than that.

Rolling over, he got his feet under him, and then unsteadily lowered himself to the floor, his legs not yet strong enough to support him. He crawled across the floor again, not yet healthy enough to use his hands and knees, and headed to where he knew the bathroom was. Using the toilet to brace himself, he pulled himself up, steadying himself until he let go long enough to topple towards the sink, just barely managing to grab onto it in time to prevent falling to the floor.

Once he had a stable grip, he reached up and turned the faucet on, glad he had enough electricity left to power the water pump, though he knew the batteries in the house would have lasted months with the little drain he'd left on them. He splashed some water on his face, feeling relieved at the cool feel of it. He awkwardly tried to wipe his face clean before he leaned in, taking a drink of the running water. He only took a sip, knowing drinking too much would make him sick, but he took a series of small drinks, reveling in each one.

Just that little refreshment gave him more energy, and he now felt like he could successfully stand on his own. He knew he needed food, but that could wait. There were more important things waiting for him. He took a moment to briefly wash down his arms and body, knowing he was putting off the inevitable, but also knowing the longer he waited, the more strength he'd have to face what he knew was awaiting him.

Finally he knew he couldn't evade it any longer. When he tried to stand, he realized he wasn't strong enough to do it for long, so he lowered himself to his knees, and again crawled, this time remaining on his knees, and slowly exited the bathroom, dreading what he was going to encounter.

Again he was assaulted by the horrendous smell, a combination of acidic urine, dried feces and the decay of what had been the loves of his life. As he passed the first bed, he glanced up, seeing the deceased form of Ellen. Her skin was sunken, cracked, and her eyeballs—staring up unseeing into the sky—were shriveled, showing just how long he'd been out of it.

Ignoring his aching heart, and knowing he couldn't do anything for her—at least until he'd managed to restore more of his strength—he continued, understanding the next sight would be much harder. He'd known that Ellen was gone before he'd slipped into the unknown; seeing his daughter, though, that would be tough having to face what he already knew had happened.

For such a small trailer, it seemingly took forever to cross, but eventually he did, continually having to fight off his own gag reflex at the smells that assaulted him. As he moved up to the next bed, the one closest to the entrance, he was relieved to feel a fresh breeze; which while it didn't lessen the stench of death, at least it mixed it with the scent of living. The smell of living trees, fragrant blossoms and green grass. He was also sure it had rained while he'd been out, and he'd never even been aware of it.

Finally reaching the bed he'd left Alice on, David steeled himself, pulled himself up and looked down at his daughter. Although she didn't look as bad as Ellen did, not having been dead for as long, she certainly didn't have the look of the living to her. She was thin, scrawny, filthy and pale, her skin having taken on the sickly gray look of spoiled meat left open for too long. Lurching forwards, he wrapped his arms around her, letting loose the tears he'd been afraid to release for the past several weeks.

He cried for her, for Ellen, for Linda, her mother, Maggie, Flora and each of the girls. As he did, his failure to protect each of them burned through him, provoking even more tears, though he had little bodily fluid to lose. Alice was cold to his touch, and her skin sloughed off in his hands, but still he held her tight, rocking her as he wept.

He couldn't decide if he was glad to be alive, or whether this was just a different form of hell that he'd been subjected to. Now he'd have to face life, his own, and the fresh green living things around him as a constant reminder of all that he'd lost, continually mocking him that he'd been both unable to save them, and hadn't been virtuous enough to have been taken along with them.

Just as he'd dreamed so long ago, he saw everyone's face flash before him as if he was encountering them in the darkened rooms of his nightmares, but this time, he saw them in full daylight, at their happiest moments, laughing, teasing, enjoying life, hoping for the best in a future that was never going to come. Again, he didn't know how to respond to these visions that seemed to both enliven and mock him for living when all he'd loved was gone.

He continued weeping, cradling his beloved daughter, remembering everyone that was gone, when suddenly something jumped. Frightened by the unexpectedness of it, he jerked back. There, before him, the lifeless body of his daughter jerked again, and he knew that the dead gave off gases, causing unexpected motions, sounds and scents. Steeling himself once more, he took her into his arms again, knowing he'd have to do something with her body soon.

But as he did, suddenly she gasped, drawing in a huge ragged breath that seemed to scream out to him. It was like seeing the dead coming back to life in a zombie movie, he didn't know whether to be scared to death, to pray to the heavens that she'd been saved, or relieved that his brains would soon be eaten, ending his misery.

But instead of falling back, she proceeded to cough dry gasps, searching for breath as she did, the pain in her rough gasps apparent. But instead of helping her, he enfolded her in his arms, positive now that she was alive, and trying to convey his own strength to her through osmosis.

She continued to cough, hacking in a broken reframe. Having no other source of assistance, and knowing he'd just rehydrated himself, he kissed her, trying to pass the little spit and moisture he could dig up. She not only soaked it up, but she began licking his tongue, his teeth, the sides of his mouth, seeking out the life giving moisture if offered her. Finally, coughing again, she weakly pushed him away.

"Nuff," she whispered. "Too weak."

David began crying once again, only now they were life affirming tears of joy. Even in the face of unbelievable pain, loss and untold deaths, he had at least one person to hold, to cling to, to use to motivate himself to live. He'd lost a tremendous amount, but with this one gift, he felt it more than made up for all the other losses he'd suffered. His darling Alice was alive!

"'ater," she gasped, and with reality now seeping into his brain, David hurried to the nearby kitchenette sink, struggling to stand as he did. Finding a dirty glass—the thoughts of contamination never once occurring to him as he filled it—he remembered not to fill it too full. Taking a single sip himself, to give him enough energy to return, he stumbled back to her, weaving dangerously as he did. Falling to his knees again, he offered her the partially filled cup as if it were his very heart.

Reaching out, she wrapped her dry, scaly fingers around it, and brought it to her chapped lips, still looking bluish gray rather than showing the healthy pink of the living. As she struggled to drink it, David reached up and ran his finger across her cheek. The moisture from the glass allowed his finger to plough through the dead skin, vomit and detritus surrounding her flesh, and he saw that under the gray lifeless exterior there was indeed healthy skin underneath.