You stood at that bed for hours, watching her take her shallow breaths that shook her entire body. Your stepfather would later refer to the sound she made as a “death rattle.” You couldn’t keep in your tears as you came face to face with her hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and gray skin. You were told that she wasn’t in pain, but her constant moaning and groaning said otherwise. You wanted to go home, you couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. You wanted her to come back, and be who she used to be only a few months prior. She would never be that person again. You would ever see her smile again. Two days later, she died.

You can’t cry. You see the disarray that your family is in. You see how much your parents are struggling with this. You can’t add on. You make dinner everyday. You go to work. You go to auditions. You stay under the radar. You barely speak because you can feel the rock in your throat when you open your mouth. You look in the mirror and hate what you see. You want to cut your hair off, because it’s filled with tangles and split ends. You want to dye your hair, because it’s been the same for a year. You stop putting effort into your appearance, because what does it matter if people think you’re pretty?

You stand in front of the mirror while clutching a pair of dull scissors, tears falling down your face, burning your skin. You grab a clump of hair and saw the scissors through it, watching the red strands fall from your fingers into the sink drain. You turn the water on and shove the hair down the drain, clogging the pipes. But you feel different. You feel better, but it’s not enough. You hear steps come through the front door, so you quickly put the scissors away and leave the room, cleaning your face of tears. It’s time to continue taking care of your entire family.

Months pass and you’re all doing better. You head down to Bandon, Oregon by yourself to her memorial. You become hypnotized by the passing cars and trees zooming past the windows. Your hands go limp on the steering wheel as you feel nothing but sadness and longing. Because you know that when you open the door, you will see everyone in your family. Everyone but her.

Her ashes were placed by a rock during low tide, so that she would be carried off by the waves. You walk down to the beach with your family after you bring yourself to leave the house. You walk with your mother, sisters, uncle, and cousin. Your uncle points out the rock and explains the death to his three year old son.

“We put grandma’s ashes right there at that rock so that when the tide came in, she would be taken away by the waves. Now, she is everywhere.”

You feel your heart jump into your throat as you hear him say that. For the first time in months, you realize that she isn’t gone. She will always be here. She is everywhere.

Sweat drips down my face, my entire body beginning to shake as I feel It’s presence behind me. I know It can’t see, It’s eyes having rotted away, maggots feasting on It’s flesh. I slowly and carefully inch towards the wall nearest to me, stepping over broken glass and rusty nails. Knowing that It relies on hearing alone, I hold my breath for as long as I can, praying that It will leave. After nearly a minute of It standing an inch away from me, It turns to walk away. Just then, my lungs betray me and I let out a loud cough, not realizing what I had done until It turned back to me and started barreling toward me.

“Shit.” I back up quickly, soon finding myself cornered against the wall. I look up at It, thick, black liquid pouring from It’s mouth as it opens. I see my fate lie between those teeth as It prepares to close It’s mouth around me. My mind goes blank, every survival instinct I kept from cavemen times kicking in as I chomp down on It’s arm. Thick, black, bitter fluid pours into my mouth along with squirming maggots. I pull away, coughing and sputtering, and instantly vomiting up everything I had eaten earlier. When I turn back around, It has fallen to the ground, seizing and convulsing, eyes slowly reforming and filling the gaping holes in It’s face. I watch in bewilderment as It’s gaping wounds slowly heal themselves, maggots falling on the ground and squirming away. It’s skin slowly changing from a lifeless gray to a lively rose undertone.

It is no longer It, but a he. A young boy, no more than 20, lays on the ground in front of me, perfectly still. I drop my bag and fall to the ground on my knees next to him. I touch his forehead and his eyes pop open, causing me to jerk my hand back.

“Ow, dude, I’ve got a killer hangover.” He looks up at me slowly, a look of confusion, then slowly, recognition. “Oh shit, wait. Wait, wait, wait.” He sits up and puts his head in his hands. “Am I a zombie?”

Thoroughly confused but willing to help, I answer. “Uh, yes. Well not anymore. You were attacking me and uh, well.” I gesture to his arm that’s sporting a fresh bite mark.

He looks down at it, then back up at me, eyes wide. “Did you bite me?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Dude! So not cool!”

“Well sorry, but in my defense you were about to turn me!” I huff, standing up stiffly, and swinging my backpack over my shoulders. “I’m leaving before any more come. Do you want to come with, since you’re obviously not able to survive on your own?” He looks offended at first, but then his face shifts to a look of shame.

“Yeah, totally. Let’s go.” I help him get to his feet before walking out of the building.

We walk for miles, talking the whole way. I find it helpful to have someone to talk to now, so I don’t end up going crazy or having a meltdown. We talk about everything: family, old friends, past relationships. We talk about everything left behind. Everything that got destroyed.

We arrive at the place I’ve decided to call my home in a world where I’ll never have a home again. I open the door and am greeted by the cold, empty halls. He asks me what this place is, I tell him that it was my home. Now it’s a lonely excuse for a house. He decides that it will become our home.

After seven long years of being alone in this terrifying world, I finally found a friend. And hopefully a cure to save this barren wasteland.