Janice pressed against the door, her heart hammering in her chest as she watched Hanish work with his pig. Suddenly, he erupted, screaming and throwing his tools. The outburst reminded her of her brother’s rages; while her brother also screamed, he would physically lash out, knocking her down and hitting her. She stumbled back into the house.

  Hanish turned and stopped abruptly, seeing her. Before him, she morphed once again into Aleaha, her eyes swelling as she stared at him as if he were a monster.

  “No,” he whimpered, reaching for her. Something tugged at his pant leg. He turned to see one of the undead grabbing at his leg. He yanked himself free, took aim with his pistol, and shot the creature three times in the face. He turned back, but Janice was gone. He jumped up and kicked the fence.

  He burst past Janice in the house, ran into the bedroom, and she heard a loud commotion as he ruffled through things. He then went back in, pulled out one of the chairs, and placed it in front of the gate. He sat down in it.

  “What are you doing?” Janice asked. He sat in silence, staring straight ahead, his body shaking. He held his pistol in front of him, his eyes searching the area as he swallowed hard.

  “Ain’t losing any more animals,” he stated. Janice looked around; he only had the two cows left. She wondered how long it would take for them to starve to death in this wasteland anyway.

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  Back in the house, she started searching through his cabinets. Baskets held a meager supply of vegetables, but there was no meat to be found. Opening the refrigerator, she discovered it was almost entirely empty, save for a few containers of milk. The realization struck her: they were essentially destitute. They couldn’t survive on vegetables alone.

  The thought of running back to her brother’s house crossed her mind, but she had barely managed the mile’s walk to Hanish’s. Stepping outside, she found him frozen, staring out at the field.

  Janice spent the day preparing undressed salads. She brought one or two to Hanish, who sat motionless in his chair, staring blankly out the window. Occasionally, he would fire wildly at the dead in the fields.

  “The food is turning… the vegetables are being affected… they are becoming rot in the dirt,” he finally said to her. He drank the glass of milk she brought him. “We have a week left at most.” She felt trapped, knowing there’s no feeling more miserable than not knowing what to do. She remembered that in zombie stories, the characters would find stores or something—a food source rooted in mystery.

  “Should I go explore tomorrow?” she asked, taking the glass from him and holding it close to her chest. He looked up at her, a lost expression on his face. He figured it might be best to just let her go.

  “Do what you want,” he said as the sun set at 5pm. He leaned up and started firing as they rose from the fields.

  Hanish raised his gun and pressed it against his temple. Janice turned and, seeing him, dropped her glass. It shattered on the ground as she lunged at Hanish, knocking the pistol from his grasp. The gun hit the ground, discharging a bullet that struck the gate. “Why the hell did you do that?” she shouted at him. He looked up at her, his eyes swelling with tears.

  “Go,” he growled. “Leave. You don’t need to be here. You are a stranger.” She smacked him hard, and then she, too, started crying.

  “We don’t know who all is out there, but as of right now, all we have is—” she wiped her eyes and leaned closer to him. “Each other.”

  He sat back, then stood up abruptly. “God damn it, Janice,” he muttered, leaning down to pick up his pistol. “Have you even looked around? There isn’t anything left. We are alone out here!” He gestured to the fields and the surrounding area.

  “We need to leave this farm,” she said. “There isn’t any food here, but we can explore the town. You still have your truck.”