Hanish left his house before dawn, heading towards his remaining pigs. Only two were left, frail and failing. He looked out at his cornfield, its stalks withered and dying, victims of the undead. He leaned over, tossing a bucket of last night’s supper – carrots mixed with cabbage. He’d made cabbage soup, a dish Aleaha had loved. The pigs eagerly devoured the food. Hanish straightened up, noticing a figure in the distance. He glanced at his watch. It was 4am, just as he’d expected, far too early for them to start rising now. The figure screamed something, a muffled cry. Hanish was confused. He ran towards it, hoping it was Aleaha.

  The figure clung to his gate, her hands grasping, trying to hold on. Hanish reached the woman, realizing she was much curvier than Aleaha. Her hair was a fiery autumn red, and she was soaked in blood. Was she undead, he wondered. He opened his gate and pushed at her. “Please,” she gasped, “help me.” He was relieved she was alive. He grabbed her arm quickly, pulling her into the area. He had to act fast before they could reach her. He didn’t know how she had managed to escape, let alone get away from the dead.

  He rushed the woman into his house, carefully laying her down on the couch. He grabbed the first aid kit from the counter and returned to her, gently examining her for injuries.

  He couldn’t help but notice she was a stunning woman. “Can you tell me where you’re hurt?” he asked. She pulled her camisole top up slightly, revealing a shard of glass embedded in her stomach. His heart lurched. He wasn’t equipped to handle something this serious.

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  “I had to jump out the window,” she gasped. He barely touched the glass and looked back at her.

  “I don’t have medical training, but my wife did,” he said.

  “Where is she?” The woman gasped. Hanish cringed. He didn’t know. It had been so long. It was months ago.

  “I…” he opened the box, trying to think, “…don’t know.”

  The woman extended her arm, grabbing Hanish’s and squeezing it. “You can do this,” she said. Hanish’s mind flashed back to Aleaha. She had come home in her scrubs, her hair a mess and all kinds of mysterious stains on her. She plopped down on the couch, reached under the TV into the stand, and pulled out a book. *I Wasn’t Strong Like This When I Started Out: True Stories of Becoming a Nurse* edited by Lee Gutkind. Hanish then remembered the book was still in the house. He dropped the woman’s arm. “My name is Janice Williams, by the way,” she said, smiling at him, though her voice was strained. Hanish bent down, searching under the TV. There it was, and next to it was Aleaha’s nursing notebook.

  “Hanish Johnson,” he said, pulling the notebook out. He leaned back and looked at Janice. “So that means you’re related to the Williams who live down the road,” he said, laying the notebook in front of him and flipping through it. *cleaning a wound*

  “Yes, I am Ivan’s sister,” she said, her voice weak. Hanish jumped up and went over to the first aid box, pulling out the alcohol wipes. He stood in front of her.

  “This is going to sting,” he said, his lip curling slightly. “Maybe,” he said slowly, starting to clean the area. She winced in pain. He pulled out the tweezers and examined them before gently grasping the glass piece. He slowly pulled it out. It began to bleed, and he quickly grabbed the gauze to stop the bleeding. He was holding it tight when he looked up to realize Janice had passed out. He threw the tape out with his other hand as he held tight on the gauze. He taped her down and pulled her shirt over the wound. He stood back and looked at her.

  “Ms. or Mrs.?” he snapped his fingers in front of her face. She was still unresponsive. He grabbed the smelling salts, snapping it and waving it in front of her nose. She gasped, opening her eyes. Her gaze was stuck on him.

  “Thank…” she gasped. “You.”