by Urban, Tony
He'd barely gotten over the excitement of the chickens when he heard a whiny moo inside the barn. Chickens, he could understand. It seemed entirely possible that the smell of poultry past had drawn them to his farm and that explained their presence, but a cow was harder to write off as happenstance and, when he peeked inside the barn and saw three of them, his heart sank.
Wim supposed it shouldn't have been a surprise that some other survivor had stumbled upon his farm and made it their home, but the notion of it made him sick. He'd never thought himself to be a selfish man, but this was the only thing he had left in the entire world and he didn't want to share it with anyone. If he'd wanted a roommate, he could have returned to Zeke and the cabin in North Carolina.
Then he realized that the person who'd taken over his farm might not be interested in roommates either. So uninterested that they might not only share his disappointment, but that they might shoot him on sight or, at best, send him away. After all there were no more laws. No deeds to say, 'This is mine, not yours.' Whoever had been living here had just as much right to the farm as he did. Maybe more.
Wim considered leaving at that very moment. He could turn on his heels and head off somewhere else and never have to deal with the awkwardness of confronting this new resident. Before he could do that, he heard a shotgun shell being racked into the chamber. He swallowed hard.
"I am unarmed and not a threat. I promise you that," he said and hoped that would be good enough to keep himself from getting shot in the back.
No response came.
"This was my farm a while back. That's the only reason I'm here now. I've been away for a long time though, and I guess things change."
Still no answer. He risked swiveling his head a slight amount, trying to look behind himself and see who held him at gunpoint, but he couldn't make anything out without risking a more dramatic movement.
"I'm going to turn around now but I'll do it real slow and I'll keep my hands in the air. Please, don't shoot me."
"Jesus Christ, Wim. I won't shoot you."
The voice. It was so familiar to his ears. He knew it the second he heard it, but he had to be wrong. It was his mind playing a mean prank on him, nothing more. That wasn't her voice. It couldn't be.
"What the hell are you waiting for?"
His heart kicked into overdrive and he felt his stomach tie itself up in a knot. It's not her, he kept telling himself. It's impossible. He knew he was going to hate himself for it, but he was so excited he could barely stand still. Then he stopped trying.
Wim spun around, dropping his arms and not caring if he got shot because if the person with the gun wasn't Ramey, he'd just as soon be dead anyway.
But it was her.
She dropped the gun and it clattered on the floor, making her flinch as if she expected it to go off and, in some horrible twist of fate, kill one of them. Only the shotgun didn't go off and she ran past it and didn't stop running until she hit him in the chest so hard he lost his balance.
He tried to regain it, but it was too late, and they fell onto the dirt floor, getting tangled up in the old straw and moldy feed and not caring in the slightest. She grabbed his hair, which had grown so long he was almost embarrassed by it and pulled their faces together and kissed him. He kissed her back and they stayed locked in that embrace, afraid to let the other go, for so long Wim's arms started to go numb.
"How?" He asked. He knew there should have been more words in that question but could only get out the one. That one was enough.
"I guess I just had the flu. I realized that about a week later when I was still alive. I tried going back to the cabin, but you know my sense of direction always sucked. I ended up in Georgia and by the time I did get back, you were long gone."
It was all so much to take in. Wim didn't know what to say but that was okay because Ramey, as always, talked enough for the both of them.
"I can't believe you gave our cabin to some old fart named Zeke."
"In my defense, I thought you were dead."
"I know, but still. Zeke? I stayed with him for almost a month, just in case you came back. He kept feeding me green beans. And saying, ‘I wishum you was my woman.’ Ugh." Ramey stuck her finger in her mouth and faked a gag. “I’d rather be with Bobby Mack.
“Who’s Bobby Mack?”
Ramey grinned and Wim thought he saw some color rise in her cheeks. “Never mind.” She kissed him again. "I thought about wandering around and looking for you, but I knew the odds of it were a billion to one. So, I came back here. I really didn't expect that you'd ever come home, but this place, just being here, it made me feel like part of you was still with me."
"I'm sorry," Wim said. His throat was tight, and he felt like crying but fought against that. "I never should have let you go."
"You didn't, you dummy. I saw you out there digging my grave. I took it upon myself to leave. I thought it would be easier for the both of us. Thank God I was too much of a coward to shoot myself."
Ramey put her hands on his face, her fingers entwined in his beard. "And you really need to shave." She laughed. He didn't know how much he'd missed that sound until he heard it again.
"I know."
“But I like the hair.” She grabbed handfuls of it and pulled his face into hers and they kissed, long and lazy and never wanting the moment to end. “My God, Wim. I'm so damn happy."
“I am too.” And he was. Happier than he ever thought possible.
"Tell me where you've been all this time."
He knew he'd tell her all of it soon, but he didn't want to spoil the moment. There'd be time for stories later. For now, he just wanted to hold his wife, his love, in his arms. Even if the world was coming to an end around them, there was still happiness to be found. There was still something worth living for. A reason to go on.
THE END
Author’s Note
And there we have it, dear readers. I hope I managed to create a satisfying finale for you and remained faithful to the characters and the story. Writing this was an emotionally taxing experience, but I’m glad there was some light at the end.
And who knows, since there are some survivors, they might reappear down the road, but for the time being, let’s pretend they lived happily ever after.
I’m going to take a break from zombies for a little while. I need to cleanse my palate and I have a few thrilling horror story ideas I’m planning to write. I sincerely hope you’ll follow me along this long and winding road.
I can never thank you enough for taking the time to read these books. The success of this series is because you took a chance on a mostly unknown writer from rural Pennsylvania and you cared enough about these characters to keep on reading. And I love you for that!
I sincerely enjoy hearing from readers, so if you’d like to reach out, please visit my website or send me a friend request on Facebook. The links are:
http://www.tonyurbanauthor.com
http://Facebook.com/tonyurban
I also love giving my readers free stuff so if you sign up for my mailing list, you’ll get 3 free short horror stories.
http://www.tonyurbanauthor.com/signup
As always, Happy Reading! And thank you, from the bottom of my heart!
About the Author
A professional photographer, writer and fan of general weirdness (both real and imagined), Tony has traveled tens of thousands of miles seeking out everything from haunted locations, UFO crash sites and monsters like Bigfoot and the Mothman. In a previous life, he worked in the independent movie industry but he finds his current career much more exciting.
Tony's first writing memory involves penning a short story about taking a road trip with his best friend and his dog (two different creatures) to watch KoKo B Ware in a professional wrestling event in Pittsburgh. He wrote that epic saga while in the 3rd grade and it was all downhill from there.
His first books were a series of offbeat travelogues but recently his zombie apocalypse series, "Life of the Dead" has b
een a bestseller online and grossed out readers all over the world.
His ultimate goal in life is to be killed by a monster thought by most to be imaginary. Sasquatch, werewolves, chupacabras, he’s not picky.
If that fails, he’d enjoy making a living as a full time writer. Which of those two scenarios is more likely is up to the readers to decide.
For more information:
tonyurbanauthor.com
[email protected]
