Refuge: Tales from a Zombie Apocalypse

by Anthea Strezze

Life Goes On

  Felicia sat and watched her grandmother breathe.

  The rattling gasp in, followed by the slow multi-tonal wheeze of her exhale, then the agonizing pause before the next gasp. With each pause, Felicia held her own breath, wondering if it would be the last.

  She knew she should be singing, keeping her voice warm in case that last breath came during tonight's vigil, but she couldn't help it. She listened, and tried to breathe in time with Gran's irregular pace, as if she could keep the old woman breathing by sheer will alone. Part of it was fatigue, she knew. After three nights of vigil, she was starting to wear down. Gregory had offered to take the night vigil, and she knew that she should let him, but she couldn't help that either.

  It was her grandmother, after all, and she had promised.

  "Ten soothings, after I die," Gran had insisted. "Just like we did for your mother. Then you can break this old body down and burn it."

  Gregory said he understood, but he didn't have the patience for the soothing. His people generally just disabled the body as soon as they died, and burned it the same day. "Why ten times?" he had asked when her mother died. "Why not one? Or twenty, for that matter?"

  "One's not enough," Gran had said, "And twenty would be too much. Life has to go on, after all."

  And life would go on, even with the old woman gone. Even if it would be a much poorer life, without her funny stories. Felicia smiled, remembering the long-winded lecture her grandmother had given when the children ran up to her with some ancient device of plastic and wires, and asked what it was.

  She held her breath, trying to hold back her tears as well. "Thanks, Gran," she whispered. "Thanks for taking such good care of us. Now it's my turn, and I'll do my best, my very best to take good care of you."

  "You know I have peace in my heart," the old woman had told Felicia a week ago, when she had insisted on moving to the sick room. Even then, she hadn't been able to walk without help. "That's why you won't be seeing me back here once I've shuffled off. Those other ones, though, they've lost the way. Too full of anger and whatnot. That's why you've got to soothe them, even when they're using these old hands to try to kill you. Help them to move on, like a dead person should, and one of these days there won't be any more. They'll all be soothed away."

  "Yes Gran," she'd said obediently. At that point, she still assumed that Gran would get over this cold, just like she had the year before, and the year before that. Now, though...

  Gasp. Wheeze. Pause.

  She was going to miss Gran so much...

  She grimaced at the thought, and the raw emotion that it released. She doubled over, her body echoing her internal struggle to keep her sorrow contained, and gasped for breath, trying not to sob. Strong, she thought. I have to be strong, for Gran.

  When the time came, she had to be ready. Song, storytelling, a soothing voice. Just like soothing a fussy child, the important part was to keep going, no matter how much your own heart was breaking. There would be time enough to cry when the soothing was done.

  After a moment, she had herself under control again. Her breathing slowed and deepened, and she hummed a little under her breath to warm up her vocal cords.

  Then she realized that something was missing.

  She held her breath to listen, and shivered at the silence. No gasp. No wheeze.

  But no moan either. No movement, nor any sign of Gran's body getting out of bed to attack her. Zombies always attacked. It was why the sick room was designed with a barred door, so that the living could retreat to safety while still doing their best to soothe the dead. But there was nothing.

  "G-Gran?" Her voice cracked a little, and she swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. "Gran!"

  There was no response from the still body in the bed.

  Did she dare check for a pulse? But then if Gran died while she was checking... Instead, she started to sing, softly. She didn't move to bar the door, not yet, but she stayed in her chair, well out of reach of her grandmother's body. When Gregory came to spell her in the morning, she would check, if there was still any need. In the meantime, the singing was as much a comfort to her as to whatever soul might occupy Gran's body now.