Hanish lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had been on the farm ever since that day, a prisoner of his own memories. He had gone back to the base, scavenging for MREs and managing to snag some weapons. The emptiness of the base still haunted him – no soldiers, no undead, just an unsettling silence. He glanced at his drawer, where the pistol lay.

  Suddenly, a noise from outside jolted him. He got up, his heart pounding, and walked to the door. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Aleaha had returned, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. He stepped outside, only to find one of his cows alone in the field. He screamed for it, his voice echoing in the stillness, and ran towards it as it approached the tall fence that now encircled his farm.

  The ringing began, a sound he recognized as if he’d forged it himself. He yelled again towards the cow. A hand shot up from the ground, sharp and swift. Then, about 50 more. The bodies of the undead tucked themselves low in the grass. They were swift and fast. Suddenly, they were at the fence, reaching for the cow. The undead had risen. Hanish managed to reach the cow, firing at the undead, one by one. They snarled, saliva dripping from their mouths.

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  Hanish raised his pistol and began firing. One by one, the undead dropped. The startled cows returned to the area with their herd. Tears streamed down Hanish’s face as he shouted for the creatures to leave. He saw people he knew, his neighbors, including the man he sold feed to.

  Hanish had never felt truly alone before this moment. All he wanted was Aleaha back and his brother alive. He wished he could turn back the clock to before everything went to hell. He stepped back, glaring at the herd of undead before him. It was a terrifying sight. They were fast, but his fence was invincible.

  Hanish turned around and locked the gate to the field where the cows were kept. “Rita, you are a bad girl,” he said, swatting the escaped cow on the rear. She let out a soothing moo, and he wiped his eyes. He dropped his pistol down as he went into the house. He opened his refrigerator, grabbing a cold beer. He popped it open and chugged it. He wasn’t a drinker before all this happened, but something about the situation made him crave it.

  He turned around, facing the disaster his house had become. Open food packets and cans littered the floor. If Aleaha were here, she would be ashamed of him, or so he believed.