“I wonder what time it is.”
“Time for you to die.”
“Stop that.” Philip got up from his bedside chair. The alarm clock in the bedroom broke during the struggle. The power was still on—although sporadic. He walked into the kitchen, glanced at the microwave clock, and saw that it was after midnight.
Outside, the distant sound of far-away thunder rolled across the sky.
Champ brushed up against his leg. Philip bent down and scratched the dog’s back end. Champ wagged his tail in delight. Then Philip readjusted the wet handkerchief tied around his face. It helped block out the smell.
He sighed. “It’s very late.”
“It is indeed,” Denise cackled from the bedroom. “Too late for you all! Humanity’s numbers are dwindling while ours grow. We are more than the stars. More than infinity.”
Philip rubbed his tired eyes. They were out of coffee and tea—almost out of food. He was physically and mentally exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. The couch hurt his back, and the bed—the bed they’d slept in—was out of the question. Denise had been tied to it for almost a week now, and she was leaking.
Slowly, he walked back into the bedroom. Champ trotted after him, stopping at the bedroom door. He refused to enter the room. Instead, he stood at the door and growled.
Denise was strapped spread-eagled to the bed frame with bungee and extension cords. More cords bound her torso to the mattress. There was a horrible bite mark on her arm. It was black around the edges, and oozed a stinking, yellowish-brown fluid. The bite was what had killed her—one of the neighborhood kids, dead but hungry. Philip had destroyed the zombie with a garden hoe to the back of its head, but that changed nothing. Infection set in. Within days, Denise was dead, as well.
“Getting a good look?” the zombie rasped.
Philip stared at her. Denise’s bathrobe was stained and crusty. Her abdomen had distended and then burst, and her bowels had evacuated. Her white cheeks were sunken, and her eyes looked hollow.
Despite all of this, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Why did this have to happen?” he asked. “Why to us? We were happy, weren’t we?”
The zombie groaned. “I’ve told you. I have your wife’s memories and your wife’s body, but I am not your wife.”
“No,” Philip shook his head. “You are. To me you still are. If Denise’s memories of us together still exist, then she still exists. What are we, if not memories? You are my wife, Denise, and I still love you.”
A worm wriggled out of the corner of Denise’s left eye. Philip tried to ignore it.
“You know what I miss the most? The little things. Watching a movie together or taking a walk. Talking—not like we’re doing now, but really talking to each other. You know? Holding your hand. Watching you while you sleep.”
He leaned forward.
“What are you doing?” Denise snarled. “Holding your hand, the way I used to.”
Her left hand fluttered against the bedpost, tied right at the wrist and again at the elbow. He took her hand in his. The skin was cold and clammy, but still felt like Denise. If he closed his eyes, he could picture them walking around the lake together, hand in hand, just like this.
He squeezed.
Denise squeezed back. Hard. Philip’s knuckles popped. Her laughter sounded like rustling leaves. Champ howled.
Philip gasped. “You’re hurting me.”
Denise began to sing. “I wanna hold your haaand. I wanna hold your hand.”
“Stop it!” Philip yanked his hand free and backed away from the bed.
“Come on, darling,” Denise tittered. “You remember the words, don’t you?”
Philip rubbed his fingers. They felt greasy. His pulse was racing, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. A tear rolled down his face.
“Why are you doing this? Tell me, Denise. Why? Can’t things be the way they were?”
“Why are you holding me like this,” the zombie countered. “Keeping me here? Why not just let me go?”
“Because we made a promise,” he whispered. “Till death do us part? That was our vow. But not even death kept us apart. You died—when that kid bit you on the arm, you got sick and you died. But you’re still here. You’re still with me.”
He went to the kitchen and selected the biggest knife in the drawer. Then he fed Champ for the last time, a mixture of dog food and rat poison. Champ gulped it down, wagging his tail. Philip returned to the bedroom and sat down in the chair again. He ran the blade across his wrists, and then slashed his own throat.
Philip died with their wedding vow on his lips. His soul departed—
—and a Siqqusim took its place.
The thing inside Philip sat up, examined his body, and then looked at Denise. It freed her corpse, and they began to hunt, free, unchained, and together in death—never to part.