At first, there is nothing but murky blackness. She slowly swims her way out of it and wakes behind the wheel of a car. She feels groggy. Slow.

The car is crumpled against a brick wall, the driver’s side window is shattered, and her cheek, neck and left arm have all been gnawed upon rather severely. Her shirt is stained with blood. The wounds don’t hurt—just throb unnaturally. It feels like the pieces of missing flesh are still there somewhere, asleep. She fumbles with the car door for an unusually long time before it opens. She gets out and stands.

The car’s rear door is also open, and the car seat has been ripped out of it. It lies on the pavement, still trailing a piece of seatbelt. The baby has been mostly eaten: part of the head and neck, a shoulder and an arm are really all that’s left. But, like her, its dull eye is open with a kind of life and its mouth makes small sounds.

She looks at it for a moment, her head cocked as if trying to remember something, then shuffles off. She pauses outside a corner florist and stares at the flowers in buckets on the sidewalk for several minutes before trying to eat one. She lets the unappealing greens fall from her slack-jawed mouth. She sees a sparrow perched on the gutter above which looks more appetizing than the flowers. She reaches for it, but doesn’t seem able to grasp it from where she stands. She keeps reaching. After a while, the bird takes off.

Still reaching, she turns to follow it and collides with a young man fleeing several shambling figures out of the alley. She grabs him and takes a bite.

As the man screams, the others close in. She’s stronger than they are and makes sure she gets the most. Eventually the screams stop and their hunger is sated. For an hour or so, they stand still or mill around in front of the flower shop. What’s left of the young man starts to move.

She resumes her halting course up the street. As the sun sets, there is the loud crack of a rifle, and the left side of her head explodes in a wet pile of brain chunks and skull fragments. She collapses, twitching feebly.

A group of people run past, both urgent and quiet. They avoid her but she can still hear them, and can see them in what’s left of her peripheral vision. They all have backpacks and several carry guns. One of the men is holding a small child, and once more she feels like she has forgotten something important. She hears one of them whisper about getting to safety, and she wonders why they don’t take her with them. She wants to be safe.

After they are gone, she finally stops moving.

This black isn’t murky like the black of her first death. This one is deep, and complete.



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