Harem in a zombie apocalypse

[112] The eternal rest

There was something humbling, yet strangely surreal about the task that lay ahead of us. The aftermath of the recent clash had left our town littered with the lifeless bodies of humans and zombies alike, each a chilling reminder of the deadly chaos we had witnessed. For days, the town seemed to be united in one somber chore – disposing of the dead.

The sound of shovels biting into the earth echoed throughout the town from dawn to dusk. People young and old, men and women, took turns, forming long lines that extended from the heart of the town to the outskirts. The physical strain of the labor was immense, but the emotional toll it took was much heavier.

Each shovelful of dirt thrown aside was a testament to our collective will to move forward. Every grimy face, every sweaty brow, every pair of worn-out hands working the shovels – they all bore the burden of loss, but also the resolve to survive.

In the center of town, a vast pit was dug. It was no ordinary hole in the ground, but rather a gaping maw that was to swallow the grim remains of the past few days. One by one, bodies were carried to the pit, each handled with as much care and dignity as the circumstances allowed. The townsfolk formed a solemn assembly line, passing body after body along, until they were all piled up in the gaping pit.

The process was meticulous and draining, each body adding to the weight of our shared sorrow. And yet, amid the grim task, there was a quiet sense of solidarity, an unspoken understanding that we were all in this together, united in our shared grief and our shared determination to keep going.

With the last of the bodies finally in the pit, we doused them in fuel. The smell of gasoline mingled with the stench of decay, creating an acrid aroma that hung heavy in the air. It was a scent that, in its own harrowing way, marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

I was handed a flare, the small light flickering against the dark backdrop of the pit. There was a profound silence as everyone held their breath, their gazes fixated on the flare in my hand. With a final look at the mountain of bodies, I tossed the flare into the pit.

The resulting fire roared to life instantly, sending a wave of heat washing over us. The flames danced wildly, hungrily consuming the bodies. The fire crackled and popped, the sound echoing across the eerily silent town. As the fire spread, it cast a haunting, flickering glow that illuminated our grim expressions.

As we stood there, the fire burning in the pit, the smoky smell of burning bodies filled the air, marking the grim end of one of the most harrowing chapters in our struggle for survival. But amidst the flames, there was a sense of finality, of closure. It was a grim task, but a necessary one.

I looked at the pit one last time.

Rest in peace, my brothers and sisters...

Q: Have you ever had a loved one pass away before?