Finding Humanity: Book 3 in the Saving Humanity Series

CHAPTER 3

Caleb stood at the window, staring out at the grass and trees before him. The last of the snow had melted, leaving behind a dark, muddy mess. It wouldn't be long before that was covered with green grass and the decay of winter would be gone.

He wished it was that easy to erase the decay and destruction caused by the zombies. He wanted the turning of the season to bring new life and fill the world with sounds besides the moaning of the undead. He wished the season would bring back his family.

His hands were folded behind his back, his wrists sore and tingly. Twenty minutes before entering the office, the nurse had removed the stitches from his wrists. His skin had healed over the threads, making them stick and sting as she used the tweezers to pull them out. She had apologized for the pain, as if it were her fault, or the words would make things better. Caleb just forced a smiled and nodded. The scars from where the knife had sliced him open were pink and tender. The scissors brushed over the area as the threads were removed, sending zaps of pain into his fingers.

Caleb had watched the nurse work, and a deep sense of sadness and despair had weighed on his brain and heart. He still couldn't believe he'd been saved. How he'd been saved didn't seem possible. He tried so hard to see the positive in the situation, that he'd been given a second chance, but it felt more like punishment. He struggled every day. Waking up each morning proved challenging. He probably wouldn't bother if a nurse didn't come into his room with food every morning. He'd probably sleep away the day, except nightmares often plagued him, so sleep wasn't overly appealing. He felt trapped in a world where he couldn't sleep and couldn't act, so he lay there, staring at nothing. If he didn't have to go to mental health appointments or eat, he would continue to stare.

Behind him and to his left, the psychiatrist shifted in her seat. The shushing of fabric sounded softly. Caleb turned slightly to gaze at her over his shoulder. Any moment, she'd ask how he felt about what had happened with his stitches. He'd been thinking about how to respond for days. He'd searched his mind and soul for a response, but nothing developed. Various emotions overwhelmed him and pushed out his thoughts, leaving only dark memories.

"Did it feel real when the nurse took the stitches out?"

Caleb frowned and rolled the question around in his brain for few moments. "Feel real?" he asked quietly. "What do you mean?"

"Did it feel like the process was happening to you, or like you were watching it happen to someone else?"

Caleb turned his gaze back out the window, replaying the incident in his mind. "It felt real. The process was pretty painful."

"The actual process, with the removal of the stitches, or the memories of what led to the attempt?"

Caleb's gaze drifted to the ground outside the window. The mud seemed to grow darker and became raised and apparent against the flat of the rest of the area. It looked as if the ground had become scarred. He tightened his fingers around his hand to keep them behind his back.

"Both."

He lowered his head as despair squeezed his chest. Memories of his family and friends flashed through his mind, but he pushed them away. He couldn't deal with their accusing stares, the guilt that he had survived. His wrists tingled. For the millionth time, he questioned why he remained in the world.

"Caleb," the doctor said his name softly. "It's a good thing that the event felt real. It means that you can accept responsibility for the act."

"Ha!" The word came out bitter. "I never tried to deny it. I'm fully aware of what I did. What I can't accept is how I failed."

The doctor shifted, her clothes once again making a soft swishing sound as she did. "Are you planning on attempting suicide again?"

Caleb's breath hitched and he tightened his jaw. With all the emotions, sadness, and grief, it was a viable option, and would rid him of so many issues. He could drift into oblivion and reunite with everyone who'd gone before him. It would solve so many problems, but entertaining the option felt...off. As he considered it, it seemed foolish and pointless. If he couldn't succeed the first time—and if some random person was going to find him in a secluded cabin and get him help—trying again wouldn't necessarily get him better results. Worse: if he messed up, he would come back as the undead.