A little yellow light was blinking on and off under the Suburban's bumper where Jane was sitting. She'd changed out of her gore-soaked clothes and thrown them in a trashcan in the women's restroom, opting for a simple ensemble consisting of a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a plain army-green tee-shirt.

The sun had set and brought with it a cool breeze.

It wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, she couldn't really feel it at all apart from noticing her skin felt slightly tighter.

As she'd expected, the tears hadn't come but her face and mind still went through all the accompanying contortions. Seeing those doctors—those noxious, overripe whispers of humanity, unable to curb the effects of entropy within the closed system of their crumbling bodies—gouged at Jane's soul. It was really the first time she'd seriously contemplated what had happened to the world—and it was unfathomably sad. Death should be dignified, not so viciously degrading.

Frank had followed her out after her shooting spree, but she'd waved him away. He was kind enough to back off, giving her the room she needed to percolate on things.

There were lights on inside the building. Battery powered lanterns and camping flashlights—muffled music pumping from a boom-box. It didn't seem like anyone was mourning the loss of the doctors. From where she was sitting, she could only see the shadows of people moving on the grass—she'd purposely blocked her view of the windows. She'd had enough of the living for a while.

Unless Frank came back out. In that case, she decided she'd consider letting him stay and talk to her. If he wanted.

She looked down at her legs and patted the tops of her thighs, making sure she was still there.

I'm me, aren't I? I'm not some horrible monster. I'm able to resist the urge to eat people. She recalled the doctor's slow attempts to bite, jaws held together with fragile, stringy sinew, teeth clicking ever so slightly.

"Hey. You okay out here?" It was Frank. "Can I bring you anything? Your thigh highs? Some brains, perhaps?"

Jane laughed and instinctually wiped at her face where the tears would have been.

"You still want to be alone?" He asked tentatively.

"No, it's fine. Come and sit." She patted the space on the bumper next to her.

"Cause... if you really want some brains... I'm pretty sure that Tristen kid can spare some of his. He certainly doesn't seem to be using much of them."

"I'm fine. Just come sit."

Frank walked over with a glass in his hand. He sat and lit up a cigarette.

"Whatcha got there?" Jane asked nodding at the glass.

"Fucking room temperature pineapple rum. It's all they had and it's disgusting. But it's keeping me warm. And I'm a little concerned that mixing this with the frozen fish-sticks those guys just served us may turn out to be... problematic."

"There's nothing wrong with pineapple rum. I used to drink Malibu and pineapple all the time."

"Well... it's a girl drink."

"Yeah... it kinda is," Jane nodded.

They sat there for a few minutes looking out at the dark tree line.

"You wanna talk about it?" Frank asked.

"Oh... well... I mean, how did the kids take it?"

"They freaked out at first—didn't know what to think. Actually, it was Emily that calmed them down. Well, eventually she calmed them down. At first, she just yelled at them a lot. I think I counted the word 'fuck' thirty-six times. She was telling them how morbid it was to keep them locked in there like animals—watching them rot. She said what you did was an act of mercy."

"It was! It was sick to see them... dying... or whatever." Jane wished she could have a drink but wasn't sure alcohol would produce the desired effect it once had.

"At any rate, they're all pretty calm now. I think maybe you did them a favor. They had no idea what to do with them. It was just a constant source of confusion. But it's over now. Tristen is still pretty upset but I'm sure he'll get over it eventually."

"Good." Jane was still eyeing Frank's glass.

"You want some?" he asked.

It was worth a shot. There was still something flowing through her veins. Slowly, yes, but she could feel activity in there. Maybe it would just take her more to get drunk. "Yeah, I'll take a sip."

He handed her the glass. "Think it will do anything?"

"I don't know. This'll be the first time I've tried." She took a big drink. "I hope. Is there more?"

"Yeah, actually. They've got like ten bottles of the stuff. Guess the doctors liked to let loose after hours."

"Good," she finished his glass with another gulp and handed it back to him. He just sat there looking at her, slightly taken aback—waiting for something to happen, the standard breath-heavy cough, the cringe.

Nothing.

"Well? You gonna go grab a bottle or what?" she said, and he bounced off the bumper and jogged back to the building.

It wasn't warm going down and maybe it wasn't going to do anything but just for the social aspect she felt it was worth it. She hoped at least she'd get a contact drunk from Frank if the actual booze didn't work. Either way, it was just nice to pretend for a little while that things were normal.

She breathed out and for a second saw a tiny puff of condensation. It was the warmth of the liquor, she knew, but it still made her a little excited.

Frank's a good guy, she thought. Maybe if things had been different...

"Girl drink delivery," Frank said. He sat heavily back up on the bumper, rocking the Suburban, the bottle sloshing in his hand. "How do you feel?"

"It's been like a minute. I don't feel anything yet. I expect it will take a little time... and quantity."

He handed her an extra glass and poured. "Well, let's keep at it."

She took a drink and breathed out again seeing the little cloud. "You know, if I do end up getting drunk... and you take advantage of me... it'd be necrophilia."

"I'm not above that."

She laughed again then sighed, running her finger around the rim of the glass. "You understand why I did it, right? Shot those guys in there."

"I have my suspicions." He sipped his drink and fired up another smoke. "I know you don't want to end up like them. And I can see this is hard for you. Actually, hard for all of us—anyone who has to deal with... this," he gestured broadly at their surroundings. "Alive or dead. This whole situation is just wrong in every way, shape and form."

"It is," Jane nodded somberly.

"And now, we're trying to find purpose and hope... or some shit. Which is difficult to do when you're presented with a new horror show every couple of minutes." He took a drag and blew the smoke at the stars. "And how are you doing with the whole... must-feast-on-flesh thing?"

"It's difficult. I mean, there was the skunk."

"I know."

"What? Do I still stink?"

"A little," Frank said over his glass, raising his eyebrows.

"Sorry."

"No, I'm kidding. It's not nearly as bad as it was."

"I was hungry," she whined.

"I know."

"It was either that or, chew your face off," she said, smiling.

"I'm happy you went with the skunk."

She scratched at her front teeth. "I need floss, though."

"What's that? You got some Pepe Le Pew stuck in there... between the old choppers?"

"Yeah," she laughed and drank.

As they sat and chatted, the sounds from inside the building—the poppy bass on the portable stereo, the lively high-school chatter—gradually began to die down. Eventually they were left with nothing but the quiet, comfortable night.

Jane downed her third glass and looked up at the sky as Frank added to his little pile of extinguished cigarettes on the ground beneath the bumper. He burped and shook his head a little, opening his eyes wide, clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol.

"Why did this happen?" Jane asked. "Are we being punished? Does this prove the existence of god... or disprove it? Or maybe it's evolution—or purgatory. Maybe none of this is real and you're just a figment of my imagination as I'm dying. Shouldn't I be seeing a bright light and friends and family welcoming me with open arms? Maybe this whole thing is just a dream I'm having on my way to... I don't know... heaven, I guess."

"Whoa, whoa. That's a whole lot of different philosophies crammed into one thought. Slow down a bit."

"Okay. So, what if this," she gestured to herself, "is what happens after death? Like this is a different plain of existence and there's no heaven or hell, it's just life like it was... but now you're dead."

"Feels a little bleak."

"It is!"

Frank considered. "So, what? The whole zombie thing is part of the afterlife? Like, you were reincarnated as you but dead... in a dead world? When other people die do they come to this same plane of existence or do they get their own zombie apocalypse?"

"Yeah," Jane propped her elbow on her knee and rested her chin in her hand. "That doesn't make sense."

"Well, in your defense, none of this does."

Jane took a sip. "But what then? What is... this?"

Frank continued. "I mean, back when it started, a lot of people thought it was proof of the afterlife. Proof that the soul lived on, even though the body continued to rot."

"Well, I guess that's true. Right? I mean, I still have a soul... a consciousness. I'm still powered by my id. Right? It's what shapes my personality, allows me to have agency over myself. The real me of me is here," she touched her chest, "But the machine has stopped. So, it would seem the soul must live on."

"I don't know. Where does it go when you... when someone gets to the point those doctors were at?"

"Maybe it's trapped in there. It's unable to express itself with bad mechanics."

"So, when the mechanics breakdown completely, where does it go after?"

Jane chewed on her thumbnail, squinting. "I don't know, out there somewhere." She waved a hand at the night. "Maybe to some ethereal place or floating out into space endlessly."

"I'm not sure about the soul going on. It seems to me those visions of bright lights and divinity are just some reaction the brain is having when presented with death, not the soul moving to another realm or whatever. Our minds are just overcome by fear and trigger this simple and comforting defense mechanism to make the transition easier. So, it latches onto all the stuff we've heard time and time again—bright lights and what-have-ya—because shit... that's way more appealing than the unknown. The unknown is beyond scary. But really, I mean, if you think about it, what were we before we were born? Nothing. We didn't exist. So, it makes sense to assume that's what happens when we cease living. Nothing. More nothing. We just aren't there anymore."

"And what about me? When I finally rot or take a bullet to the head, will I just be...nothing?" Jane asked a little defensively.

"No, no. With you my dear, we'll find a way to keep you around. Like maybe we could hollow out Emily's body and shove your soul in there."

"Emily huh? Got a little thing for the creepy-girl."

"No, she's... uh... roughhewn, let's say."

"Generous,"

"Yeah, she's kinda crazy but... I don't know. I like her."

"Like, like like her?" Jane studied his face.

"No, she's... I was just talking about hollowing out her carcass and using her as a soul dumpster."

"So now my soul is garbage?"

"No, Jesus. We'd keep popping you in and out of other human receptacles until... until we couldn't, I guess. And then your soul would cease to exist. It'd be nothing twirling around an endless void of nothingness."

"Jeez, who's being bleak now?" Jane adjusted on the bumper. "You remind me of this one goth guy I went to high-school with. I think that was the name of his industrial band, An Endless Void of Nothingness."

"And he was like, smoking hot right? That's why I remind you of him, not the angsty mewling of a depressed teen in heavy eyeliner. But how strikingly attractive he was."

"Oh yes. He was incredibly handsome... under the white foundation makeup, the lip rings and permeant scowl, and legit sharpened teeth."

"His teeth were actually sharpened?"

"Yeah, and not professionally done by like a body modifier guy but like with a file in his bedroom. Watching videos of beheadings and torturing his pet hamster. I'm sure he'd be cool with your nothingness theory."

"Okay but it's not as bleak as it sounds. I'm not saying it's a bad thing at all. It just is... or isn't, I guess. We just no longer are. It wasn't bad not existing before we were born... it'll be like that after we die." Frank took a drag making the same squinty face Jane had made. "Now I'm confusing myself."

"But I'm dead. And I'm not nothing. I'm something. I'm here, I'm experiencing this. I can hear myself—hear you, see things, process them and form conclusions." She looked over at Frank suddenly, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "That. That just happened and now I know what it's like to kiss a slightly sweaty bearded face. I experienced that." She wiped her lips on the sleeve of her shirt.

"I'm not sweaty," he said running his fingers up his cheeks. "Am I sweaty?"

"A little humid when you get right up in there."

Frank grabbed his collar and dabbed his face. "Fine. I'm a bit tipsy, but I see your point. I guess you're here doing the whole you thing still...so, there is life after death."

"Or at least life-likeness after death. For a while. Until there's nothing."

"I shouldn't be getting a headache yet, it's not the morning." Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's just drink and not think about reality or nothingness or somethingness or zombies." He clinked her glass. "Or my sweaty beard."

Jane laughed again and they sat and listened to the night sounds for a minute. The lights clicked off inside the building. They were left with nothing but crisp blue moonlight.

"What happened with your car accident?" Frank asked. "I mean... I've seen you naked a few times now and you don't seem to have any hideous scars or anything. No tattoos either. Which is refreshing. Not that I was looking too hard."

"Right," she puffed sarcastically. "You are the epitome of the dirty old man. You weren't just looking, you were leering. I could practically feel your eyes inside me."

"I'm not old."

"Look at it this way gramps, when you were entering sixth grade, that little creepy Emily was exiting her mother's vagina."

"That's... upsetting."

"Okay, you're only five years older than me so you're not that old but I did notice you didn't contest the dirty part."

"Hard to find a shower these days," Frank said, sipping his drink.

"Even if you did, you'd probably forego the cleaning portion of the process to give yourself more time to jerk it." Jane grinned dryly.

Frank flushed a little but pushed on. "Hey, you said everyone did it. Besides, it's therapeutic. And I'm too busy to get out there and hit the singles bars and things."

"Singles bar? Jesus, you are old."

"Look, I noticed you're diverting from my original question. The car crash?" Frank's eyes lit up for a second as though he'd come to a revelation. "Wait. Were you masturbating while driving?"

"No! Fucking pervert," she laughed.

"Well, what then?"

Jane took a sip of her drink. Contemplated it for a second and downed the rest of the glass. It didn't burn but felt thick in her throat. Her smile shifted a little, letting her expression droop. She was clearly stalling.

"Look, you don't have to tell me. I was just curious. Since, you know, you don't look all broken up and your body is so perfect and model-esque..."

"Enough. Jesus, we're not having sex." She shook her head jovially, then her glass at Frank. "Fill'er up."

Frank poured, then topped off his own. "Okay, I get it. Now you're not even taking my compliments so, I can see it's off-limits..."

"Suicide," Jane said, swallowing.

"What?"

"It wasn't a car accident. It was suicide. Sleeping pills. I downed a bottle of Ambien. Which... is super embarrassing. Though I didn't think I'd be having to defend the decision."

"Shit. Why?" Frank half-whispered.

Jane shrugged. "I don't know. I saw all the reports on the news, got depressed. I was stuck in Cheney at a shit job. Miami seemed like something that was never going to happen. It was fucking stupid. And embarrassing. I feel so idiotic now. At the time, it seemed like the best option. My parents died when I was young, I don't have siblings, no pets, no connections. It was just selfish and dumb." She shook her head and looked down at her lap. "Not to mention, I didn't think I'd be around to have to rationalize my reasons."

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I'm kinda glad the whole zombie apocalypse happened. It meant you got a second chance. And I got to meet you."

"Shut up," Jane smiled and backhanded Frank's arm.

"Seriously... you're pretty... great. I mean, you smell fucking terrible but I'm kinda getting used to it."

"But Frank... you can't be happy about the end of the world. What about all those innocent people?"

Frank lit up another cigarette. "They were probably assholes."

She looked at him as he took another drink. His eyes were glossy and unfocused. Part of her wanted to be mad at him for not being devastated about the death of the planet, but once again, her vanity won out and she set aside her grandiose moral convictions to allow room for a brief moment of personalized happiness.

And it really was happiness. Genuine happiness. It was something she'd been feeling ever since she'd met Frank, it wasn't just this moment. This was just the first time she'd recognized it as her default setting. It was the rule when she was around him, not the exception.

"Thanks Frank," she said, lacing her voice with real emotion.

"Don't mention it, skunk-face."

"Jesus. Dick. I think maybe the assholes were the ones that survived. You know, if you're any indication."

"Well..." Frank left a pregnant pause.

"What?"

"Now you're really going to think I'm an asshole."

"Why? What?"

"They have a pool," he said preemptively flinching.

Jane smacked him hard on the arm.