Claire pulled the tattered blanket closer and watched the window covering snatch a wayward bit of wind. The canvas whipped against the side of their tent in a slow dance, occasionally letting the two metal edges of the zipper kiss each other before pulling them apart again.

Flap.

Ding.

Flap.

If the entire tent were made of zippers, then perhaps the resulting clamor would drown out the other sounds coming across the water from the mainland. The sounds the people made when they were running, the sounds they made when they were dying, and the deafening silence afterwards that seemed loudest of all. The disease had taken over everything. Only their small island seemed safe, but time was running out. Claire pulled the blanket over her ears and focused on the window.

Flap.

Ding.

Flap.

From behind her, Rebecca mumbled in her sleep as her long slender arm reached out to encircle Claire’s waist, pulling her closer. Claire settled into the embrace, keenly aware of the heat pressing against her back.

Her eyes stayed locked on the open window. Darkness gradually faded as dawn’s golden light trickled in. The rays illuminated the edges of the mesh window before creeping into the tent. Once it touched her outstretched fingertips, she crawled out of their cocoon and pulled on her shorts, careful not to wake her sleeping wife.

The door flap purred as she unzipped it and stepped outside while casting furtive glances at Rebecca’s sleeping form. Her dry, cracked lips moved as if she were talking to someone in a dream.

They were both weak, but Rebecca’s health was declining much more rapidly than Claire’s. Hunger and thirst consumed them. It had been five days since they last split a chocolate bar, their only remaining bit of food.  They emptied the last of their carefully rationed water the night before, though Rebecca had insisted on Claire drinking most of that, as she had most days. Claire glared at the small waves lapping the edges of the shore, teasing her with their false offers of hydration.

Their rapid escape had left them with only the items in their backpacks. Claire couldn’t remember how long they had been there, but the dead cell phones, empty food wrappers, and a dry canteen had become useless to them. The romantic camping trip had morphed into a nightmare. They were only supposed to be gone for one night.

“Morning”

She turned around as Rebecca shuffled out of the tent. Her cheeks were rosy, flushed from fever.

“Morning, how do you feel?” Claire hurried over to steady her as she stumbled on the loose sand.

She regained her balance and shrugged Claire’s hand off her arm. “Like shit. I see our friends are still hanging around.” She gestured towards the mainland where a crowd of bloody, disease-riddled shells that used to be their neighbors and friends had gathered to stare out towards their island. “I guess food is getting scarce there. Jesus. Food. We aren’t even people anymore, just food…” Rebecca narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, “Think zombies can swim?”

“Maybe, but they would have done it by now, don’t you think?” Claire, ever the optimist, pulled her gaze from the shoreline and looked up at her expectantly.

Rebecca kept her eyes locked on the creatures. “Hell if I know.”

Claire helped Rebecca into a sitting position with her back against a palm tree before plopping herself down next to the sick woman. They sat, resting in the years of familiarity and comfort between them.

The wind continued to carry the horrific sounds from across the water. Sometimes, when the wind was low, they came on a whisper, floating through the air. When the wind was stronger, they pierced through the space between them with a red-hot anger.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Rebecca sighed.

“Don’t say that, baby. Someone will come, you’ll see,” She said as she put her arm around her, ignoring the heat waves coming off Rebecca’s skin.

Rebecca shrugged her off, her voice raising. “They won’t! Can’t you see that? Shit, can’t you see that?” She gestured towards the shore. “There is no one coming to save us! Jesus, Claire. Quit being so damn positive just once.” She paused to catch her breath.

Claire knew they were running out of time, but she had to keep hoping someone would save them. It’s all they had left, besides each other. Hope. Surely the disease hadn’t taken over everything.

Over the next few days they watched as more and more of the afflicted crowded the mainland’s shore, facing their island. The screams dwindled to a trickle on the breeze, leaving only silence in their wake. Claire didn’t think she’d ever miss those sounds until they were gone. They were left only with the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, palm leaves rustling in the wind, and the ever-present flapping of the tent window covers.

Flap.

Ding.

Flap.

She slept with Rebecca’s body next to her for two days before the putrid smells permeated the tent and Claire realized she was gone.  The stench of her wife decaying. She couldn’t even grieve, there were no more tears left in her thirst-ravaged body.

In and out of consciousness, she lay next to Rebecca’s body, unable and unwilling to move either of them. Claire wrapped her frail fingers around the unmoving grey flesh that used to be Rebecca’s hands. The hands that used to touch her, hold her tight, make her believe that they could do anything. The hands that caressed her face at night, until Claire would lean into her palm, lips touching the smooth skin while the scent of Rebecca’s lavender lotion enveloped her.

The memory of lavender hung lightly in the air as Claire closed her eyes one last time.

Flap.

Ding.

Flap.  

– Holly Garcia