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deeply creased cheeks and dripped onto the grass beneath him. He took a long pull off the flask of whiskey and sighed. With the hatchet at his side and the pistol in his waistband, he felt as at-ease as one could in open air. He spoke to both Holly and his wife as if they could hear him and wondered, when his time came, what was waiting for him in the hereafter. He’d killed Billy, and for that, he believed he’d burn in Hell.
    “Frank?”
    The sound of his name made him jump. He turned to see John Malkin standing behind him. Red lines shot through the whites of his brown eyes and his dark hair hung in messy curls around his sallow, unshaven face.
    “What are you doing here?” Frank wiped the tip of his nose. He hadn’t seen John since before Holly’s funeral when he helped dig the hole she was buried in.
    The silver heart promise ring on the chain around his neck glistened in the sunlight. “Visiting April.” He sniffled, having clearly been crying.
    Frank held out the flask. “Join me for a drink? I never got the chance to thank you.”
    John sat down next to Frank and took a mouthful of whiskey. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the service.”
    Holly’s death preceded The Collapse by less than a month and the virus was already spreading by the time of her funeral. Those that would have come to pay their respects were either deceased or terrified and Frank was the only one, other than Father Matthew, the priest who led the standoff at the church, who attended Holly’s services.
    “Don’t worry about that. No one did,” he said. “At least she’s at peace.” The familiar lightheadedness settled in and Frank leaned into his right palm to feel grounded.
    “Are you all right?” John capped the flask.
    Frank took a deep breath and waited for the dying pacemaker to fire. “Ticker’s about ticked out,” he said and sighed when he felt the slight jolt. He took the flask from John and drew another mouthful. “We can’t live forever.”
    John lowered his eyes. “Ever think about speeding that up?”
    There was an air of confession in the way John spoke and Frank looked him over. A grimy, white bandage stuck out from the cuff of his navy blue hoodie. “Who in what’s left of this world hasn’t? Some days I’d give anything to be with them.” He gestured at his family’s graves. “Lord knows even when that day comes, I won’t get back here.”
    “That’s the thing of it. I knew I’d never get back here to April.” John pulled up his sleeve, peeled a length of stained medical tape from the gauze, and unwrapped the bandage. “I couldn’t stand the idea that if I died, I wouldn’t be buried next to her.”
    “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
    The bandage fell to the ground and John turned his wrist toward Frank. “Think you can fix it?”
    Frank examined the gash, which was deeper than he had expected, and sadness set in as he realized how intent the young man was on joining his deceased beloved. Redness surrounded the wound’s edge and it oozed a foul-smelling, yellowish fluid. “I can, but it’s infected.” He looked around the cemetery for another car or truck, wondering how John had gotten there. “Where are you staying?” he asked, hoping to clean him up anywhere other than the back of his cluttered van.
    John pointed at the remains of St. Margaret’s. “In the catacomb, beneath the church.”
    “Are there others down there?”
    John shook his head. “Just me.”
    “How about supplies?”
    “Some.” John nodded.
    Frank said goodbye to his wife and daughter and struggled to get to his feet. He handed John the flask and forced a smile. “Drink up,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”
     

CHAPTER 9
     
    Michael rubbed his eyes, exhausted from a sleepless night of worries and what ifs. 
    Earl and Randy waited downstairs, eager to resume the previous night’s search for Adam.
    Michael wasn’t sure how much longer he could