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their clothes are all shagged out and raped. Her mother tries
to answer, but is unable to speak any words. She can only muster up
enough will to shake her head sorrowfully back and
forth.
    The young girl can't stand
to see her mother and father in such a condition and is unable to
control her own tears. She tries her best to be tough for her
mother, but the tears break through like Niagara Falls, and her
body follows soon after. Her knees give out, and she collapses down
beside her mom. They both stay knelt beside their man, weeping in
each other's arms. The mother kisses her daughter gently on the
forehead before easing away. She takes a look at the washcloth that
she holds in her hand. It is quite filthy.
    TheMother: (sniffing) I'm just going to go
and change his water. Stay with him. I'll be right
back.
    The Mother dips the rag
into the bucket of water one last time, wrings it out and hands it
to her daughter. She wearily gets to her feet and picks up the
bucket, as well as one of the two oil lamps that have been keeping
the corner relatively well lit. She takes one more look at her
sickly husband before turning to leave the room. Her daughter
watches her as she walks away.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: Be careful.
    The mother turns and looks
back to her daughter.
    TheMother: I will. Just… stay with him.
    She continues on and into
the next room. The young girl eases herself into the place her
mother was knelt in, closer to her father's head. She places the
damp rag on to his forehead and stares up and down the length of
the man that used to be her mighty father. This man, who used to
beat up bad guys and chase away bad boyfriends, is now on his
deathbed because of a silly little graze, a nothing of a
scratch.
    She had one time seen her
father take a knife to the side of his gut, beat the guy up who did
it and drive her and himself to the hospital. It was a couple years ago when she
was fifteen, and she made the stupid decision to date a twenty-one
year old gang-banger type. Her father had got them both through
that, but he couldn't seem to get through this scratch on his
forearm. The thought of it brings her to tears, and she places her
head down on her dad's barely breathing chest. Just her and her
dying father, alone in a dimly lit room of a lost cabin.
    <><><>
    Back in the immensely thick
black brush of the deep forest, the branches that surround our
frustrated zombie shake with a fierceness that flings leaves every
which way. He struggles frantically for many seconds, and it seems
like a lost cause until one last, good strive for escape frees
him.
    With a great thrust and
what almost sounds like a howl of victory, our zombie is plunged
down the side of a hidden cliff. It seems he got stuck in the
outskirts of a thick brush that lines the edge of a large bluff.
The drop falls for about one hundred feet, and his half naked body
falls the entire way, sliding down the steep hillside in the dark,
and rolling over any object to get in it's way. He tumbles into and
out of bushes, ricochets off of large rocks, boulders, stumps and
trucks, until he finally cascades across the forest floor to a
graceful rest.
    He lies there for a moment
on his back, on top of the dirt, twigs and leaves. The darkness
surrounds him, and his chest is still. No breath leaves his dead
lips, if zombies have breath to breathe. Even his eyes are
unblinking. But then, clarity. His chest begins to rise and lower
as his breath again, regulates it's offbeat flow in and out of his
body, half alive. And then his eyes, once again, begin to blink. He
let's go a low, tired groan and starts to slowly get to his feet.
The moment he does, he simply walks. What else is he to do? His
pace is slower, but more so because of the absence of nutrition
than the effect of the fall. As a matter of fact, he hasn't
sustained any injuries whatsoever, at least, none that are
handicapping. If anything, he can thank the hidden precipice for a
few extra grazes, but no broken bones.
    The