It was really starting to feel like home. The sheets felt like they were mine, the fridge had nothing but our food, Zoic and I both walked around in underwear and played the Playstation in the den. The building materials in the back yard looked like they might actually be useful. And we hadn’t had a single problem with the infection.

We did some routine stuff. We went out. We got gasoline. We scouted for things we wanted. We checked the progress of the decomposition. Sadly, I think it will be quite a while before these guys are completely immobilized again. We got some food. Then we came home. Zoic unloaded the groceries, I unloaded a panel we found that was easy to get at. I went inside. Zoic was organizing the freezer. It was always full.

Then we heard the sound.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

Of Course not.

We went back to work. I helped her move things around.

That sound again.

It was close.

But we’re inside.

Trust your senses.

Zoic and I explored. It was coming from my bedroom.

We opened the door.

There he was. Angry and disoriented. In my sheets. He had touched EVERYTHING.

Zoic and I shared a moment of disbelief. How did he get in? How did he close the door?What was he doing there? And more importantly: What the fuck? We sealed everything. Nothing was broken. We could only think of three ways that he could have gotten in. and those were pretty far fetched and required either a certain amount of ingenuity or a certain amount of dumb luck. Zoic ended him, leaving a bullet hole and a gallon of infected blood in my glorious high thread count.

“I think we should go,” I said. She nodded sadly. We’re going to take what’s important and load it into the car. We’re not planning on moving far, but it’s just not our anymore. He took it. We’ll post again when we’ve got the next base set up.