So that was it. We're cursed now. We're no different than Cheyenne or Rat. We are monsters. The only difference is we still have have our cognitive abilities. I had a dreadful thought. What if the vivensmortua virus will eventually turn us crazy? That would explain why Cheyenne began using sex as a weapon. That would explain Rat's feral behavior and Timothy's disconnect from reality. It most certainly would explain Torsten's psychopathic nature. Maybe. Or maybe we're just meant to go crazy from so much fucked up shit.
I gave the Alligator to Kat, but she was too distraught. Rage had left the majority of us. Now only sorrow and grief filled the hole it left. She just wanted to cry on the bed, so I took her back to the house. I returned to the cellar, the zombie Bergqvist now lying on the floor trying to break free from the chair. I righted him up and nearly got nipped, a sign of carelessness brought on by fatigue. I still wanted to torture him. I wanted to fillet every last ounce of his flesh and watch his zombie brain try to move his softening skeleton. But what was the point? I simply drove the machete down into his skull and then wrenched it free.
He didn't deserve a burial. He deserved a cleansing. I found a kerosene lamp in the basement which I had brought along. I unscrewed the cap and poured what was left of the fuel on Torsten's corpse. Taking one of the matches from the box I still had on me from the night before last, I struck it and flicked in on his body. I never burned a zombie before, and I found something new about them. Apparently, zombie blood is highly flammable.
After the kerosene burned itself off, after the fire fused the clothing to the skin, the skin began to burn away and the blood ignited. An intense blue light quickly spread from the corpse cloaking the entire body in a violent burst of flame. It was an immolation. I actually had to step back and hold up my hand against the light. The fire was ravenous, and loud. It was a like a starving dog who had jumped on top of a banquet table uninvited and began scarfing down every scrap of food on the serving plates, and then barking in warning at anyone who tried to take it down.
When the fire was out, the charred corpse was barely recognizable as something that used to be human. It was more like a rough silhouette drawn by a blind person. I have no idea why it burned so intensely. I could only guess that the virus produced some kind of volatile waste product that just so happened to be flammable. I grabbed a few tools, scythes, hatchets, anything that could be used as a weapon, and I left the cellar, not bothering to lock it up. I wouldn't be going back.
I checked on Kat and she was already asleep, passed out. I could see the wet spots in her pillow from tears soaked through and around her face. I sat down and brushed her hair. She laid still, no response. I kissed her forehead and got up and just paced back and forth. I never pace. I just thought. I thought about how horrible my life is. How horrible the lives of those around me are. I feel like there's someone writing my life out day by day getting some kind of sick pleasure of setting me up with hope that things just might be okay, and then smashing them.
I thought of Sandra, who we buried last night before we went to bed. I thought of how we failed to protect her. I thought of how scared she was, how helpless she was. I thought of her body being cut up! I cried tears of anger and I started punching the wall with everything I had! The drywall gave way and I punched through the walls, my knuckles scraping and cutting against the material. It woke Kat up and she pleaded at me to stop, but I didn't hear her. She got up and hobbled over to me with her crutches and tackled me to the ground with a hug and the rage bled from me as if being seeped up into the carpet.
My hands feel like they're broken, but I can still type, so there's that. Kat had to play doctor, and spent quite a bit of time picking out splinters and other debris from my knuckles. I felt guilty because she should have been sleeping, but then she told me that she was going to be my strength. I was always so strong for her, but now it was her turn. She told me it was her turn to take care of me.
Hector and Jonathan had heard my outrage and had checked to see if everything was okay. I told them what happened, and Kat had them get the bandages and alcohol from the dining room that we brought in from the ambulance. She gently poured the alcohol over my knuckles and it stung to high hell but I didn't show it. I looked at Kat and lost myself in her face, as dirty as it was. She also was the one who attended to Jonathan's gashes on his back from being whipped. She's like our nurse now. Her touch is extremely gentle.
After I was all bandaged up, Hector and John left us. I saw Kat yawn, so I helped her back in bed. She asked if I was going to join her, so I did. We talked about many things. Sandra. Us. Us as monsters. Would one of us turn crazy and hurt the other? Would John or Hector hurt us? She laid on her side, and I held her close to me and eventually, we just stopped talking. Both of us with so much to think about, we stared at the wall. We just listened to each other breathe.
Then she turned her face to meet mine and kissed me. She told me she loved me and to not think I failed Sandra. There was nothing I could do. If she herself died, there was nothing I could do. I told her if she died, I'd have to kill myself, and she put her hands on my face and told me, "Don't you fucking dare!" She said regardless who lives, we have to keep living for the other. It really seemed pointless, though. If I lose her, there's no sense in living without her. My life is dependent on her now. I don't know how she can expect me to keep living if she dies. She said she'd keep living for me, though. This proves to me that she's stronger than I am.
I kissed her and she kissed me back. There was a distant part in the back of my mind that said it was wrong to want sex when I'm supposed to be grieving, but releasing tension through sex is one of the best ways to relax in order to be able to rest, something we both direly needed. Kat was on the same page as me, and soon we had each other's clothes off and made love. It was a different this time than most other times. There was no passionate moaning or grunting. Just the sounds of our heavy breathing.
And then something happened that scared the life out of me. She detected my breathing becoming more rapid, so she anticipated me coming and with that anticipation, she began to climax herself and then she did something she never did before. She dug her nails into my back and she bit me on the shoulder. I immediately sprang off her, standing up on the bed and falling backward out of it. I stood up, still dripping semen and stared at her in shock. She realized what she just did and covered her mouth. I ran to grab the Solar Flare on the nightstand and held it to my shoulder and craned my neck to look at the bite. I gasped such a sigh of relief, I nearly fainted. She didn't break the skin, but I took no chances. I grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and sterilized my skin with it.
She didn't speak at all. Without even saying anything, I knew she was deeply sorry. She curled up in the fetal position and cried inconsolably. I tried to get in bed with her, but she recoiled and told me to get away from her, that she didn't want to hurt me. I just got in anyway and put my arms around her as she tried to slap me away. Finally giving in, she buried her face in my chest until passing out.
I tried to drift to sleep, but I couldn't. My mind won't shut off, so here I am, nearly one in the morning, writing this entry. I almost forget to do it, too. One last thing I want to add. I did fail Sandra. As much as Kat tries to tell me I didn't, I did. Earlier today, I checked the closet in the master bedroom and I found a stash of personal affects. I found wallets with credit cards and drivers licenses. I found jewelry; necklaces; rings. I found cellphones. These were the remains of people Torsten had been killing. Random passersby would stop at the farm in hope of seeking shelter or some form of help. They got chopped up as a result of trusting this man.
I should have checked that closet, checked EVERYWHERE before thinking it was safe. Had I done that, I would have known what to expect. I would have known that the person who most likely killed the family living here was still killing here. I haven't given you a survival tip in a long time, so here's a very important one. When you come across a house, you check EVERYWHERE before you settle in it! I didn't do that, and Sandra paid the price. We all nearly did. Now I'm sick to my stomach.
Until tomorrow.
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