July 1- it could be wrong, but it should have been right

Post-it notes were strewn about the tiny studio apartment. It wasn't theirs, just another abandoned building they had chosen to take shelter in. Every few days they migrated, knowing that no place was safe for long.

"Edd?" Kevin called out.

There was only silence. He stepped forward, peeling the closest post-it note off the wall.

Kevin,

I have departed. I loathe to do this in such a manner but in our present situation this makes things easier. I don't want to see the despondence on your face. If I do. . . I can't say what I mean to say. Please pick up next note and no littering please.

He crumbled the yellow sticky note in his hand and stepped forward. He jumped, hissing as he stepped on a pile of long-abandoned legos.

He bent down to rub his foot, then picked up the next note.

I appreciate everything you did for me. Even your misguided efforts. I know you meant well. I truly do. However, it doesn't mean I can easily accept those acts. I have to do this on my own now. Please understand for me. Please pick up next note. Remember, no littering.

Again.

Do not attempt to find me. Rather, try to survive. Do that for me. It's what I intend to do for you. I have hope. No. I am certain we will meet again. When we do I want the past to be behind us. That is something I can only hope for because I know that that will be hard. Perhaps harder than surviving this epidemic. I trust you remember the instructions from the last two notes.

There were six other notes, all leading up to the beaten up door. He gathered all the notes up, not reading them, saving them for later. Maybe. He wasn't sure. He just wanted a piece of Double D close to him.

He then gathered what little belongings he had, noting that there was an absence of Edd's and a few cans of food absent from the pantry. Kevin carried three weapons with him: a baseball bat that they had found in the studio apartment, next to the legos, a pocket knife, and his gun, resting in his back pocket. Where it stayed since the day he shot Eddy.

The dork didn't deserve to die. He annoyed Kevin, and on occasion during their childhood he had wished Eddy would just crawl in a corner and die. But he never meant it. He just wanted him to get lost.

The first shot was only to force Eddy to release the detonator threatening their lives.

The second. . . was merciful.

He knew that with the smell of fresh blood, and Eddy just standing there, gaping at his wound, that the zombies would move in on him and begin to eat him alive.

Double D didn't need to see that and Eddy, with all his flaws, didn't deserve such a fate either.

He wasn't sure if he was just telling himself that.

There was also the fact that Eddy would only continue to put them in danger. From experience, Kevin knew Eddy would try the same tactic again, or something similar, only to fail from lack of foresight and common sense.

He hadn't dared to tell Double D that, sticking with his former reasoning. It had done little to ease his boyfriend, as evidenced by the goodbye notes gathered in his other back pocket.

The arguments rattled in his head as he walked down the street, hands tight around his bat.

He didn't remember the exact words, only their contents. He remembered how feverish and angrily Edd had glared at him the first few weeks after he killed Eddy. That look was slowly replaced with dejection, and he noticed Edd's lean body thinning.

In the days preceding Edd's departure, they had slept separately. It made Kevin fumble in his dreams. They were unpleasant dreams but they weren't the nightmare they were living now. In his dreams he searched for Edd's warmth. Restless.

The July sun baked his skin. He swore he could hear his sweat sizzle. That wasn't the worst part of the insistent summer heat.

It was the smell.

Everywhere he turned smelled like a two month old fish market. The zombies he slugged were overripe, sickenly sweet thanks to the heat. They were fermented corpses, falling apart and covered in boils. Even their blood was more disgusting than usual. Kevin used to have a sick joy in beating them apart, but now, the blood was dark brown and stringy. It reminded him of excrement.

The smell made him think they were liable to fall apart, but it only made them faster, more relentless. More hungry.

He wiped his brow and glared at the sun. "Fuck. I need to take a break." His hands felt stiff as he climbed the fire escape ladder of an apartment complex. He rested on the platform of the second story, back against the brick wall. He took a drink of water and closed his eyes, trying to quiet his thoughts.

A moment passed and Kevin's eyes snapped open suddenly.

It was a strange feeling that passed through him. It urged him and he listened, searching the soft shuffling, deceased crowd below.

Only one body in the suburban sea walked steadily. Alive.

Only one body wore a black sock hat.

Not wishing to alert the teen, Kevin resisted calling out. He slipped into standing position and hurried down the fire escape. He stalked through the crowd, dodging hands and carnivorous mouths. He held his bat tight in his hand. Only tightly. Like his gun, he left the weapon as a last resort. Impact would draw Edd's attention. Kevin feared he would run off.

They were close now. Their bodies were only inches apart. Kevin felt like a tiger walking through the brush.

Gentle, but firm, Kevin put his hand on Edd's shoulder.

"Edd," he said simply.

Edd turned, and, surprising Kevin, buried himself in the jock's chest. Dumbstruck, but happy, Kevin wrapped his arms around him.

And stopped.

Dull teeth raked his abdomen, sinking into flesh. Blood seeped into the front of Kevin's shirt and he stared, bewildered.

The back of Double D's head blocked view of his action. But the pain shot through him, and a twist of vulnerability ran through his stomach.

Teeth latched onto and pulled, dragging his insides.

His bat fell out of his hands. The sound echoed on the pavement.

X

Pounding echoed in his head. He shot up, drenched in sweat.

The pounding was his heart, reminding him he was alive.

His surroundings came into focus: an office, yellow papers scattered on the floor, filing cabinets ransacked. A tarp covered his lower body like a blanket. He reached his hands under it and searched under his shirt, hands pressing firm against his stomach. It was intact.

He checked the front of his shirt. There was blood, but not his own.

He fell back on the pillows, made from trash bags filled with shredded paper.

"Aha. So Kevin is awake, yes?"

He sat up again, recognition flashing across his features. His eyes widened, taking in the image of a tall, shirtless man, his muscles sheened with sweat, and beard dusting over his collarbones. "Rolf?"

Sitting in a computer chair, Rolf leaned forward, hair covering one side of his face. "Yes, it is Rolf." He smiled, then stopped, forming a sort of scowling, confused look. "Rolf found you passed out on the fire escape. You reminded Rolf of Rolf after eating too many jujubees."

Kevin rubbed his face, chasing away the fog in his thoughts, still adjusting to reality and his new surroundings. He looked past Rolf through the office door. The door was made of glass with a soft sheen of dust, but it was still transparent enough to look through. The windows shed no light and save for their tiny shelter, it was dark.

"Shit. It's night already?" He scratched his head and paused, realizing his red cap was missing.

Rolf pointed down next to him on the floor. Kevin blinked and picked up the baseball cap, placing it on his head.

"Heat exhaustion ailed you. Rolf took you up on his shoulders and carried you here. Tell Rolf, why did you go out during the day?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Rolf frowned, his brow twitching. "Rolf sees you are unfamiliar with the Hungerers."

". . .And you. Are. . .?" Kevin blinked. He was used to Rolf's fantastic stories but none of them had been very interesting, or seemed to carry a grain of truth.

Rolf nodded steadily. "The Hungerers were a common pest in the old country. It's the reason why Rolf's family fled. Here there is only groundhogs and seapigs. Rolf's family dreamed of the new country and it's simple problems." He sighed, as if remembering something.

"So tell me more about these things."

"Ah, yes yes. The Hungerers. No one knows how they came to be. There are as many tales of their origins as there are hairs on Rolf's back. One thing is certain they cannot be trusted! The brain-biters. . ." He hissed under his breath, scowling. "You shouldn't have been tra-la-laing about like a happy hen, Kevin-boy. The Hungerers are more active during the day, you noticed, yes?"

"Yeah. . . why is that?"

"So. You 'noticed' but didn't stay inside, like a stubborn radish?" He ignored Kevin's question and continued, "You were lucky you were out of reach of them. If you had passed out in the open they would have feasted on you like the tall Ed boy would feast on his gravy."

Kevin's mouth twitched at the mention of Ed. Rolf asked him what was on his mind and he explained everything that had happened before Rolf found him: how he and Edd had escaped the school, and their brief run-ins with Ed and Eddy. Rolf had frowned at the mention of Ed turning into one of the undead. He mused that he must pay his respects to the "tall chicken-loving Ed boy."

Kevin quickly advised his friend against it, explaining that the cul de sac was dangerous. Who knew if Edd had made more of those bombs? He had never asked. For all he knew, it was a minefield- and that was if there was a shred of the cul de sac left after the explosion.

At the end of his story there was silence. Rolf looked from Kevin to his lap and Kevin again. "Rolf must ask: where is the smart Edd boy now?"

The question made his heart squelch. He looked past Rolf again, at the windows showing nothing but total darkness.

"I don't know."