Days of Love and Blood

power, heat and water. The tower Grisham had been working on made its first successful contact with a colony of uninfected people in McGrady, North Carolina. We heard from several more within a year. All of them confirmed sightings of larger and larger homicidal herds, always heading east, always stronger when together - as if their closeness prevented the disease from killing their bodies. But over time, all of our contacted colonies reported a lapse in homicidal sightings. Brigham had been sending out a repeating broadcast of our location in an attempt to find lone survivors and it worked. People trickled in after hearing our message. The more people we had, the stronger we would become.
    After the execution, Ben walked listlessly around the farm. He slept alone in an abandoned house by the reservoir and rarely spoke with anyone. His formerly kempt appearance faded as his beard grew and his clothes wrinkled from days without washing. They hung from his shrinking body, becoming too large for his waning frame. Gretchen and Ivy brought him food whenever he was gone for too long but he never ate more than a few bites at a time they said. Ben and Leo left our colony for another group in Doe Run, Missouri a week after we made contact. No one tried to stop them as they loaded their car with food, cans of gas and fresh water. Ben was a broken man and there was no one in our group who could fix him. We were all just a reminder of humanity’s downfall. Two days later we heard that they made it to Doe Run.
    It took Ivy a few weeks to look me in the eye s. It took even longer for her to give me a genuine smile. We never discussed what I did in the barn. We both tried on a number of occasions but the awkwardness caused the wound between us to reopen and neither of us wanted that. We eventually dismissed the idea of trying to talk about it by avoiding the topic altogether. It was a silent and mutual understanding and as the days passed, our childhood bond proved to be stronger than any one deed. In the end, she kept the promise she made to me just before I entered the barn.
    Cassie moved out of my house and into a small cottage with Johnson two miles away from Ivy’s farm. She gave birth in March of the following year to a healthy boy. Ivy cried when she heard they named him Grisham.
    It took me a long time to let go of the feeling that I was being watched. Whenever I went to Ivy’s farm during the first few weeks after the event, I felt the eyes of everyone upon me. People made small talk with me but that was where the familiarity ended. Cooper assured me that no one regarded me with disgust but it didn’t seem that way initially. For weeks I felt like the outcast of the group, the pitied black sheep.
    “It’s not all about you, Carson,” he would say which I found irritating. “There are other things people are more concerned about. More attacks. Grisham. Trying to figure out where the hell the homicidals are headed and wondering if they’ll come back.”
    Time changed all that as time tends to do. The way we see things change over time. The memory of my rapists and their demise faded until at last there was a day that I didn’t think about it. I no longer heard whispers over my shoulder or the look of speculation in my neighbors’ eyes. I found laughter and smiles again. When the possibility loomed that the epidemic might be over, the mood of our wayward community lifted dramatically. We had a future in sight.
    Ronan’s attachment to Cooper grew quickly. Cooper was a different person with Ronan. He was gentle and soft. He reached for Ronan’s hand as naturally as any father would do and Ronan would rest his head on Cooper’s shoulder if he was in his arms. Cooper jumped at every chance to read him a story at night and put him to bed, always kissing him goodnight. Sometimes he would hold Ronan in his arms until he fell asleep. Other times he stayed there all night long with Ronan tucked under his arm. Ronan slipped a few times and called him ‘Daddy’. The first time it happened, Cooper had to look away to compose himself. The next time he did it, Cooper told him it was okay to call him that.
    Cooper still had his moods. Time didn’t change his attitude but he made an effort to talk to me before going off on one of his antisocial tirades. I got used to it. I accepted it. This was Cooper. He wasn’t Ritchie and he never would be. People change over time but they do it on their own. I wasn’t going to try and