So, perhaps I am not the best person to give out promises. Again, my apologies for the lack of updates recently. Being as it is my last year in high school, I really have to focus on grades and all that. So, I really haven't had the time to sit my butt down and write. I really hope those that read this story are happy with this chapter and I really hope ya'll don't hold it against me cause I haven't posted anything. Thanks for reading! :]

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"Bastard!"

Helena slammed her foot down on the gas pedal. The infected only had so much time before he was a mere bug on the windshield.

There was a thump, a splatter of blood upon the window, and a bang as the infected bounced off the roof and landed in the street behind her. With exuberance, Helena shouted in delight and looked at Zeus.

"Did you see that, baby boy? We got him, we got him for daddy!" she smiled with pride and looked back at the street.

If someone asked me how long I have been driving, I could honestly say I don't know. An hour? Definitely more than that. Or perhaps it only has been ten minutes. The devastation of Richard's death has numbed my body and mind. I have become emotionless. Impossible. If I were emotionless, wouldn't that mean I felt nothing when I ran over those infected and crushed their bones with my hood?

Oh. Too graphic, Helena. Just because you live in a world with death does not mean you can become a woman with cheap disturbed thoughts.

With a quick glance, she looked down at the gas level quickly before looking up. She had been driving for approximately 40 kilometers and her car got 7.23 kilometers per liter. . .

Her head suddenly hurt. Being a therapist didn't require multiplication and conversion skills. That wasn't her line of work. She was only a therapist. Not a psychiatrist.

But now that England has just had its balls handed to them in a bag, perhaps I don't have to work anymore. I can use my degree and knowledge to prevent my own insanity.

Prevent it? Perhaps I already am? But how is that possible after only 40 kilometers and 7.23 kilometers per liter. . . And. . .

"Oh Zeus. My head feels like someone is banging it against a concrete wall," Helena mumbled more to herself than her canine companion. "You think with the apocalypse, there would be more to worry about than headaches."

She closed her eyes for a second to massage the bridge of her nose, right below her eyes. She needed a tension reliever. Or, a don't-think-too-much reliever.

"Give me normality. I can't believe I am saying this but I wish I had more normal, no thrill life. I wish. . ."

Opening her eyes again, she looked out the wind shield.

No reflex was quick enough to swerve out of the way before her car collided with the wrought iron gate. The car spun at the impact, sending Helena flying into the window. She could feel Zeus' panic and almost taste her own fear. Yet she didn't feel frightened. Her mind was floating atop a peaceful lake, her thoughts as calm as a swan in the evening. Hadn't Richard said something about swans when she got the painting in the hall? Hadn't he called them vicious little buggers?

"My childhood pet was killed at a swan park. The day after, all the swans had disappeared," she recalled him saying and could almost see him stirring his afternoon tea as he talked about his long deceased pet.

The car hit a brick building and her head was violently slammed on the window. The world was fading, blackness was replacing reality. It was warm. Nice and warm. Calm. Relaxed.

Had the car stopped? Maybe. Zeus was barking. Couldn't he stop? She wanted to sleep. Why wouldn't he sleep too? Richard would let her sleep. And he'd sleep right next to her.

A face appeared in front of her, hair the colour of bright purple.

"Richard," she sobbed, the tears blocking her vision further. "You're not Richard. I just want . . . my Richard back."

And then everything was enveloped in darkness.