As the birds had stopped singing and the frantic voice on the radio died away, the party-goers all looked at each other with wide, unfeeling eyes. A chunk of ice formed in Jon's stomach as he wondered what kind of sick prank the radio station was playing. He tried to push the thought away, but his head was still spinning and he had to lean on the back of his recliner. The room was so quiet Jon swore he could hear his own heartbeat and the blood whoosh to his head.
"This has got to be a prank. You remember that something similar happened in the past with the whole War of Worlds reading on air. I'm sure the news will clear everything up."
A sea of heads all turned to the TV in unison, whispering among themselves. The TV cackled to life. The screen revealed the news reporter with tears in her eyes and her pitch black mascara dripping down her cheeks and onto the wooden table. Her voice trembled as she echoed the story of the radio, advising people to lock themselves into their bunkers if they had one, or their basements if they were not so foresighted. The news lady wailed, tearing out her hair and crying into her palms.
"Winston, if you're watching this I love-"
Jon clicked the TV off and swallowed. Liz stared off into space. Jon chuckled nervously, pulling at the collar of his shirt. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow as he tried to stand up straight and inject firmness into his tone. His lip trembled.
"Well, that studio is states away. Maybe it'll be contained before it reaches here. Nothing to worry about. Let's just go to the basement and wait it out."
A scream shook the air, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Liz backed into the wall, before sprinting down the hallway, launching herself into the bathroom and locking the door. The crowd backed against the wall. Lyman was the last to turn, his eyes widening in horror as teeth crunched into his arm. Three seconds too late. Slimy drool splattered onto his arm and clothes as the creature chewed on the ensnared appendage. Lyman sobbed as Jon gasped in horror.
"It's Odie. What's happened to you? Why are you doing thi-" Jon rambled, his eyes glued to the scene. Odie's unseeing eyes rolled in his head like marbles down a hill, the undead pooch spasming as he tugged on the arm. Lyman could only scream as his arm was ripped from his socket with a wet rip and pop. Jon's jaw dropped. Lyman fell to his knees before toppling over, his former best friend playing tug of war with his corpse for possession of his arms and legs.
Garfield bolted. Jon followed, stumbling behind him blindly. Tears clouded his vision. Jon banged on the bathroom door. Nothing. The bedroom door was open, but a large window hung right above the bed. "Come on, come on, let me in." More wet tearing sounds from the living room. "Liz, please. Once they move off from the living room I'll let you come to the basement with us."
"What's to stop me from going to the basement myself? More room for me."
"Liz, please. You won't be able to get into the canned good closet without me." Garfield scratched at the door, yowling in fear as something squelched in the living room.
"Is Garfield with you?" The pair threw themselves into the bathroom as the door creaked open. Liz locked the door as soon as they stepped foot inside.
"Now quiet, both of you. First one to say a word goes outside. We clear?" The duo nodded, panting as quietly as they could.
It was three minutes later that the screams really started, accompanied by the sound smacking and chewing. Jon whimpered as Liz shot him a look. His head was in his hands and his eyes were red. It wasn't until two days later that the noises died down and the trio could make their way past the explosion of red in the living room into the basement. It was like a red can of paint had blown up in Jon's living room, red pooled in every crevice and even had splattered in the ceiling. The hallways were slick, so that Liz had to steady herself on Jon's arm. The air was so saturated with the smell of rust and salt that the two humans had to pull their shirts over their nostrils. Garfield could only hold his breath and try not to retch at the smell, and the scent of decay coming from the formerly undead Odie, whose body was finally stiff with some form of peace.
Large pieces of what used to be people were strewn across the room like grains of sand on a beach. Jon felt his stomach turn as he finally reached the basement. The doors were locked, and the trio breathed out a collective sign of what was almost relief. Job sobbed, his head spinning as fat tears rolled down his burning cheeks.
"I can't believe that I left everyone t-to-"
"Die?" Liz finished for him.
"Be torn apart." He finished with a quiver.
"All my life I'd assumed I was a stand-up guy, someone who wouldn't hesitate to save his fellow man even if it put himself at risk. Hell, back when I was a boy all I ever thought about in daydreams was saving people from burning buildings, and stopping robbers from stealing purses from old ladies." He took a breath.
Liz looked him up and down.
"Well, I'm sure those people feel so much better knowing that you feel bad about it." She sighed and gave his shoulder a squeeze.
"It's in the past now. No amount of prayer and regret will ever turn back the clock. No amount of tears will ever be enough to wash the blood off of your hands. I can't tell you how to survive with yourself after this. It's not my place to justify or judge your actions, or tell you how to make peace with your actions. Especially since we're all just as guilty as you are. But I can give you a small shred of advice."
Jon sucked in his breath.
"Remember this day. You can hate yourself until your last breath, but that won't unspill the blood in your living room, nor put flesh back on the skeletons in your closet you helped pick clean. All you can do is make every moment count, so that nothing like this ever, and I mean ever, happens again."
Jon nodded, hugging himself as he sat down across from the boiler.
As the days went by, life as he knew it had changed for Garfield. Garfield spat out the canned food he was forced to stomach at first.
The beans paled in comparison to a lasagna fresh out of the oven. How could soggy beans that tasted like cardboard left in winter rain ever hope to compete with warm, gooey cheese married to tomato sauce in a loving house of pasta? The corn was slightly better, if you closed your eyes and sucked on it you could tell it used to be sweet a long time ago. After a few years on such fares, Jon swore he could even see a few ribs emerging from Garfield's frame where nothing but roundness had dominated before.
Garfield spent his days listening to the gurgle of the boiler when he wasn't making swipes at the concrete floor or Liz or Jon when they came too close or when he was particularly displeased with the fare of the day. This day in particular, Garfield had been particularly appalled by the food offered to him. Instead of letting him mourn his favourite foods in peace, they had presented him with a mockery. Beans flattened into pasta innards, the last slices of bread supposed to suffice as lasagna pasta slices. Worst of all, however, was the corn pulp meant to be the likeness of cheese. Garfield swiped at the concoction, converting the monstrosity into a smear on the wall.
Liz gasped. Jon stood up, nodded to Liz and eyed Garfield the way one would look at a child who screamed I hate you at them. Jon wiped away a tear, and stepped up to the door. He cracked it open, as if he were expecting a bomb to blow him to bits the second he left the bunker. Nausea rose up in Liz's throat as she watched Jon's now lithe form slide through the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Out. Don't wait for me."
"We still have enough food for a few more days, Jon. Don't throw your life away just yet."
"What kind of life is this? Eating nothing but cold beans, stale corn and oily beef just to exist another day? Sleeping on concrete until it's ingrained into our cheeks? Just to exist for another day, wasting space among those who think so little of you they wouldn't have three words to say about you if you died?"
He waited. After a few seconds of silence he eyed Liz and continued with a frown.
"I'm tired of the way you both look at me. You look at me like I'm the slowest gazelle. I know you look at me and see a coward, with hands so red they dye everything I touch. I know you look at me and see a fool, who didn't pack enough food and doomed us all. I can't just exist like this anymore, existing only for the sake of existing. I'll be back within something we all can enjoy. Then you'll see that I'm more than just the slowest, most cowardly gazelle."
Liz stretched her hand towards him. Her mouth was a perfect o as she tried to find the right words to say. The words died on her tongue as Jon shouldered a rifle on his back and closed the door behind him, dust falling from the ceiling in wake of the door slam. Liz wept quietly into her hands. Garfield stared at the door and flicked his tail. Good riddance. What kind of dummy doesn't think to stock his basement a little better? No beds, nothing good to eat. What kind of dummy can't save his own dog, and can't even give his cat a good life?
Over the next few days Liz found herself jumping at every hiss of the boiler, every creak of wooden ceiling, every crack of thunder as she waited for the door to creak open and reveal Jon. She'd finally found some words to say, yet had no one to say them to. Don't go, you're all I have. You're all Garfield has. Don't go, don't go.
The fur on the back of Garfield's neck started to rise as he watched Liz mutter to herself as she hugged her knees. Jon had been gone for days. Had he abandoned them? He had promised to come back, but what if he'd found a new group of survivors? He could make a fresh start with a new name, a new life among strangers. Liz stood up suddenly and nodded goodbye to Garfield. Garfield's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he whimpered for Liz not to leave. She knelt down and rubbed the top of his head. Liz sighed.
"I'll be back after I find Jon. Be a good kitty Garfield."