What We Left Behind
“The flickering flame haunts the room. Zombie body parts have been bottled and stacked on shelves on the far wall. Fingers claw softly at the glass. Eyes move with the shadows. Teeth grind in silence.
I want to smash the jars, but to destroy them wouldn’t solve anything.
Dad is restless. He’s looking through his desk drawers for something. His right arm rests in a sling.
“Please, dad,” I say. “You need to rest. You should sleep.”
“Oh, Hazel,” dad replies. “If I could, I would. I can’t.”
“Dad. You have to.”
He lifts an empty rucksack and dumps it on the desk. Using one hand, he opens it and puts a knife and a coil of rope in the sack.
“What are you doing?” I ask. My voice is soft and supportive, not accusative.
“I can’t stay, Hazel.”
“You want to go out there?”
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