Written by Ariel.

1:
The noise of the helicopter blades he is leaving behind is deafening enough to allow him to concentrate on it for a few seconds, time for the trembling in his legs to subside and his eyes to adjust to the dazzling sunlight streaming through the windows. broken and reflected in the fallen glass that no one has bothered to clean.
Normally he would have worried that the noise and movement would attract them, but at this point it doesn't matter too much.
Nothing matters much to him anymore.
In fact, sometimes he even has to remind himself to worry about himself, although this too came to seem ambiguous and routine.
An authoritative and familiar bark manages to make its way between the roar of the engine and the voices of the men who have come to meet the crew, as if listening to their thoughts.
Of course he doesn't have to remember to worry about Owl. He's never had to, he's been his priority since they've been together. He would still cling to life, to his own miserable life, if he knew that his Owl still needed him. More than once he had done just that, and he is doing it right now.
“For you, you flea-bitten bastard,” he thinks fondly as he looks with hatred at the leash that imprisons his partner's neck, and at the hand that holds it.
That hand, whom he also hates, belongs to a man he hates by extension, but who he has also come to admire and, although he would not admit it even to himself, to respect.
He assumes he would do the same in his situation.
“Helicopters are not rental cars, unless they are the bastards who sit around all day doing nothing! But this baby won't leave here unless it's for something important, so I suggest you dig out the precious haul of supplies, provisions, and any survivors you've stuck with that you better have brought!”
A tall guy, taller than the one holding Owl, has appeared a few inches from the landing ramp and is peering into the vehicle with a critical eye.
His accent immediately gives him away as some Argentinian.
Without wasting time, several helicopter crew members stack boxes, bags and sacks outside for other people to distribute them around. The outside of the store is a hive of activity and conversation, but John hardly cares.
He walks to stand closer to 02 and notices with satisfaction that his puppy, always faithful, pulls on the leash vigorously as he tries to get closer to him, although without wagging his tail or making a sound. He knows he's not safe, so he won't allow himself to be happy.
John sincerely believes he's smarter than most of the stupid people who play at living their normal lives while the world goes to shit.
"god damn it!" 02 exclaims as he takes a step to quickly turn towards him, trying to hide that the dog has made him lose his balance.
“Can't he ever sit still?”
“He knows where his place is,” John says with a shrug, hiding a smile.
“and I know where mine is, but I can't get to it.”
02's eyes darken, and John loses the desire to smile.
“control your beast, boy. We have a deal".
“You have a deal with me, not the dog. Don't blame him for being what he is." But John's tone, although not kind, is softer than usual.
“Who is this, Mendoza?”
John inwardly shudders. He hates knowing things about his interlocutor, and blames him for it, even if he finds out about these things accidentally, like now.
The Argentine who was looking inside the helicopter earlier has approached them from the side, so neither of them see him coming. Both take a step to the side, instinctively, but the subject apparently has not noticed the presence of the new furry tenant.
“He is a survivor, sir. "He kept an entire store of groceries near the north entrance to Central Park, so I decided to bring him with me rather than risk destroying valuable supplies in a fight."
This is technically true, although not entirely. It is the art of lying without telling lies, the art of telling enough truth to let people assume incorrect stories.
Apparently John isn't the only one who has been secretly learning from his partner.
“a whole store, you say? Him alone?”
“It wasn't a very big store,” he interrupts, before 02 can continue practicing subtle manipulated honesty, “and there weren't too many of those things nearby either.”
The Argentine turns to him, and they both examine each other cautiously.
Up close, his height could be intimidating if it weren't for the fact that he walks slightly hunched over, as if all the time there was a great weight on his shoulders that he was longing to get rid of, and although he probably looks down on most people, like now, He has a strange way of staring, as if all his attention was focused solely on what he is looking at.
It reminds John in a strange way of a carrion bird attentively following its dying, waiting prey.
“Rafael” he says, diplomatically, and extends his hand. “Call me Rafa, everyone does it.”
“I won't,” John answers as he shakes his. His grip is strong and firm, friendly. He knows He can't trust him. Friendship is the easiest thing in the world to obtain, and the easiest thing to lose.
“As you wish,” Rafael agrees. “I see that life has taught you well.”
“give him a gun” continues towards 02, Mendoza. John intends to forget the last name as soon as he is alone.
"Be patient; we need all the eyes we can get on the walls. If you find it impossible... there's always, always something to do here." He looks around and bids farewell with a nod.
“Don't be useless,” he adds to John over his shoulder, “and we'll get along.”
“So, you brought me to your leader? Do you want me to imbue your civilization with my advanced knowledge and evolved lifestyle?” John smiles at…02's frown, thinks with determination
“They will want you to recruit and they will expect to see you in training,” he answers, ignoring the joke.
“You'll have to go, once or twice at least, while I gather information and stuff. The least we can do is be unprepared. You can choose a weapon to your liking, but…”
“yeah, whatever, but give me my dog.”
The briefest hurt look passes over 02's face, but it's so quick that John doubts it was there. The next moment he just looks annoyed.
“you promised…”
“I will help you, because I owe you. We're already here, and even if he could steal his beloved helicopter and get out of here, it wouldn't be worth the risk. You don’t need to take care of him until we’re done.”
He did not add that, although he owed it to him, he had also found a purpose in the task, something to live for. It had been a long time since he felt necessary or useful and this name obviously he thought was. Besides, although he again wouldn't admit it to himself, he really wanted things to go right for once.
02 looked at him for a few seconds, then frowned and dropped the strap he was holding.
Owl didn't move, however. He stood still, looking at him as if he expected that, by trying to get away from him, he would be caught again.
“Besides,” John added after approaching to take the leash, “I know you don't like him.”
02 seemed really offended by this.
“Of course I like him! I had one just like him in…” he interrupted hisself and again that hurt look darkened his face.
“Anyway, I'll take you to your accommodation.”

2:
His first clear memory is of when they gave him his name.
Not the real one, the one his parents gave him at birth, but the other one. The one who had accompanied him for as long as he could remember. The streets, the cell and the laboratory.
The suffocating relief when he was told he would be released from the dark, suffocating prison cell, the confusion of being thrown into another one, this one white and sterile, and the crushing resignation that hit him when that doctor, if that was what he was, left. approached and told him that complete submission, cooperation and obedience were expected. That he would never get out of there and that he would be happy that a prisoner like him could serve a greater good, that he would execute his crimes by contributing invaluable advances to science.
Of course, when the laboratory succumbed to the force of the zombies 6 months later and the bars of his cell cracked from the force of the explosions, when he was able to crawl out through the rubble and over the corpses, when he buried a long pipe in the eye of the undead that the doctor had become, when the prisoner survived, he considered it poetic justice.
Since that moment he had found little but chaos and destruction.
Cars overturned, shops and buildings looted, corpses in various stages of infection, or being eaten by their comrades.
He wandered, stealthily, as only someone who has grown up on the streets knows how to do. He was not afraid, that had been taken away from him in the laboratory, in the correctional facility and even before, in those same streets. Only before you had to flee from the living, not the dead.
When he found Owl and as incredible as it may seem, he had already settled into a routine.
It was what everyone did, really, when any disaster happened. You continued with your life until the elements that made it up such as work, cars or family disappeared and then there was no choice but to accept that you were probably going to die, and you would surely never be the same.
It was easy for John to adapt. He had no family, and the few friends he had ever made were dead or had abandoned him. He knew how to live alone and nomadically, always traveling with what he could carry and, although he had long since stopped considering himself a simple street bum, it still felt natural to fight for food or steal it when there was an option, sleep in abandoned places and basically flee from the environment, risking danger only when necessary.
He had decided to live just to see how long he could live, just to spite the world and fate itself for all the times it had tried to kill him and failed.
It was on one of the frequent walks he took to seek temporary shelter, right in front of one of the bridges that divided the East River where he saw the dog.
At first he thought it was a bird because he could only see a pair of bright eyes looking at him from the lowest branch of one of the bare trees that lined the sidewalk, eyes and a black spot for a silhouette.
“an an owl?” he wondered vaguely as he approached.
But no, he realized, while using someone's cell phone as a flashlight. It was too large to be a bird, and also...the thing let out a moan, a whimper, and a bark.
John stopped dead.
A dog? In a tree? Can dogs even climb? He didn't know. But it didn't matter, because this dog could. He moved closer and the dog growled low, but he didn't move. John wondered if he would be able to get back down or if he was stuck.
Then, when the dog growled again, John wondered almost too late why he had climbed the tree in the first place, if he really did.
A low, steady hiss startled him, it sounded like something slithering slowly.
It came from the bridge. John turned around and saw, to his horror, a silent group of undead heading towards him with hesitant but quick steps. There were 3 nuns among them and their long habits were sliding along the floor dragging garbage and dry leaves, that's where the noise was coming from.
He heard a scraping behind him, and turned to see the bird-dog turn on the branch and dig its hind claws into the tree, at the same time using its front paws to propel itself toward another branch.
It was hilarious, and under other circumstances John would have laughed and maybe tried to take a photo, but under other circumstances the doors of the buildings behind him wouldn't be opening, nor would there be living corpses coming from both corners of the street.
John was surrounded.
"shit!" he murmured to the dog as he backed away towards the tree. “You could have told me!”
The dog did not respond, it simply continued growling at the growing mass of bodies.
John looked around. He didn't have many reasons to live, but he didn't want to die devoured either and just the idea of imagining himself becoming one of them made him want to break something.
He considered climbing the tree just like the dog, but the trunk was too thin and straight for him to hold onto and there were too few branches. Maybe he would have made it if he'd had the time.
He pressed his back against the trunk anyway and considered his options. There weren't many. In reality, there were only two. Die terrified in an anguished wait and huddled against that tree, or die huddled against the tree and in a distressing wait alone after having emptied the 3 magazines of the glock that he carried with him.
60 bullets, plus the 30 he had, if he did things right he would take 90 sons of bitches with him.
He began to shoot slowly and methodically. The zombies approached slowly, but without pause. Every time one fell, another took their place, and while John could see their numbers slowly dwindling, it also meant they closed ranks faster.
The first one reached him when he was going for his 40th shot. John didn't count on the bite, and later savagely berated himself for it. Of course he would die devoured, and slowly. They would tear him to pieces while he was still fighting.
It was on the left leg, by something that must have once been an old man that know walked on all fours and waved its pink tongue from what was left of its jaw.
The pain was sharp and stabbing but strangely bearable, no worse than receiving a burn or a stab. The same thing happened with a bite on his arm, his shoulder, his right leg and a graze on his wrist, which he only bothered to avoid because another unfortunate man was trying to bite the hand with which he was holding the gun.
He had resigned himself. Although he vaguely calculated that he would have had a chance to escape since by a miracle of fate there were more bullets than zombies, it was too late to think about the past.
He knew how the infection started from enough movies that even someone without stable access to a television could watch. One bite or scratch and you were lost, if you survived its attack the infection would slowly kill you, until hunger woke you up again.
He had one, two, 4 serious bites, so it was just a matter of seeing what would kill him first. Whether whatever possessed these corpses or a running infection, John figured most of the creatures hadn't had a chance to die with clean teeth.
He sighed, spread his feet and made a decision. He would kill as many as he could, and the last bullet would be for him...
A sudden sigh brought him out of his thoughts. He was fast and explosive, eerily human-like.
But it came from the tree behind him.
He fired 3 quick shots breaking the vanguard of the zombies and took a quick glance over his shoulder, only to see the dog-monkey looking at him from the branch he had climbed upon seeing the undead.
Its eyes shone eerily like the first time he had seen them and still reminded him of a bird's, and he even had his head tilted slightly to the side as he looked at him reproachfully. It was smaller than He thought, with small brown flecks scattered across its otherwise black fur like ink stains on a painting, and its long, strong tail curled determinedly around the bark of the trunk in a vain attempt to get around it.
"what?" John asked, arching an eyebrow.
The dog whimpered, then looked at the zombies who were getting too close again and barked twice.
“I'm not your personal bodyguard,” John muttered in response.
The dog whimpered and howled again and tried to reach a branch higher up the tree with his front paws, but they were too high, so he crouched down again and looked sadly at John.
He's just a puppy, the young man thought. He imagined his own death and the creatures surrounding the tree, filling the air with their foul smell of putrefaction. He imagined the dog before he had climbed the tree, stealing food like him, hiding like him. The dog wanted to live because that was his nature. He didn't contemplate death the same way John did, so he did the best he could to stay alive.
Of course, until he, stupid human, decided to attract a whole horde and they were both going to die.
John shot. And he shot, and shot. He bent down and picked up a stone the size of his fist and threw it at the corpse that was about to bite him.
And the dog barked with each shot, as if he too was celebrating the creatures' deaths. Their… second deaths.
Then there were no targets in sight, and John collapsed, sliding to the ground and falling into a fetal position on the roots, semi-conscious from the loss of blood and the pain of his wounds.
He felt slightly angry at himself for not taking a shot when he could and that he would surely be feeding on the remaining survivors soon enough, but even that feeling seemed to lose strength as the darkness claimed him.
“It will be easier going up than going down, dog, so I hope you do better than me next time.”
He thought, and then let himself go.

3:
The first thing he felt was a sharp pain in his stomach, a kind of hot burning that spread through his body, followed by a strange emptiness that would have made him dizzy if he were fully conscious, then coldness throughout his body, and finally a strange weight that didn't let him breathe, as if he were wrapped in layers and layers of clothing.
"this is hell?" he thought slowly. It seemed like his mind was lethargic, as if he was sedated.
“Why is hell a lot like losing a fight?”
Some of the weight shifted, and something warm and wet brushed his cheek. He felt quick breaths on his neck, like gasps, and then something began to tug at whatever was wrapping around him insistently.
“fuck, they punished me with some kind of sexual demon?”
But no, John knew he was alive. It was just that he didn't understand why. He remembered the tree, the zombies, the dog... the dog?
“Get away, you little bag of fleas, you'll make it worse,” said an urgent, grave, and unfamiliar voice, and then John half-opened one eye and saw a blonde head leaning over him, a poorly trimmed beard, and a pair of strong arms supporting him. They took something off.
That something was the dog, he was sure. Same size, same color, and when the person holding him stood up, John saw again the gleam of those disturbingly intelligent eyes that so resembled those of an owl.
The puppy, for that's what it really was, began to bark and try to get free, although John noticed that this time it was only wagging its long tail and wriggling around in a friendly manner, and since there was no scent of decay and the dog had not attempted to bite its captor, there was no immediate danger.
The man released the dog and knelt down, and John could see that he was not actually blonde but that his hair, face and neck were completely dusted with something whitish. Lime? flour? Baby powder? Which contrasted strangely with his intense gray eyes.
“hey brother, are you okay? Are you fully awake now?” he said, and his voice was soft, yet demanding, as if more than a health check he wanted to know why John wasn't well enough that he had to ask.
“If by asking if I'm completely awake you really want to know why I'm not dead, well sadly I don't know either” John answered, and his voice came out hoarse and dry, making him wonder how long he had been unconscious.
The older man leaned back a little and smiled slightly.
“Well, if you want to get to that so quickly…I actually want to know why you're not one of them.”
It wasn't necessary to clarify what they were referring to, but John didn't have an answer either. He remembered the pain of the bites and the weakness of the bleeding, he remembered how his left leg had gone numb as soon as he hit the ground and how he had to strain for his arm to respond. He had been bitten 4 times and, although he didn't know how long it took, he was pretty sure that the infection, any infection, should have spread through his body by now.
He concentrated, trying to locate his wounds, but all he felt was the weight of what he could now see were several blankets on top of him, a damp sensation all over his body, and the persistent emptiness that spread from his stomach, and that now could easily recognize as hunger.
“I don't know,” he was about to say when something even more pressing occurred to him.
“Why do you think it should be?” he asked instead. “Where am I and how did I get here?”
“You never waste time, do you?” answered the other, sighing.
“May I know what to call you?”
John shrugged, or tried to under the covers.
“You wouldn't guess,” he responded, rolling his eyes. "my name is John. “John Doe.”
The man gave a short, surprised laugh, as if he had forgotten what it felt like to laugh.
“Are you fucking with me?”
“Not at all,” John responded very seriously. “There is a criminal record and everything”
The man raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. He just nodded as he looked for something out of sight of John, who hadn't moved. The boy realized that he had not offered him his name, and he did not want to ask him.
He returned shortly after with a can of cold instant soup and a spoon and handed them to him, saying with a shrug that given his starving appearance, his name wouldn't be a surprise either.
“I thought you would die,” the man continued as he sat on the floor next to John, although not too close, and absentmindedly stroked the head of the dog who sat and watched John eat while wagging his tail gently.
“This friend didn't leave your side for a second, he barely moved 1 or 2 hours a day to...do what he had to do outside of here, but otherwise you both made a nice couple lying there still. “You have a good dog,” he added as if that were a crime. John refrained from mentioning that he was not his dog.
"How did you find me?" he said instead.
“This one's fault too,” he responded, tapping the dog's nose with a finger.
“He was hanging around here for about 30 minutes until, thinking that he wanted food, I went out to chase him away. You know, food is not enough to give away these days, but as soon as he saw me he started barking insistently as he ran away, then came back towards me and he barked again.
The truth is I was worried that he would attract shit out there with so much noise, and since it was obvious that he wanted me to follow him...well, I did."
“You trained him well,” he added after a pause, as if he had finished his story.
“Yes…he's smart,” John replied absently, “but, if you don't mind…well, as things are, you saved my life. Because?"
The man sighed again.
"When I found you I thought you were dead, you were covered in mud and leaves next to that tree, but your dog wouldn't stop barking and running between us, so to keep him quiet I dug you up enough to expose the...wounds".
John knew that he was referring, among other things and above all, to the bites.
“I thought about leaving you there, obviously, but the marks were covered with more dry mud and it had rained two days ago. You weren't dead, obviously, but you weren't up either, so I brought you here.
"I have never seen a bitten person not convert after the first 6 hours of infection..."
There was a long silence, as if the man was preparing to say something important. He was looking out the window as he spoke, and the dog took advantage of his distraction to approach John and lick the remains of the soup that the young man had left next to him.
“I thought…I thought that maybe, if I saved your life, you could help me. I don't know who you are, where you come from, or why the hell you seem to be the only immune person on earth, and the truth is, I don't care. All I know is that they bit you, and you survived. I know from your empty gun and the footprints around you that it wasn't a short fight, so I'm pretty sure it wasn't an accident or something fortuitous. I know you can face them safely, and to me that's all that matters.”
“Do you expect me to repay you for the favor you did me by saving my inspiring and extraordinary life from ending tragically under the branches of a tree outside a park?” John said at last, with a note of disbelief in his voice.
The man just nodded.
"and because? Do you think I am the perfect specimen of the human race who deserves to carry the whole story of how the world went to hell and then rebuilt itself thanks to the united and selfless work of people like you and me? Or do you think I was willing to die making some heroic sacrifice?
The man turned to him, looking at him with a mix of determination and desperation that surprised John, who had expected to see annoyance, surprise, and even pain.
“I saved your ungrateful ass,” he began in a calm, careful tone, “because I'm very good at judging people. And I am rarely wrong. And I know that you would not leave a debt unpaid, even if it is not such for you. I can see in your eyes that you prefer exchange to gratitude. And anyway,” he added as if it had just occurred to him, “if you're so upset that I didn't let you die even if it was a favor, I can fix that mistake.”
He stood up, and in some impossible way there was a shiny uzi in his hands pointed directly at John's head.
The man held it with both hands. Feet shoulder-width apart, arms extended and relaxed, gaze firm and head held high, even with the mouth slightly open.
He knew how to shoot and it wasn't the first time he had done it, John had no doubt about that.
He looked from the barrel into the man's gray eyes, took the can from the dog's snout, and said casually.
“What do you need me to help you with?”

4:
It took two weeks for John to get the full story, though he had to admit he hadn't done much to ask. Not out of lack of curiosity, but because he didn't want to reveal anything about himself to the man, although fortunately the man seemed to respect his privacy and understand that if he wanted help, he would have to share his story.
During that time John limited himself to healing and getting stronger, because although there was no infection as such he still had to constantly treat his wounds and get stronger. The ones on his legs were the most serious, as they had been torn with pieces of clothing, skin and even a little flesh missing; but his companion seemed to be well equipped, he had stocks of canned food, first aid products, weapons of various types and even things like morphine, a surgical kit and several thermal blankets and clothing stored for several weeks.
John discovered that they were in a kind of convenience store, not far from Central Park, and that this had been the shelter of several groups of survivors who had slowly equipped it until they formed a kind of easily defendable fortress, although none of those survivors were there now.
The man wanted to introduce himself, but John insisted that he not tell him his name, just some nickname or code so he could address him, and his companion accepted without much persuasion.
“02” began slowly, as if he were about to tell a scary story at summer camp.
“You can 	call me 02, it was my operational badge in the army. I've been part of their ranks for a few years now and know how things work out there.
It didn't seem strange to me or my colleagues when they sent us as first responders to an unknown destination, saying only that our mission was to neutralize several hostile individuals in the area and keep the rest of the civilians safe. They never gave too much detail about anything, you know. “In case information was leaked to the right people.”
“But they weren't just crazy people, right?” John asked, forgetting for a moment his reserved appearance.
02 shook his head with a lost look and a melancholic expression.
"No. They were more of those… those things” he said, making a wide gesture with his arm as if he wanted to encompass the outskirts of the store, the park, the city, perhaps the world.
“We ordered them to stop at the beginning, you know? Many still had normal appearances. But they didn't stop. I remember that some of my colleagues had begun to mobilize all the civilians to their homes and they were calm, as if it were just another routine operation. But those bastards kept coming, so we got permission to shoot as a deterrent. It was not enough.
When Ricardo, one of my unit, accidentally hit one of them in the shoulder, panic began. I remember that the commanding officer turned to tell him off, but the rest of us just stared at the group. They didn't react to the shots or to us wounding one of them, they simply approached impassively, like a tide that would gradually surround us. And more and more arrived.
We all started shooting together, no longer caring if we would get in trouble for it. I guess deep down we knew something was terribly wrong. Fortunately for us, I think, as soon as he heard the sudden roar of sustained fire and looked at what we were shooting at, the captain began to do the same. He only gave orders to alternate reloads and control objectives, but it seemed that he had the same feeling as us.
It didn't work, of course, although it did at first. They were difficult to kill, but we discovered that if we shot their legs they would simply fall and be trampled indifferently by their companions, or eventually crawl in another direction. We used the highest calibers to destroy their heads, and thus the first group remained silent. And the second, which arrived perpendicular to the first.”
02 paused and John found that he was leaning forward and holding his breath tensely.
“By the time the fourth arrived from the flank and we saw the fifth in the distance, we began to become demoralized. We did not have unlimited ammunition and although our reaction was quick from years and years of training, no one knew what we were fighting and order was slowly breaking down.
In an effort to refocus, the captain ordered a ceasefire and a strategic retreat toward the buildings, where we could reduce the number of targets we took down at a time and would eventually have the ability to form a more defensible chokepoint.
Half of the group began to form barricades with sandbags, garbage containers and even our own trucks and again everything seemed to go well…until the children.”
02 shivers and looks directly at John as if he had forgotten he was still there.
“They came from the north. And they attacked us, you know? They were huge, swollen creatures. Most of them just looked like unrecognizable shapeless masses full of writhing limbs, like oversized furballs. But some retained a definable head appearance and…and faces. Small, childlike faces. The lines broke and we all scattered in panic. I confess that what follows is blurry to me, I only remember running and shooting at anything that crossed my path. However, the majority of the group did not spread out too far and we were able to reunite once everything calmed down a bit.
Several men were missing, but not enough that we couldn't organize ourselves once we understood that we were facing something much bigger than just hostile subjects and we were able to talk to the townspeople to help each other.
We secured the entire district and began gathering supplies and survivors. It was a long month, John, but I finally had something resembling a life again, until they released me here under the pretext of looking for more. Weapons, ammunition, food, people…”
“Is it that bad?” the young man inquired, half joking and half curious about the comment. 02 sighed, and that look of determination and desperation returned to his face. John thought that for someone who has been living with death for so long, this seemed to have affected him excessively.
“I had a…a girlfriend, about 15 years ago. She was actually my first and only true love, the only one I ever felt anything real for.”
John raised an eyebrow, taken by surprise. What did his high school girlfriend have to do with all this?
“No, I'm not talking nonsense,” 02 added when he saw his expression. "just listen".
“There were others, of course, but she was the only one that mattered to me. We were together for 4 years and I was sure we would get married. She got pregnant before I asked, but when she told me I just thought it confirmed that she would tell me yes. I was happy, so happy to start a family with someone I loved that I definitely didn't realize she wasn't.
She began to distance herself from me, to smile less…there were no longer effusive goodbyes or affectionate greetings when I went on operations with the unit, until finally she left taking advantage of the fact that I had to be away for a couple of months for work.
She took advantage of that moment to take her things and leave and only left a note, a note on the door of the house we shared so that it would be the first thing I saw when I arrived.
She said that she couldn't raise her son with an absent father, that she didn't want to be with someone she didn't know when she would see again. That it wouldn't have been fair to her if I condemned her to a life of worrying about me, in case I didn't come back one day.
That note destroyed me, John. I don't know if you understand. She never said anything, she never seemed upset nor did she say anything bad when I had to go out. “She liked my colleagues or so she told me, and she knew how important my work was to me.”
"Yeah, but certainly not out of love. I'm not the best person, and just like the pain of her sudden departure haunted me, so did the feeling of being betrayed in some way. I couldn't forgive her for not telling me anything, for not giving herself the chance to talk to me, not even for leaving a note. I thought she was a coward for leaving like that... but of course, she took my son with her. Or daughter, I don't know, but I never cared. I never imagined I would be a father, but when I found out... I can't describe the feeling to you. It was as if suddenly anything I did made more sense, had more meaning, because now I was making decisions for someone other than myself. Suddenly, I had to be what I considered the perfect man to set a great example. Suddenly, there would be a little person in the world with whom I could do everything right, someone I could love unconditionally without caring if they ever left my side or not."
And that bitch had taken even that away from me. So yes, John, I searched for her for the next 10 years.
She blocked her cards, changed her phone number, withdrew all the money from our shared accounts, even her relatives learned to avoid me meticulously.
I didn't hear anything about her or the baby and eventually I stopped looking, I thought that if I relaxed she would come out of hiding long enough for her to get lost and I could find a lawyer who would give me custody of the child.
I didn't quit my job, because it was really the only thing I knew and wanted to do, but the parties, festivals, and celebrations that I was possibly missing with each passing day motivated me to keep trying.
But I'm not going to bore you with any more ramblings, John, so I'll summarize what happened.
I was there, in that godforsaken town that we had tried to defend from those damn zombies. I saw her among a group of survivors that some colleagues were taking to a meeting house or something, but I didn't recognize her. She had lost a lot of weight and had dyed her hair and eyebrows, she even wore contact lenses of a different color. I only knew it was her because she somehow found a way to get me a letter right before I took the helicopter that brought me here.”
02 was silent, and from somewhere inside his coat he took out a note that he extended to John, who took it silently with a mixture of disbelief, astonishment, and fascination:
Tom. I'm Grace. Our daughter is alive. She is somewhere in the swamp, to the north. I left her there with 4 other people. Her name is Luce and she knows who you are. She has a birthmark on her left cheekbone and she looks a lot like you. Please save her. I can't apologize for what I did to you, but she is your daughter. You have to get her out of there.
“So, let's see if I understood,” John said after a long and tense silence. “Do you want me to help you save your daughter that you never met from a camp of survivors that you don't know if it still exists in a place infested with the living dead just because the woman who abandoned you asked you to?”
John thought he might be being a little cruel, but he didn't know what to think or how to feel. He couldn't help but empathize with 02, who now knew his name was Tom, but he also felt uncomfortable knowing that he owed his life to him, although he was also happy that he wasn't dead and furious at the world for ending up in this situation.
“yes” 02 answered without further ado.
“why?”
“because if anyone has a chance to get in there and come out alive, it's us. "Besides," he added as he stood up, "if you don't, your puppy will die."
John raised an eyebrow, taken by surprise once again. He didn't like to be surprised.
“what, really, man?”
02 shrugged, grabbed his uzi, and looked at the dog resting peacefully between them.
“Normal people say please, you know?” John added in a biting tone. “and don't call him puppy. I don't even know how old he is."
“What is he called, then?” the other asked with a lopsided smile.
“Well…Owl, because of his eyes,” John pointed out as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

5:
Things in the safe zone where John had ended up with 02 in that helicopter were worse than the young man would have imagined. Riots, food fights, panic, other wandering groups of humans who regularly attacked the facilities with heavy weaponry…all of this added to the common contingencies of living in society. Accidents, illnesses, childbirth, fights due to infidelity, etc. John found himself thinking more and more often that the lucky ones weren't the ones who had survived.
Fortunately he had enough distractions so that none of it affected him. He spent the next 3 weeks getting to know everyone, training his dog, and learning how to shoot, navigate any terrain, and deal with most unforeseen situations there might be.
He didn't see much of 02 after the man settled him in and told him that he would let him know when they could leave, although little by little he found himself asking more about him, although obviously calling him Tomás Mendoza. He discovered that he was indeed one of the best in his unit and that he was about to be promoted, when the military hierarchy still made sense. Although he didn't have many friends and tended to speak more with bullets than words, people knew they could count on him. That affected John, because he was taking a liking to him and he was scared of it. He did not forget the lessons of betrayal, falsehood, lies and deception that he had learned throughout his life. His credo was that it was always better to be alone, but the first kind stranger with a sad story had managed to break his barriers like paper.
“Maybe it all started because I decided to worry about you,” John said to Owl, looking at him with mock indignation, but the dog just looked at him nonchalantly before running off and stealing a piece of stale bread from a woman who was carrying supplies to distribute in A car. She didn't even notice, but John figured he should leave before anyone else noticed the incident.
Another week passed before John heard from his friend, but eventually it came in the form of a note under the boy's pillow:
We leave tomorrow night, see you at the outpost. Take the dog.
“Did you hear that? You'll still be a nuisance to me,” John murmured to Owl, patting him on the head, and the dog licked his hand and animatedly wagged his tail as if he understood.
The outpost was similar to what John imagined the inside of a lighthouse would look like, a sort of elevated room with a window to look out and somewhat isolated from the shop and the buildings around it.
There was only one guard, but he was attentive and alert to any movement and usually questioned anyone who passed by. John couldn't see 02 from where he was, hidden behind a pile of old tires, but he assumed he was nearby. He didn't understand why he had chosen the post as a meeting place when there were thousands and thousands of meters of abandoned space to hide in, but he couldn't ask him.
He had brought a backpack with him full of things he assumed would be useful, but there was no radio or way to communicate, not that he could get a message to 02 even if he had one. He supposed he was expected to make a distraction, and he was about to think of one when a bright glow illuminated the sky for a moment.
A shot? A huge spotlight? A shooting star?
But there hadn't been any noise, just the light had flickered slowly from somewhere to the west as if it were some kind of divine wink.
John didn't think this would be enough to cause anything, but surprisingly a few moments later he saw the small door on the side of the building open and a shadow emerge from it, flashlight in hand. At the same time Owl next to him let out a short growl and began to trot towards the other side.
John hesitated for a moment, but finally followed the dog into the darkness, trusting that his friend would not lead him straight into an ambush. Owl walked confidently as if he knew where to go, and from time to time he stopped to look back and make sure John was still following him.
They didn't have to walk far when they saw 02 leaning against a deserted wall holding what looked like a gas canister in his hand.
“You're not going to spray me with that, right?” John asked moving forward cautiously.
“Oh, not at all my young padahuan!” 02 exclaimed in a very good mood.
“It's just chicken broth,” he added happily, lifting the jar.
“And why do you have chicken broth in that thing?” John inquired.
“In this one there is vinegar and pepper spray,” 02 continued, shaking another identical container as if he hadn't heard it. “But I didn't know if it would work, since I invented it to mask our smell and scare away the dead if they get too close, only since it doesn't I couldn't try it for sure I had to do an experiment with the chicken broth one to see if your dog could follow it. And since you are here, surely real gas will work”
John took a few seconds to process that, but since it didn't make sense he finally asked.
“And the light that took the guard out of the post?” “Oh, courtesy of one of the gas station pumps,” the other answered, distracted.
“You blew up a gas container just to distract someone and test if your gas worked?” John exclaimed indignantly, but his companion walked happily whistling and did not seem to have heard him. John sighed, motioned to Owl and went after him.

6:
There were no incidents as they walked side by side through the city, mainly because their best option was to stay uncovered and in clear places, so they could easily defend themselves in case they were ambushed. However, they heard several shots coming from distant houses, and once the shock wave of an explosion of something very large made them lose their balance, but they did not see anyone.
The city was quiet and gloomy and 02 only made them stop once near a bus to steal a couple gallons of fuel. For distraction, he said, although John strongly suspected arsonist tendencies in his partner.
Finally they crossed the bridge out of town and headed toward the swamp, where the terrain became rough and treacherous. The trees began to become scarce and were replaced by stunted stems and leaves and dry mud that covered the ground in layers and prevented rapid advance, and like the area, 02's expression became increasingly indecipherable.
“Be careful,” he said, “they told us that the…zombie children came out of there.” He said no more, but John could hear fear and anguish in his voice and wondered if he was considering whether his daughter would be one of them. In the end, not wanting to worry him anymore but not wanting to risk his own life, he couldn't help but ask. “Are you…sure that Luce…” it was not necessary to finish the sentence.
“I didn't waste my time, John. In that swamp there are groups of survivors like us. We have kept in touch by radio, but there are not enough supplies for everyone in either place, and since we don't want a war we prefer not to tell civilians about each other's existence. I haven't spoken to Grace, right, but they told me that they brought her barely a day before we arrived, so Luce hasn't been alone for more than 2 months, with the safe company of others."
They were circumstances, John knew, imprecise and vague information, with a million possibilities of going wrong but... in the end, what else was there other than hope? And even if everything was in vain, what was the alternative? Return to the first safe zone and stay there until the food ran out or the dead killed them all? At best, John believed they had half a year left, if not less. Truly, if his options were to wait helplessly for death or brave it in this mad, meaningless quest, John knew what he would choose.
They soon reached a kind of arid and silent plain and were almost hindered by the mud that reached their shins and sucked at their boots as if it wanted to keep them there forever. They were in almost complete darkness, their flashlights like solitary points of light in a sea of ​​blackness, and the few plants and bushes that still clung to the ground offered spectral shadows that seemed to follow them.
"where are they?" John murmured, and his voice was like a cannon shot in the deafening silence. “Do you see that building up ahead?” 02 responded, shining his flashlight in that direction. Although they were ordinary battery-powered lamps, the ground was flat enough that the beam of light extended for many meters and barely illuminated a black, diffuse, irregular shape that broke the muddy surface like a ship breaking through and evil surface of the evil.
“I think so,” said John. “Well, not in that one. That cafe is abandoned and is the lair of a behemoth that we are going to have to kill or avoid to reach our destination.
John rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything else. They made a strange couple, the former soldier and the former street child, one running to meet his past and the other running to try to escape from him.
“Why do you think you didn't convert, John?” asked 02 and he was startled, sincerely believing for a fleeting moment that his strange companion really had psychic powers. "can you hear me?" he thought, just to try. “If we find your daughter I will make her my shugar baby when she turns 16.” But 02 didn't react at all, and John had to suppress a laugh.
“I was in a kind of laboratory, you know. I'm the movie freak they experimented with right before it all started, I guess it was either a big coincidence or a bunch of vaccinations. 02's eyes widened, but he wasn't at all surprised like John expected. “I have heard of test subjects, especially in large powers. I really don't know why it's not common sense” she replied and John remembered who she was talking to. “And is there anything you don't know or haven't heard about?” he inquired scathingly. 02 thought about it a little. “I didn't know that the test subjects could be cruel murderers, although I suppose they weren't going to take some politician's children for the job.”
John stopped suddenly, pale and tense, but he had to wait a few seconds for his companion to realize that he was not at his side and turn around. “What's wrong, John?” he asked bewildered.
“Did you investigate me?” he inquired bluntly. 02 seemed even more bewildered than before, and for a moment he just stared at him before bursting out laughing loudly, his laughter piercing the silence like gunshots, magnified by the emptiness of the place.
“oh, oh, damn… I shouldn't have dropped it like that… sorry. Of course I did, boy, I told you I didn't waste my time. You will understand that bringing you here was a wild and excessive impulse, something almost dictated by destiny. Coincidence after coincidence are what have brought me here, I needed some control. So yeah, I wanted to know who I'm dealing with. "Although," he added after calming down, "if it's any consolation, I'd bet 2 servings of food that you didn't kill that boy, right?"
“No,” John answered cautiously. “No, that filthy rich kid liked to play rebel, do drugs behind Mommy and Daddy's back, and steal his car. I guess his father sent those hooded men to scare his son but it got out of hand. It worked with us, of course.” 02 he nodded as if he understood perfectly, as if he had been there.
“yes, yes, they faked an assault, killed the boy and then blamed you and your friends. Death penalty, right?” “I don't remember,” he lied. “I was just there and then in the laboratory. Although…why am I telling you if you seem to know so much?”
02 laughed again. “I don't care, John. And neither should you. They are all dead, converted or have forgotten. And we are all murderers in one way or another.”
They had arrived near the cafe, and John could clearly see its broken windows and what looked like curtains flapping in the breeze. Doors graffitied and half torn off their hinges, there was even an abandoned sign lying in front of the main entrance, with only the letters C and E intact. He was about to respond to 02's philosophical musing with his own sarcasm when he heard a noise to the left of him, it was like a huge suction cup was slowly being peeled off a glass, it was like a clogged vacuum cleaner. . It was like a sucking noise, it was...
“Shit, shit!” 02 took John by the arm and with surprising strength lifted him, lifting him out of the mud and throwing him a few meters ahead, near the entrance of the cafe just as the earth exploded, throwing pieces of dirt, mud and roots everywhere.
John stood up and quickly grabbed his newly acquired MP5 as he quickly turned around…and almost dropped it in shock.
They came out by the dozens as if they had been activated by some kind of spring, which at first he thought were horrible, twisted, monstrous sirens. Their skin was scaly and they had a humanoid shape, the tallest being just over five feet tall. They appeared to have between one and four appendages that they waved uncontrollably as they crawled towards the two humans. Some had a kind of fluff or hair on their cracked skin, and many others oozed liquid from grotesque tears in their appendages or open wounds in their chest and abdomen. Only when one of them opened their mouth and let out a kind of mix between squawking, moaning and crying that made all the hairs on the back of John's neck stand up and 02 began to let out a torrent of curses worthy of a trucker he realized what he was looking at.
It was them, the drowned children who had died trying to leave the swamp area, horribly bloated, decomposed and partially eaten, whether they had been eaten by each other or by their older comrades, John didn't want to know.
He began firing and saw to his horror that his bullets simply bounced off the strange scales or passed through the appendages, what John saw were arms and legs, causing no apparent damage.
He felt a hand pull him back and almost shot 02 until he screamed in his ear. “There are too many, we have to go! leave them!". They ran like hell, with Owl behind them, faster than John thought they would, especially considering they were buried in a thick layer of mud, although just thinking about the creatures that were running and screaming. After them he had left there, both of them ran even more eagerly, heading to the cafe.
It stood imposingly, with its curtains still flapping violently as if there were a strong… gale… John stopped, but his companion pulled him insistently. But there was no wind, not even the slightest breeze to chase away the terrible smell of death that was suddenly breathed everywhere. Those couldn't be curtains.
That cafe is abandoned and is the lair of a behemoth that we are going to have to kill or avoid...
“Tom, wait!” shouted John, too alarmed to forget his determination not to use family names. 02 must have noticed the same thing because he stopped and turned towards him, but Owl, ignorant of what was happening and wanting to flee from the most imminent danger, passed them, straight to the cafe door...and the tentacle that was shaking anxiously.
The dog almost passed, however, and for a moment that lasted half a blink John thought the worst would not happen, but at the last second the thing jerked and violently grabbed the puppy by the tail, dragging him towards the mass of long limbs that waved madly.
John heard himself scream, although he didn't know if he was making words or just incoherent sounds, and he made his way towards the café, rifle in hand. A tiny part of his mind registered 02 running next to him and wondered why he hadn't stopped him, until he realized it. They had the cafe in front of them and the dead children behind them.
They could have escaped from the sides, but for some reason neither of them even considered the point because Owl was trapped inside.
John rushed through the door and began to dodge tentacles, thick as a man's arm and with multiple branches that extended like fingers trying to catch him.
He wasn't too terrified to shoot, he wasn't a marksman like his partner, and he knew he'd only waste ammunition if he tried to hit one of those things. He moved forward, pulling the service ax from his belt at the same time he grabbed a machete from the sheath on his hip, and began chopping. The tentacles oozed a viscous reddish liquid that must have had some adhesive quality, since his fingers were sticking to the weapons and making it difficult to manipulate them.
He was going too slow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw 02 do the same but knew they wouldn't have time. The child-zombies had already arrived at the place and were dispersing, although they seemed to be drying out like turtles that had spent a long time in the sun and their movements were more clumsy and slow. Furthermore, the tentacles seemed to make no distinction between friend and foe, and several dragged the screaming, writhing creatures along.
“This can't get any worse” John thought as he spotted with relief the little Owl who was struggling fiercely between 2 tentacles whose branches were trying to capture his legs and head.
John began to advance towards him…and a wall exploded.
Everything stopped for a split second. The sound, the movement, the air. Then there was a blinding flash of light and a ringing in his ears, and he had been lifted into the air and thrown forward, miraculously not stabbing himself with his own weapons.
He fell to the ground and stood there, stunned for a moment as he tried to assimilate what had happened. A meteor? No, something more terrestrial. He remembered the flash that had distracted the sentry at the outpost, this one had been incredibly similar. He rose to his knees and then slowly stood up.
The darkness was broken by several small fires that burned here and there on papers, remains of furniture, and even the bodies of some unknown creature that were slowly burning, and in the gloom John could make out the silhouette of several people around. He saw to his relief that 02 was still standing where he had been the last time he had seen him, and the two exchanged confused glances. oOwl was nowhere to be seen, but John could hear him barking over the crackling of the flames.
An entire wall had disappeared and a smoking crater was in its place, and behind that crater were several people. 4 men, two women, a boy and… a girl.
A girl who was the perfect copy of 02, she even had the same frown and the same slightly arrogant bearing. A girl who was even covered in white plaster dust like her father had been the first time John saw him. Behind that crater was Luce.

7:
John supposed he must have been surprised, stunned, terrified. But all he could do was laugh uncontrollably. Laugh because so many improbable things had happened in the last few hours that it was absurd, laugh because they had not found what they were looking for, but the other way around, laugh because all the strangers who filled the half-torn door of the cafe as well as the gap where there had been a wall They were armed, including the children.
They were both holding guns, John assumed it was because they couldn't handle it with ease, but little Luce was also holding a hand grenade.
No one expected him to laugh, he imagined too, because everyone froze again as if that sound were a second explosion, even the barking of the dogs and the screams of the zombies stopped for a second and all that could be heard was John's laughter. and the fire.
"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God." 02's murmurs brought John back to reality. He was looking at his daughter with an expression of shocked horror, as if he had seen a star fall from the sky or the appearance of an avenging angel.
Unfortunately there was no time for presentations. The moment passed and the tentacles of the monster behind them, knocking John down again. The zombies launched into a fierce fight with the group of strangers, but 02 and Luce continued looking at each other as if everything around them had disappeared. There were tears on the man's face, and John felt a pang of… something, so he looked away before he could recognize it.
The explosion that had thrown him forward had also positioned him closer to his dog, which he could see struggling a few meters away from him, but unfortunately also closer to the monster.
John fought fiercely towards his dog, with the same determination that 02 had shown when searching for his daughter. One of the tentacles wrapped around his ankle and pulled, propelling him forward and twisting his leg at an odd angle. He heard a sickening crunch and felt a snap followed by intense pain, but it gave him the push he needed to get closer to Owl and cut the tentacle holding his torso and legs. The dog fell to the ground with a loud thud, but immediately stood up and ran towards the group of survivors who had formed a kind of firm line against the zombies and were killing them mercilessly. John knew they were about to finish off the last ones and he felt relief…
Quick as a whip, one of the remaining tentacles wrapped around his waist and another around his neck, and together with the one that was gripping his broken leg they lifted him up and pulled him with a hiss towards the central body of the monster. Two others took the two young women who were near Luce, and the 3 humans scrambled, trying to escape.
John turned and almost dropped his gun. Apparently they had cut off enough of the monster's tentacles, because it was dying, and enough space had been opened to see what had previously been a human body, broken into dozens of parts by thin stumps from which the tentacles emerged. They squeezed into his open mouth, nose, eyes and ears, and had even pierced his ribs. A grotesque vine surrounded the body in a horrible parody of clothing, and at that moment the three humans were being dragged into that mouth, ready to be swallowed.
“John!” shouted a familiar voice.
As He had predicted there was no sign of the child-zombies and the small group of people watched the spooky spectacle that was the Behemoth.
Somehow little Luce had arrived with her father, and Owl was with them too.
The girl had the grenade firmly gripped, and John saw her remove the safety pin without even looking at what she was doing, as the three of them retreated towards the wall, harassed by most of the monster's remaining tentacles.
John understood immediately. The others didn't shoot, because they were stupid and didn't want to hurt him or the women who were also imprisoned, and he still had his ax and his machete. He could cut the tentacles holding him and escape. But Luce, Owl and 02 had already reached the wall and couldn't go back any further. And those two hadn't even had time to get to know each other yet.
He bit his lip hard, ignored the suffocating sensation of being slowly crushed by the tentacles, and shouted, “Luce, throw it!”
The girl looked at him, and so did her father. 02. No, Tom. Tomás Mendoza, the one who had saved his life without questions out of a crazy hope. The one who had done a silly experiment just for the pleasure of seeing if it worked, the one who in another life, another time would have considered his friend. The one who was going to die without being able to hug his daughter if John didn't do something.
“John, no! “We’ll get you out of there!” Tom shouted, but a tentacle slammed his wrist hard against the wall behind him, causing him to drop the gun. Owl started barking.
“Luce!” John shouted. “throw that damn thing, don't be as stupid as your father. He will kill us all if you don't kill him first!”
“John!” Tom shouted again. Another tentacle was going to meet Luce, they were running out of time.
“You have to let her do it, man! And get her a damn tea set afterwards, letting your 10 year old kids play with grenades is not legal anywhere!”
Tom stopped screaming. Whether because of the pressure of the tentacles on his body or because of the solemnity of the moment, John didn't know. There were tears on his face again, and on Luce's too. She probably didn't understand half of what was happening and she was terrified, but she raised the grenade.
John nodded in approval, already feeling the monster's foul breath on his neck. He shared a look with the women with him, remembering a little too late that he wasn't the only martyr here, but they just looked at him and smiled.
John looked at the father, daughter, and dog one last time.
“Don't be a bitch, Tom, and you better take care of my dog, or I'll come back from the dead covered in zombie stomach acid just to torment you!” Tom smiled at this, looked into his friend's eyes and, as best he could, bent down to take the dog in his arms. Owl was no longer barking, but wagging his tail happily looking at John.
He smiled internally. “You are smarter than everyone else, right, friend?” he thought, and was silently grateful for that brief spark of humanity that those bright eyes had given him back.
There were many things worse than death, after all, but he would no longer be there to suffer them.
Luce threw the grenade, and then there was only peace...