March 14, 2013 (Can you find Meg’s face?)

Welcome to the second edition of the new Chimera! We havesubmissions to show you! Also rules, but the submissions are

so much more exciting so you should check them out! Well,you will, because you’re reading this, and you should keep

reading despite the rambling! Sorry … weird day.

Upcoming EventsBARDIC REBELRIES REVELRIES!!!!!!

● PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE think about something to do!● It’s like a talent show with no competition … or talent!

○ Jk, all of you are beautiful, talented people● EVERYONE HAS A TALENT! FIND YOURS AND SHOW IT OFF! OR

ELSE! (also jk)● Do we have a date for this? … Not as of yet, no. BUT SOOOOOON● You can dance, sing, recite stuff, do a skit, present a cosplay, do

a rubix cube, WHATEVER YOU WANT (within reason. No killingpeople on stage. That would be rude.)

CONBUST● IT’S AWESOME! YOU SHOULD GO!● March 29th-31st● It’s at Smith, $15 for 5 college people

Hello, Science Bard here to announce the Chimera’s internetcounterpart, the Bellerophon! The Bellerophon will accept any andall relevant content that we can’t publish in the Chimera. Simplysubmit your work at thebellerophon.tumblr.com/submit. Most of

the rules for submission still apply, but as it’s a constantlyupdating tumbly blog, there are no deadlines. Meta/poetry/othershort form writing and safe-for-work art/fanart will be acceptedas is. Any longer writing or NSFW content will be placed under a“read-more” Please follow The Bellerophon if you’d like to seemore wonderful works by your beautiful fellow Bellas!

Just so everyone knows how the Chimera works, here are afew extra guidelines (these are actually more like rules, sopay attention fo’ realz this time よ.)

● We will accept one submission per person per medium pernewsletter.

○ i.e., you can submit a story and an illustration to appear inthe same newsletter, but not two illustrations or two stories.If you do, we’ll split them up over several publications.

● If you submit something, IT MUST BE YOUR ORIGINAL WORK ORYOU MUST HAVE THE EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THECREATOR TO PUBLISH IT IN THE CHIMERA.

○ If you’re recommending something, you don’t have to gettheir permission. We aren’t publishing it, just providing alink or a title.

● We will have deadlines. *general groans from the readers*○ I know, but the editors need time to go over what you’ve

submitted. It would be unfair to expect something yousubmit on Wednesday night to appear in Thursday’s issue.

○ THAT DEADLINE WILL BE: the Tuesday before the newslettercomes out on Thursday. We will tell you when the next issuewill come out in the issue immediately prior. THAT MEANSYOU HAVE AT LEAST TWO WEEKS NOTICE.

We also came up with guidelines for the editors, and we want you tosee them, so you don’t think we’re feeding small children to a mythicalbeast in exchange for this. I know, this is pretty magical, but we didn’tmake a pact with an actual chimera.

● Editors can’t review or approve their own works.● If a submission is unintelligible, we will work with the creator to

make it intelligible.● If we don’t think something is appropriate for the Chimera, we

will suggest submitting it to the Bellerophon (the Tumblrcounterpart, see above) instead.

As for how submissions will be published, we will give eachsubmission a rating, taken from the movie ratings system weare all so familiar with. The submissions will appear in theorder they are rated, G to NC-17. … Except for this issue,because we don’t quite have all of this hammered out yet. (Itwas midterms, give us a break!) We haven’t really come upwith any clear conclusion about NSFW stuff … Right now, itdepends on the submission. Sometimes, we’ll be like “That’sawesome! Put it in!” and other times, we’ll be like, “That’sawesome! Put it on Tumblr!”

LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA COMMANDS YOU … SUBMIT!(stuff to us... >.>)

Prompts

1. Imagine your OTP: Imagine Person A has turned into a mythologicalcreature of your choice without rhyme or reason. They just wake upone morning with tails, claws, feathers, scales, etc. Person B is asusual.

2. Alternate Universe: A royal court in which at least one character is ajester.

3. Include this phrase somewhere in a story: “But if anyone asks, tellthem we’re fine.”

Librarian Recommendations

Books

The Goblin Wood - Hilari Bell (2003)● Makenna, a young hedgewitch, flees her village when her mother

is killed by the other villagers. She makes a deal with goblins, whopromise to help her. Tobin, a young knight, goes on a mission toclear his brother’s name, and that mission is to rid the northernlands of goblins. Drama ensues.

Report on Planet Three and Other Speculations - Arthur C. Clarke(1972)

● This is a collection of really awesome short stories by Arthur C.Clarke (obviously), including one in which Martians are observingEarth, aka Planet Three.

The Ring of Truth - David Lake (1984)● … All I can find on the internet (stupid internet) is that it’s set in a

world in which gravity repels rather an attracts matter. BUT ITREALLY DOES SOUND INTERESTING IF YOU READ THE BACKCOVER WHICH I DO NOT HAVE WITH ME AT THE MOMENT.

Heritage of Flight - Susan Schwartz (1989)● Pauli Yeager is a senior fighter pilot for the battleship Amherst

(haha), but she’s struggling with her new post on planet Cynthia.

Aliens vs. Humans, neither may live while the other survives, but ina way in which neither side wants the other to die.

MangaCardcaptor Sakura - CLAMP (2000)

● Sakura Kinomoto is an ordinary 4th grader until she opens astrange book and releases dozens of powerful magic cards intothe world. Now, it’s up to her to recapture them, while balancingher normal life. Except each card is actually alive, and powerful!*gasp*

DVDMillenium Actress - Directed by Satoshi Kon, produced by StudioMadhouse (2001)

● TV interviewer Genya Tachibana has tracked down a closed moviestudio’s greatest star, Chiyoko Fujiwara, who has been a reclusesince she left acting around 30 years ago. Tachibana delivers akey to her, which causes her to reflect on her life.

Next Issue Publication Date: 3/28 (Deadline forSubmissions: 3/26)

Submissions

Grandma Groa - Erienne McCray, ‘15

Dominic Deegan: Oracle for HireArt and Writing: Mookie

Recommendation from Camilla Yohn-Barr, ‘15There’s no easy way to explain exactly what this flat-out fantasticwebcomic is about. I try to write a concise rec, I end up with a page-longessay. In my defense, Dominic Deegan: Oracle for Hire is not only my firstwebcomic but also the only webcomic I have never once stopped readingor fallen behind on (which means I’ve been following it faithfully for a solid

6 years) so there’s a lot of sentiment on my end.If you like the D&D brand of fantasy with all the magic and orcs and

stuff, beautifully written story arcs, well-developed characters, solidworld-building, andpurposefully bad puns/wordplay, then chances are you’ll love DominicDeegan just as much as I do. For the most part, the comic focuses on thetitle character, a seer who is pulled again and again into dangeroussituations where he and the people in his life are the only ones who cansave the day. Dominic doesn’t rescue/repair the magical world of Callanand the countries around it because he wants to be a hero, mind you – infact, he generally dislikes people and prefers to just live quietly. But healso doesn’t want various powers of evil and/or chaos to take over realityand subjugate the masses, or for everyone to die any number of horribledeaths, so hey, a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.

Don’t let that description mislead you – while Dominic Deegan has itsfair share of well-done drama, it’s mostly upbeat, goofy, adorable, andvery funny. It’s just hard tosum up nearly 11 years of webcomic without getting carried away.

Dominic Deegan is currently wrapping up – possibly even in the midstof its final arc – but it won’t be going anywhere once it’s done. Unless youcan marathon it overspring break, I definitely suggest waiting until the school year is over topick it up.

Overall Rating: 10/10 (A+ should read)Art: Typically black & white. Be advised that Mookie’s had 11 years ofdrawing practice, so the art in the beginning is very different.Writing: Fantastic! Compelling character arcs, believable and varied cast,actual exploration of the storyverse and how it works, killer plot – thisone’s got it all.Update Schedule: Monday-FridayPerfect if you like: D&D-brand fantasy or fantasy in general, magicshenanigans, humor; I think the Homestuck crowd would get a kick out of itas well.Warnings: 3 or 4 references to/attempts at suicide early on, 1 reference torape, periods of fantasy violence, and occasional character death.Feels?: YES (But oh will it hurt so good).

Angelic Witness ProtectionBy Meg Wallace, ‘14

Fandom: SupernaturalRating: PG

Genre: Origin storyGabriel was fed up. He'd moved out of Heaven after Lucifer fell, but

had still done his job when his dad called him to. Lately, though, everythinghad really gone to shit. In the centuries since Lucifer was trapped in thecage, Michael had gradually become more and more controlling of theyounger angels. He dealt with Lucifer's betrayal by convincing himself thathe didn't love his younger brother, and didn't feel as though a big chunk ofhis grace was in the cage with Lucifer.

After the Jesus debacle, God pretty much goes out to buy milk anddoesn't come back. Michael and Raphael were the only angels in regularcontact with him, so they manage to keep it quiet, but Gabriel takes hisfather's absence as his cue to cut himself off from Heaven. The onlyproblem with this plan is that the angels can easily recognize him, shouldthey come looking. Even if he acquires some other source of power so hecan conceal his grace, even the humans know his current vessel, a BronzeAge woman called Jossa.

As he's contemplating angelic witness protection, Gabriel hears aprayer.

As an archangel, Gabriel can easily tune out the vast majority of theprayers directed at him. Even he would be overwhelmed if he had to listento all of them. However, there are certain situations in which an angel willalways hear prayers. One of these is if an angel's true vessel is making alast desperate plea for help. Given that it's now AD 341 and he's due foranother true vessel to be born, Gabriel guesses that's probably what'shappening. He flies to what will eventually become Northern Denmark tosee what his vessel needs.

Materializing in a small, windowless house, Gabriel sees a man lyingon a pallet and staring at the fire in the middle of the room. The man wasabout average in size for a Norseman at 5'7", with reddish-brown hair andbeard and brown eyes. In his late thirties, he was probably one of the oldermen in his community still capable of physical labor, or he would be if hewas healthy. Even if he couldn't feel the man's life force, Gabriel would beable to smell the festering gash across the man's hip. Without help, he'd bedead of septic shock inside a week. Gabriel made himself visible andreduced the man's fever enough for him to be lucid.

"Did I just die?" the man asked, sounding dazed."No," Gabriel replied, "I healed you so we could talk. You prayed for

help.""Are you a goddess?"Gabriel hesitated. While he'd always been a bit irreverent, he didn't

particularly want to commit sacrilege. Deciding that if Dad had a seriousproblem with pagan gods, he'd have bothered to do something aboutthem, he answered the man. "That remains to be seen. Why don't you tellme what's going on? Let's start with your name. I'm Gabriel, by the way."

The man looked a bit confused about Gabriel's godliness remainingto be seen, but started explaining anyway. "I am Loki Jǫtunnsonr--"

"Son of a giant?" Gabriel interrupted. The man, Loki, rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Not literally, anyway. Myfather was simply nicknamed that because he was very tall. At any rate, myvillage, as I am sure you already know, is very small."

Having teleported directly into the house, Gabriel had no idea whatthe village was like, but he nodded and Loki continued.

"We do not properly belong to any particular tribe, which has neverreally been a problem before. We fish our stretch of coast and raise barleyand goats and we are self-sufficient. In the last two years, though, theDanes to the South have been kidnapping men from my village. I know theytrade with Rome, and I believe they are selling captives as slaves inexchange for Roman goods."

"Is that how you were wounded, they tried to take you as a slave?"Gabriel asked. "Not me. My youngest just had a baby, so I was helping her husband milkthe sheep, and a raiding party took him. I tried to fight them off, butTorbjorn was taken and I will die and Eydís will have no one to help her carefor her son, since her sisters are already struggling with beingnewly-widowed."

Gabriel had pretty much made up his mind to help Loki's village, evenif Loki didn't agree to be his vessel, but he would try to get Loki to say yesfirst.

"Look, Loki, I have god-like power, but I need to inhabit a human froma specific lineage. I heard your prayer because your lineage is the one thatmy vessels come from. The woman I'm wearing now, she's held me sincebefore your people settled here and I'm ready to let her move on. I can helpyour village, but I need a new vessel. If I can stop the raids on your village,will you allow me to inhabit you?"

Loki looked as though he was trying not to get his hopes up. "Can youbring back Torbjorn and the others who have been taken?"

Gabriel grinned. "I'd be a pretty sorry excuse for a god-like being if Icouldn't."

Loki smiled peacefully. "Then yes."Having gotten consent, Gabriel moved into Loki's body and sent

Jossa's soul on to her afterlife. Her body, he reshaped to look like Loki's soif any angels came looking, it would appear that Loki had died of hisinfection. Just housing an archangel was enough to heal Loki's body of allinjuries, scars, and even things like wrinkles and damaged teeth. Gabrielreplaced Loki's bloodstained clothes with higher quality wool pants andtunic with sturdy leather boots and rabbit-lined cloak. He then completedthe outfit with leather armor, a helmet adorned with some of his ownprimary wing coverts, and a six-foot-long fourteenth-century bardiche.Gabriel was not going for subtle; he wanted the Danes to fear godlyretribution for attacking Loki's village.

Gabriel's first order of business was to find the men responsible forselling Loki's friends and family into slavery. He wasn't picky, he justlocated the Danes whose souls were most tarnished with humantrafficking. He watched as each one was lured away by a siren; a beautifulwoman or a lost but wealthy-looking foreigner or a friend offering freedrink. Once each man had abandoned his family for whatever vice Gabrieloffered, Gabriel put them in chains and stuck them in limbo until he hadsomeplace to leave them.

The families of the stolen Danes told stories of the warrior who hadlured their husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers away before vanishingwith them. The rescued men of Loki's village told rather different stories.No matter where he'd ended up, each one told his family about the man(who looked remarkably like Loki would've if he'd been a warrior insteadof a farmer) who appeared with a fluttering sound and a Dane in shacklesand took him home, sans the Dane. Eydís and her two older sistersmourned their father's death but were glad to have their husbands back.The Romans who'd ended up owning the villagers were very confused whentheir slaves were replaced, but the replacements were equally sound andnon-Roman, so it was a pretty even swap once they were trained to dowhatever jobs the previous slaves had had.

*****After finding that he quite enjoyed punishing the assholes who'd

been raiding Loki's village, Gabriel had spent the last few years hangingaround Northern Europe and giving assholes their just deserts. He'dalways had to behave himself so he didn't give angels a bad name, sobeing able to have horse thieves trampled to death and child molestersraped was especially liberating. Gabriel was indulging his sweet tooth with

some baked apples when a large Norse-looking man walked in. Given thathe'd built his home on a mountain where one could only reach it by flight orteleportation, Gabriel figured it was a safe bet that the man wasn't human.

"Can I help you?" Gabriel asked. Let it never be said that he wasincapable of hospitality.

"You're the fellow who's been punishing the wicked with tricks," theman said brusquely.

"I am," Gabriel answered him."I'm trying to establish a pantheon for these parts, and we can't have

someone running around being godly without being one of us, but we'vegot space for a trickster."

Gabriel smirked. "Are you offering me a job?""Yes. Interested?""Depends. Who are you?"The man bowed. "I am Odin, leader of my little group."Gabriel stuck a hand toward him before remembering that

handshakes weren't really a thing yet. "Loki," he said, using his vessel'sname for lack of a better one, "I'd be delighted to be your trickster."

Burning AmbitionsChapter One: Rekindling (Part One)

By Lauren Tilley, ‘15Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (manga/Brotherhood)

Rating: PG

Genre: Drama

Kaliq’s POVFour years ago, General Roy Mustang and his men moved to Ishval to

begin the reconstruction of our homeland. He brought Major Miles and mealong so that our people will have a voice in the decisions for how toproceed. Mustang’s team has been invaluable to us during this time.Thanks to Capt. Heymans Breda and Capt. Jean Havoc, we’re taking full

advantage of our natural resources, building an economy for ourselves intrade with both Amestris and Xing. Our crops, wheat and cotton, areflourishing, and we have enough to keep stores as our population grows.Second Lieutenant Kain Fuery has been irreplaceable in reaching out toour brethren scattered around the country in slums, and thanks to hisdiligence, more and more refugees are returning home every day. FirstLieutenant Vato Falman, because of his experience in Briggs, has put hisshoulder to the wheel wherever he is needed: one day helping draw up alist of necessary materials for accommodating new arrivals, and the next,helping to separate the cotton fibers from the seeds. Lieutenant ColonelRiza Hawkeye, while she never leaves the General’s side, knows everyIshvalan by name and always makes an effort to welcome each newarrival.

The General himself, while he is often heard complaining about hisworkload, always completes every task ahead of schedule. Somespeculate this to be the work of Lt. Colonel Hawkeye, but I know he does itout of his genuine desire to help the people of Ishval. After completing hiswork, he always takes time to make sure every one of his subordinatesfeels useful and supported. He is well loved by his men, as well as theIshvalans.

In an effort to further his knowledge of the Ishvalan culture, heregularly sits down after dinner with Major Miles and me, sometimesasking questions about what he’s observed, and other times, just listeningto our stories. When others heard about these little chats, many came tojoin us, my master the most often visitor. Mustang listened to every storywith deep interest and compassion, leaving every conversational partnerfeeling that their voice had been heard. It was on one such night, after mymaster had left, that the general had revealed his true plan to me.

“Scar, there is something I want to discuss with you.” he said as thecurtain settled from my master’s departure. Scar was my former name, theone I had taken up when I left Ishval to take revenge upon the StateAlchemists. His eyes had turned hard, a change from the kindness he hadwhen he listened to my people. Saying nothing, I sat down on the matacross from him and waited for him to continue. He closed his eyes brieflyand looked down at the floor, a slight frown on his face. “You have theright to know what my true ambitions where, why I was aiming for the top.”Lt. Colonel Hawkeye glanced at him, surprised. It was obvious he had nottold her that he was planning to tell me this, which was unusual for the twoof them. Most of the time, it seemed as if they shared one mind in twobodies.

I nodded, feeling that a verbal response would be inappropriate.

Gen. Mustang sighed. “Hawkeye, you may as well sit down.” The womanknelt down on the mat next to him, keeping her back straight as shelowered herself, as Ishvalan women do. “You know Fuhrer Grumman isreturning this country to a democracy?” he asked.

Again, I nodded. It was often a topic in our discussions. Mustangsmiled distantly. “Yes, I suppose we’ve talked that one to death, haven’twe? That was one of my original goals. But I intend to take it further when Ireach the top.” He drew a deep breath and released it. “I intend to holdtrials for all of those responsible for what happened in Ishval.”

He stared directly into my eyes, trying to garner my reaction. I didn’tmove and returned his stare. I was surprised to see that his eyes had losttheir hardness and were replaced with the look of a man who carriedimmense grief. I had seen that look on many of the older Ishvalan refugees,and I’d seen this man turn that look into one of hope. When he didn’t speak,the Lt. Colonel looked at him with concern. She’d heard all of this before,and I could tell from the way she held herself that it was a difficult subjectfor him.

When he spoke again, he lowered his eyes from my face and clenchedhis fist. “It is my intention to bring justice to the Ishvalans. I want to domore than just restore your homeland. I want to set a standard for thiscountry, and ensure that nothing like what happened here ever happensagain. What was done here was an abomination.” His speech was halting,presumably out of shame.

By this point, I had realized where he was going with this little speech.“And what of you, Mustang?” I asked. From the slope of his shoulders andthe expression in his eyes, I knew he felt the weight of what he had done inIshval to this day. I remembered hearing stories about the Flame Alchemistduring the war. Even his own comrades were terrified of him. In some ways,he was more terrifying than the Crimson Alchemist, whose laughter wouldfill the streets of his destruction. The Flame Alchemist was quieter, moredistant, when he killed you. Many of my brethren thought he might not havebeen human, back during those times.

He drew breath as if to speak, but released it again. Straightening uphis back and shoulders, he looked me in the eye; the hardness hadreturned. “I intend to stand trial for the crimes I committed in this land.” Nolonger did the great general who led the coup against the homunculi sitbefore me. No, he was replaced by a young State Alchemist, accompaniedby an even younger sniper, facing an Ishvalan monk, shame and guilt in theway they held themselves. I admired them, for facing me as they did. Theydid not run away from what they had done; they didn’t mitigate it byconsidering their contribution to rebuilding the land they had destroyed.

I let out a soft chuckle at the odd situation. Mustang blinked, andHawkeye looked confused. “If that is your intention, then do not backdown, Flame Alchemist. Look your decision in the eye and accept it.”Hawkeye’s eyes widened at my comment.

“Is that your opinion?” Mustang asked.“My opinion doesn’t matter. You don’t carry my guilt, and my life

won’t change if you go through with this.” We understood each other, andsmiled. I was familiar with the need to be held responsible for what youhad done. I had felt the same thing when I returned to my homeland afterliving in a world of hatred.

Mustang smirked. “No insisting that I’m foolish? No pleading for meto change my mind? I’m hurt.” Hawkeye chuckled and rolled her eyes, and Igrinned at the general.

“I won’t shed a tear for you, General. Besides, we all know water isyour downfall. I would have killed you that rainy day if the Lt. Colonel herehadn’t interfered.” Laughing, the general and his subordinate stood toleave. “General,” They both turned to look at me. I dropped my smile as Isaid, “Thank you for confiding in me.” I nodded my head in respect, and hegave me a sad smile as he left.

I was left wondering at the honor of a man who has achieved somuch, yet can’t move past the mistakes he’s made in his younger years. Forall that I had done, I had never been brought up on trial. And here was theHero of Ishval, given medals for something he was now trying to undo.

We the LivingBy Charlotte Kugler, ‘14

Original FictionWarning: Minor Gore

Before she died, my daughter once asked me how to tell thedifference between the living and the undead. She must have been aroundeight years old then. I told her that you can’t, not until it’s too late anyway.

“But there’s got to be some way,” she insisted, “or else no one wouldstill be alive.” She was smart, that girl, even at a young age. Not a day goesby that I don’t remember some clever witticism or insightful observance onthe world that she made.

“Well,” I’d replied, considering, “there are the eyes.”“The eyes?”“Intense. They stare at you, like they’re looking through you into your

mind. Makes your spine feel crawly. You see someone looking at you like

that, you run far away.”She’d nodded solemnly. It was a normal fact of life for her, the

existence of the undead, like the presence of rattlesnakes and scorpionsmight be for someone who grows up in the southwestern states. A dangerto be avoided, but not anything unusual. I knew different, of course. When Iwas a boy her age, death had held no place in my thoughts. It had beenonly an idea, a concept, not a reality.

I guess I first became aware of death once it ceased to truly happen.The process was gradual, but that didn’t make it any less shocking. Itstarted with a few bodies returning here and there, and then eventuallythere remained not a place in the world where it wasn’t happening. Iremember that during the first year (2034, I believe it was) the society ofthe living pretty much ground to a halt. Global economic depression,people living in ways little better than the corpses that mingled among thecrowds in the city streets. I say mingled because that’s what they did, thedead – they blended in. When people think of zombies, they picturegrotesque, rotten bodies shambling hungrily along. But this was different.These looked like regular folks stuck in hard times, and you wouldn’trealize they were dead unless you’d personally known that they had died,or unless one got you alone and came close enough so that you could seethose eyes of theirs. They didn’t hunt in mindless packs; they were smarterthan that, as smart as they had been when alive. If they collaborated intheir attacks, it was by choice and deliberation, not animal instinct. Butmost of the time, they stuck with their own individual devices. Harder toget caught that way.

That’s how they took my girl. See, if you were to spot a large group ofpeople coming, you’d be pretty suspicious and would try to get away.However, if a lone man shows up at your door one night, out of breath andbegging for a safe place to sleep, you’re suddenly vulnerable. For, amidstthe chaos of the undead, some of us who were still living ended updiscovering for ourselves what humanity could mean. Once you’reconfronted with a common danger, you automatically seek out others whofear it as well. You survive through your protection of each other; you raiseeach other up. The undead were the ones who suffered in isolation, not wethe living. To let a stranger into your home is to take a risk, for sure. But toturn him away is to invite the agony of guilt into your conscience. You’llwonder for the rest of your time alive what became of him, if he died thenext day because you refused him a refuge.

That night, our house already had three other people in it, a man andtwo women. Their homes had been destroyed by one of the many gangs oflooters that had quickly arisen in the city following the outbreak of the

undead. So, as most other people did who were not in a gang, we hadinvited these displaced souls into our home for the time being. My wife andI kept the fire in the woodstove stoked and they and our teenageddaughter sat around it, eating canned stew and bread. Then the sound ofthe doorbell interrupted our quiet meal.

“Who could that be?” my wife asked, looking up.“I’ll go see.” I’d developed the habit of carrying my handgun in the

back pocket of my pants, even though I knew it was pointless. As I’d told mygirl, you usually don’t realize you’re facing one of the undead until it’s toolate. But I rested my hand on the gun anyway as I went to the door.

I opened it to reveal a shivering, lanky man standing on the frontstep. He had nothing with him, only a worn brown coat and a knit hat. I tookmy hand off my gun as he launched into an apologetic explanation of hispresence.

“Sir, I’m so sorry, I saw the light on in your window and I ain’t able torun much more…one of ‘em nearly got me back there at the old church.Please, if you could help me –”

I had already moved aside, gesturing for him to enter. “Come in,come in! You must have had a mighty scare.”

He stepped forward gratefully. I led him into the kitchen where myfamily and our other guests sat eating.

“We’ve got plenty more food, so I’ll get you something to fill you up,” Isaid.

My wife recognized the man as another hapless survivor. She handedhim a bowl of stew and he joined the group. He didn’t say much aftercoming inside; he just kind of huddled into himself and picked at the foodwith his spoon. As the night deepened, we all began to yawn, and I settledthe new man in the living room with our other male guest. The two womenshared our spare room, my daughter went to her own room, and my wifeand I went to ours. Sleep came quickly.

I don’t know how long it was after I went to bed that I heard the firstscream. Since the undead came, I haven’t been able to keep track of time inthe same way I did as a young man. You end up living from moment tomoment, day to day, when you’ve got to watch your own back as well asyour family’s at all times even when doing simple things. Naturally, thescreaming jolted us awake. I grabbed my handgun as soon as I realized thesound was coming from my daughter’s room, and my wife and I ran downthe hall.

The man – no, the corpse – who’d come that evening had her pinned tothe floor. A pool of blood glistened around them. He had jerked his head

up from her neck with a snarl when I threw the door open, and I stood thereimmobilized by the sight of my daughter, barely a young woman, thrashingand crying against her fate. I felt the gun pulled from my hand. I saw aflash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I heard an echoing bang,and at the same time the splatter of the man’s blood and brains againstthe bedroom wall.

My wife dropped the gun and rushed towards our girl, whosestruggles and screams had turned into twitches and chokes. “No, no,”sobbed my wife. “My beautiful baby. Not like this. Look at me!”

I stepped shakily towards them, still unable to speak. When I reachedmy wife’s side, I stretched out my hand to touch my daughter’s tangledhair, and I collapsed on my knees. Glazed, blank eyes stared up at us. Ahowl unleashed itself from my throat, a wild animal sound. I clutched at herbloody shirt and saw my world go dark.

Minutes crept by. The others had gathered around us, forming ahuddle of horror. I closed my eyes, barely aware of their whispers.

“How did…?”“That man, he was…”“What about…?”“We need to…”It was these last words, from one of the women, that broke through

the ice that had frozen my mind. “We need to take care of the girl.”My wife paled. Shooting the man who had been trying to kill her child

had been automatic, an instinct. But mutilating the body of the child?In my moment of clarity, what I figured was that we had two choices. Do itnow, while our sweet girl rested peacefully, or do it later, when she got upand fixed us with the gaze of her new eyes. I picked up the gun and my handdidn’t shake once as I pulled the trigger.

They helped us carry the bodies outside. We worked all night to digtwo holes in the small yard behind the house. When the work was done, wethrew the man into the ground unceremoniously, but it was different withmy daughter. Under the canopy of the sky I stood next to my wife andspoke a few words over the limp body that we both held in our arms.Nothing fancy, just simple words of simple love. A few tears dropped ontoher bloodied face, and I don’t know if they were my wife’s or my own. Thenthe others came forward to share in our grief as we lowered the girl intoher place of rest. The silence, the warm closeness of my wife and thesepeople whom I barely knew, brought the promise of eventual repose.We’d keep going, never forgetting. Together we’d face tomorrow and allthat may come. That’s what we do now, we the living.