We ate the last of the apples by candlelight.

The tapers flickered in the bottles.

“I’ll make more tomorrow,” Jim said.  The unspoken phrase being, if there is a tomorrow. But no one wanted to think about that. Tonight, we had apples, some chocolate and the ubiquitous can of chili.

And wine – but not too much. It wouldn’t do to sleep too soundly at night. Not while we were still in zombie territory.

Soon, when winter came, we’d move out towards one of the military encampments. No one liked the idea of living under military rule, but there were more and more of the undead every day.

I had finished my apple when the alarm went off. Tin cans rattling outside the building – the kids went up to the attic and the adults grabbed their weapons — Night, 183.