It's outstanding how fast your heart rate can leap from normal to hell-is-upon-us speed. Could an undead have been hiding in one of the deserted rooms, just waiting for a tasty human to stray from its pack and wander all the way into its hungry jaws? Filled with dread, you pivot on spot, prepared to meet a horrific sight. What you see before you is...a little boy.

"I'm sorry," he says abruptly. "I-I told my step-mom I had to use the bathroom. What you said...did you mean it? I mean...are they really just eating everybody?"

You're still rattled, but happy to see someone alive. "That's pretty much how it works," you say grimly.

"I knew something sounded weird. Like, why would God send these demons to take people's bodies and rot? Sounds like the devil to me," he says.

"Sounds like," you agree, nodding thoughtfully. "Better get back up there. Don't want to stray too far from your parents."

The boy looks back toward the direction from where he came. You notice how fancy his clothes look. A silky bright blue shirt, the front lined with black buttons, sleeves all the way down to the little black buttons at his wrists. A pair of black pants, without even a speck of clingy fuzz or dust. His shoes look like they've only ever been worn for family pictures and Easter Sundays. He turns back to you.

"My dad's gone to work. My step-mom, Gwen is up there with her friend Albert." He says the name Gwen with a snarl and the word friend as if he's skeptical. "I don't like her. My aunt Jackie says Gwen is after my daddy's money and his asses."

You stare at him awkwardly for a moment. "You mean assets?"

His brows pull together as he gives it some thought. "Yeah, that's what she said." He nods surely. "She has Topher up there, he's my baby brother - only aunt Jackie says Topher's dad is probably some pimp. I don't know any men named Pimp, though." He shrugs.

Wow, you think. T-M-I, kid.

"Aunt Jackie doesn't like this Gwen much, does she?" you say, knowing that's an understatement, but it'll appease the kid to know you've been listening nevertheless.

The boy shakes his head. His brunette bangs flop in his eyes and he pushes them away with a small hand. "Daddy says she just misses my mom. I miss her, too."

Something about the way his eyes sadden at the mention of his mom hints that she didn't just leave willingly. You're almost certain she was taken away untimely. The thought softens you. You think of your own mother. Wonder what she's doing. If she's still breathing. Such a tragedy it would be if she never made it home to scold you for allowing zombie stains to taint her spotless walls and floor.

"I don't want to stay with Gwen." His voice snaps through your thoughts. "I got a bad feeling about being here."

"So do I," you admit. "What's your name?"

"Artemis. But everybody calls me Artie." He smiles at you in a sad way, as if he's been taught to smile while meeting new people, but the situation is weighing his usually bright smile down.

One thing is for certain: if he stays with the goofballs in the other room, he's zombie food. This friendly, innocent child will surely be an easy target for them. Heck, he's been gone for more than five minutes, and not a soul has taken it upon themselves to even call out his name. Instead, the voice of the preacher is carrying messages of the resurrection through the halls. How can you send him back into that room to die with them?

On the other hand, how can you protect him, when you're not even sure you'll be able to protect yourself? He could be a burden to hinder your chances of survival drastically.

His eyes are wide, awaiting your approval. What do you tell him?

Let him tag along - SKIP TO CHAPTER 32

Send him back - SKIP TO CHAPTER 33