[ WP ] `` kill the child . it 's the right thing to do . ''

It was sometime after seven o'clock. Ken was asleep, occasionally whimpering in the way infants do. Wisps of hazy clouds framed the sunset in the sky, tinged slightly with green. The adults were gathered in the kitchen, except for Katheryn, who was with the baby. Sallow complexions and gaunt, sunken cheeks were illuminated by the sputtering fire, which was sure to go out within the hour. The furniture had long since been looted, and what scraps they'd found had been burned already. An uncomfortable silence had settled upon the group. 
 
 `` If no one's going to say it, then I will.'' said Nick, `` We need to kill the child.'' 
 
 The ten adults around the fire looked at one another. Each was no more than skin and bones, with large, knobby joints and slightly distended bellies. They were starving, slowly but surely. The mountaintop had been a way to escape the poisonous mist that had billowed out of the west, but it had also become a prison. The mist had encircled the mountain, leaving them trapped at the peak. 
 
 Tim licked his dry, chapped lips and noted the way Nick's eyes flitted nervously, glancing towards the nursery door every now and again. 
 
 `` I'll die before that happens,'' he said. 
 
 `` And you'll die if it does n't.'' Nick replied. `` A few more days and we wo n't have the energy to walk.'' His breaths came a little faster. He was tired even just from speaking. 
 
 A few paces from Nick, one of the men drew a knife from a sheath. `` We'll make it quick,'' came a voice, the desire behind it palpable. `` We've even got the last of the fire here to cook some of it.'' 
 
 The crowd shifted and murmured. Most had begun salivating. A few started towards the nursery door, with Nick at their head. Nick tried to stop them, to reason with them, but there were too many. He positioned himself in front of the door, shouting a warning to Katheryn. Only he stood between the nine starving adults and their prize. 
 
 `` Tim, move aside.'' Nick said. 
 
 The crowd advanced, and Tim drew his pistol. 
 
 `` You've only got one bullet, Tim,'' someone said. 
 
 Tim aimed, but they kept advancing. Nick reached out, his fingertips inches away from the gun's barrel. Nine gaunt, sallow zombies. He could n't protect Ken from them all. 
 
 A million thoughts flashed through his head. His dead wife's touch. Her voice. The way she'd looked at him when they'd been married. Stronger than those thoughts were the thoughts of food, of water. He did n't want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted so desperately to live, to play with his son, to eat and drink. In that moment, Tim wished with all his heart. 
 
 Turning the gun to his head, Tim fired.
