Eyes rolled back in its sockets, a zombie head was a-flying through the field.

I should've tried football, Jasper mused with a smile as she rubbed the tip of her bloody boot against the grass. If only she can just kick the body as well. Grimacing, she dragged the severed bulk of dead meat from its feet, far away from the chicken coop. "Fuckers," she grumbled as she pulled, trying not to trip as she trudged backwards towards the mini graveyard.

For some reason, the zombies didn't come by the hoard. They dropped in like strays, wandering in either because of the coop or because their literal deadbeat friends were already there. It was a relief, although of course, Jasper always assumed it was the calm before the storm. What did she know anyway? Hence, such had been her agenda this morning: marching from the house in just Zayn's shirt and her boots, and offed the stinky motherfucker who wanted in on the chickens.

Thinking about the chickens, Jasper knew she had to feed them. The thought of that alone had exhausted her, knowing it was a job for two. But she had to. She couldn't lose her little feathered friends, after all. After managing to set the ladder on the side, and double-checking for any random zeds wandering around, she journeyed upwards. Kneeling on the roof, she looked down, the chickens clucking, waiting for food.

Taking a deep breath for strength, Jasper reached down and tried to pull the ladder upwards. It was heavy as fuck, but she knew she had to do it, because honestly... who will?

About three broken eggs later and a few frustrated tears dripping down her face, Jasper finally emerged from the coop with a basket of eggs in her shaky hand. She even tried to clean the coop and might have failed miserably, but at least she tried.

Fatigued, Jasper went back inside the house only to be greeted by the pungent smell that seeped from the rest room near the kitchen.

"Fucker."

* * * * * *

The rotten corpse stank like the dead bitch it was.

Jasper wished her allergies would return just to clog her nose and save her from the horrible stench, but her olfactory senses were working 100%. Slamming the door close again, Jasper didn't know what to do. If only she could trade all those times her mother begged her to clean her room when she was younger for this one moment.

Getting rid of a rotting human being outdoors was one thing; getting the body out while not making a mess out of the process and still cleaning afterwards was another. It suddenly made sense why people left their houses during the apocalypse because cleaning up was just bullshit. Blinking back tears of anger and helplessness, Jasper clenched her jaw.

What would Zayn do?

Jasper tried to concentrate and think, but it was hard when she wanted to puke all her guts out. Eew. She so did not want to think about guts. Or blood. Or dying. Her thoughts about dying with grandeur were obviously out of the picture.

What would Zayn do?

Tears sprung on her eyes. Fuck, Japser thought as she blinked. Her knees weakened and her soul shrunk a couple of inches. The feeling of lonesomeness returned full force; she had to think about the disgusting chaos in the bathroom just to distract herself from the despair that threatened to eat her up from the inside.

Now was not the time to think about Zayn or what he would do. Thinking about him will make her feeble and dysfunction. Now was the time to do things on her own because he trusted her to live. She hated the idea that he had left her, but she knew she had to do this for herself.

And she had to start somewhere.

Heading to the supply closet, Jasper smiled weakly when she saw a few unopened bottles of laundry detergent.

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