"I told him not to stop. I told him, didn't I? But my husband was the kind of man who has to pull over when he sees another person stranded by the side of the road. The little girl was just standing there. We couldn't see her face. I still remember the way he hesitated. 'Honey? Are you ok?' And 'Where are your Mommy and Daddy?'
He tried to back away when she turned, but he stumbled and fell and then she was on him, she was on him and she was tearing and biting. And I hit her and I hit her and finally I did something that made her dead - really dead. But it was too late. He had the black bites all over him. The bites from children were always the worst.
I cried all the way to the cabin. We knew. We both knew. His arm was already black to the elbow by the time we reached the mountains. It was a fast infection. Not as fast as when the kids were bitten. But fast enough.
There were tears in his eyes when he handed me the gun. He wouldn't let me kiss him goodbye. I couldn't even have that. It was only when I'd pulled the trigger the second time that I realized how he'd tricked me. Nothing but that hollow click. No ear-shattering roar. No merciful end.
One bullet. Jerry threw away the others. He knew me so well!"
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