Before they slipped out the back door, James took Petra's hand and waved to Viktor, who stood with his arm around Anna in the doorway of the pantry where the seven Thornton's and Viktor were going to bed down for the night.

His eyes strayed to the depression in the grass where his father's body had lain. He could just make out the blood stain in the last rays of sunlight.

They were both carrying fresh nail guns, a crowbar, Viktor's ax, and a charged walkie. Father Lee had let them go on James' mystery errand with the promise they'd be back in half an hour.

"How are you feeling?" James asked for the umpteenth time.

Father had examined the large lump that had formed where Billy hit Petra on the side of the head. He suspected she might have a concussion and warned them to watch for signs of dizziness, blurred vision, headache, light sensitivity and vomiting among others.

But it was the private conversation the man had had with James while Anna kept Petra company in the bathroom during her shower that James was most concerned about.

"I'm worried about Petra's PTSD. I expect several people in town to develop it, but I'm particularly concerned about her. Don't press for details," the priest asked when James opened his mouth to do so. "Just watch for her withdrawing, unusual outbursts, irritability, depression, and be prepared for her nightmares and sleeping problems to get markedly worse. Tell me if you notice any of these, in anyone in town, actually. Hmmm," Father Lee rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking. "Okay?"

James had nodded in response. He trusted Father Lee would always tell them what they needed.

"Are you sure this can't wait until the morning?" Petra asked as they rounded the front of the church and headed towards the apartment James had shared with his father over the pizza parlour.

James gave her the same answer he'd given Father Lee at that question, "With everything that's happened over the last 24 hours, I just don't want to delay this."

"Can you at least give me a hint?" Petra teased. By unspoken agreement, they were both speaking in whispers.

They nodded at Katy Wilder and the Muslim man and his son who were sitting, talking seriously, in a car with the windows rolled down. The vehicle was parked diagonally across the intersection of Division Street and Acorn Road giving them clear sight down each.

Chief Koch had had no problem getting volunteers from the remaining 156 townspeople plus visitors to do watch patrols on all the main roads. The night shifts had at least two people to help the watchers stay awake.

"Well," James began. "It's something I've been thinking about for awhile. I don't want to say more than that. You'll just have to wait and see."

He revelled in the beaming smile she gave him and her frustrated groan. To think how close he came to losing her if Billy had just twitched his trigger finger accidentally.

Mostly bones in a bloody pool had been all that remained of the basketball star when Chief Koch arrived with three men from town.

The Chief had gathered James and Petra in a bear hug that lasted for at least two minutes. "Oh, thank God!" he'd cried. The big burly man didn't try to hide his tears of relief that they were safe.

Two of the men held the front door closed by leaning on it. They carefully let the zombies out one by one for the other two to use their pickaxe and nail gun on. They'd used a nail gun on Conrad, then quickly cut the ropes when his body sagged forward.

"Do you think Ian will last the night?" she whispered.

James' smile faded. "He didn't look good, did he?"

Father Lee had administered the antivenom shot, but it was a waiting game to see if the boy's body could recover from the shock he'd gone into. He was currently tucked up behind a closed door in one of the examining rooms at Dr Nesbitt's with Scout Leader Dan sitting vigil outside.

Suspecting a small fracture, Father Lee had immobilised the man's foot with pieces of wood and strips of fabric as a splint in place of a plaster cast. The other Boy Scouts were sleeping on the floor of the other examination room to be near to the only familiar adult they knew.

James stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led up to his apartment.

"What is it?" Petra asked.

He gave a nervous laugh. "It's stupid, but no one's ever been inside except for me and my dad. Even though I know he's dead, there's this part of me that's worried about bringing you up in case he barges in or something."

"I met your dad once, you know."

James started. "You never told me that. When?"

Petra leaned on the wall and looked up at the dark door. "A few months after we first met. I came to put a flyer I was delivering for the tackle shop in your mailbox. I didn't think your dad fished, but I was hoping you would see me and come out to say hi."

"But you met my dad instead. How not wonderful. What did he say?"

"He took the flyer and read it, then handed it back to me and said, 'I don't fish.' He didn't smile or even really look at me. He just went up the stairs and into the apartment."

"Hunh," said James. He rarely heard anything good or even neutral about his father.

"So, are you going to invite me in?" Petra asked with a smile.

It hit him then that he was going to be alone inside his apartment with Petra. Alone. Inside. And there were no worries about his father coming home. Even Viktor and his smart mouth were absent.

A tingling sensation began in James' fingers and his palms began to sweat. He'd been alone with Petra multiple times, but for the first time ever they were guaranteed to be undisturbed. What if he had bad breath? What if his sweaty palms grossed her out?

At the same time, he felt himself stirring at the thought they'd be alone and in a private place. That was definitely not the reaction he needed right now! Petra had just been through a trauma. However tempting and opportune, this was not the time to try anything with her.

To kill the desire, he thought of Conrad's drool puddle because remembering Billy's actions made his chest clench painfully.

"We told Father Lee we'd be back in half an hour." She checked her watch. "It's been ten minutes."

"Oh, right. Let's go up then."

James nerves mounted with every stair. He surreptitiously wiped the sweat from his brow. By the time they'd reached the top, he pulled his t-shirt off his skin in an attempt to fan it dry and not get drippy pits.

He twisted the knob and pushed it open. Petra's eyes winged up that it was unlocked. The smell of pizza wafted out.

"Oh, my God. That smells amazing!" Petra said inhaling deeply.

"It was a blessing and a curse. If I was hungry, which I usually was because Dad didn't exactly buy groceries, Mr Gregson knew I'd show up downstairs asking if he had any deliveries or cleaning up to do. His shop had the cleanest windows in town. He paid me in pizza slices and always sent an extra one home for my dad."

"Father Lee sometimes got us pizza from his shop. It was divine! I'm soooo glad he didn't die. God!" She covered her face in embarrassment. "I'm glad he didn't die not for the sake of him being alive and not being eaten by zombies, but so he can still make pizza! I'm a horrible person!"

"There are worse things, Petra. Come on in," James invited.

The chaotic events of the last day made it seem like he'd been away from home for weeks. He gazed around trying to see it as Petra might for the first time.

The brown tweed couch had rips, stains and cigarette burns. The walls were dingy and the windows grimy. At least the sink wasn't stacked with dishes since he'd washed the few cups and single plate yesterday afternoon.

"Where is your room?" Petra asked.

James felt the heat rise in his face. "I didn't have a room, either. I slept on the couch or in the bedroom closet. It was nice and dark and for some reason he didn't usually think of looking for me in there. Can you wait here for a minute?"

"Sure."

"There might be a slice of pizza in the fridge still. I brought one home for Dad but I don't think he actually came home before he turned. Because I was here. And he wasn't. And I left when I saw him coming, but he'd already turned by then. So, it's still probably there. In the fridge. Cause I didn't eat it. And he wouldn't have." James tried to smile, but he could tell from the way Petra was biting her lips not to laugh at him that the expression on his face was pretty darn goofy.

"What's got you so nervous all of a sudden?" she asked, cocking her head to the side with a little smile playing around her mouth.

He clapped his hands together. His heart was about to leap out his throat and go running away. "Just give me a minute. I'll be right back."

Before he could unleash more psychobabble, he turned on his heel and ran into the bedroom.

They never locked their front door for three main reasons. First of all, his dad would probably lose his key and end up breaking down the door in a drunken rage that he couldn't get in. Second, they had nothing to steal and everyone knew that. Thirdly, everyone in town knew his dad was a mean drunk and even meaner when hungover. Taking the risk of catching him in either state wasn't worth the risk of breaking in to the house of poor people where all there was to steal were cigarette butts and empty bottles.

Except.

Once when James was hiding under the bed from his dad, he'd noticed something sticking down from the back of the bedside table. After his dad passed out, James crept out and knelt on the far side. He had to smoosh his cheek against the wall to look behind. Balanced on the tiny ledge that formed where the bottom of the table jutted out was a normal looking, large-size, brown envelope.

Even though he was terrified his dad would wake up because he sensed James was doing something he shouldn't, the fact that his dad had hidden this... whatever it was... made it that much more important to know what the envelope contained.

His hand shook so badly when he reached in to get it that his knuckles rapped gently on the wall a couple of times. There was a layer of dust on the paper, so he did his best not to disturb it as he lifted the flap and pulled out the contents.

Inside was a collection of photos of his dad and mom - well, he assumed it was his mother because there was a wedding photo of them, along with a marriage licence and all three of their birth certificates.

His hands shook so hard he had to put the pictures on the floor to see them clearly. He was shocked how much he resembled his mother. He sometimes stood in the mirror and tried not to see the parts of his face his father had given him, like his slightly too large nose and prominent eyebrows, in order to see what she must have given him. Now he had photographs to soak up her image from.

Also inside was a set of rings. There were two gold bands, one big and one small. He assumed they were his parents wedding bands. The third was a diamond ring. An engagement ring. He recognised how beautiful it was, even though he didn't know much about jewelry other than that it was expensive.

With Petra waiting for him patiently in the other room, he tucked the gold bands deep in his front pocket and kept the diamond concealed in his palm.

"What's that?" she asked of the envelope he carried out.

He got the dry dishcloth and carefully wiped off the dust. "Pictures of my mom."

Petra's mouth formed an O of surprise.

"But that's not the real reason we came." James crossed to her and took her hand with his empty one. He ran his thumb over the back.

"I had already thought about this, like I said before. But I wasn't expecting it until we were finished high school. But with all of these zombies and stuff, I don't want to wait. And I'm not expecting anything from this. Well, I am expecting one thing, but I'm not expecting everything. Just whatever you are comfortable with."

Petra screwed up her eyebrows in confusion. "I'm following, kind of, but I have no idea what you are talking about."

James felt a bit like vomiting.

When he dropped to one knee she gasped. He produced the ring and held it up between his pinched thumbs and forefingers of both hands. "Petra Joanne Mitchell, I love you. I have loved you since the first time I met you and you grudgingly let me share your space. You amaze me every day with your talent, and your mind turns me the heck on. I don't expect you to rush into anything with me that you aren't ready for. Just being beside you is enough. But I would really like to know if you would be my wife?"

"Oh, James," she whispered. Tears welled up in her eyes and fell over. She stared at the ring, then stared at him. "Oh, James."

He began to lower the ring. Her face was blank. His heart began to crack. Maybe this was a mistake? "I guess that's a no?"

"Oh my God, you stupid boy! I'm overwhelmed. I'm just – Yes!... Yes! Yes! Yes!"

She threw herself into his arms, overbalancing them both. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. He didn't give a care in the world when he landed on his sore shoulder. She hugged him so tightly his back made little pops and cracks.

The look of love she gave him when she pulled back made his heart burst to overflowing.

She held out her left hand. "Will you... put it on me?"

James' own tears were flowing as he slid it home on her ring finger. "It's a perfect fit. Like it was made for you."

She gave a happy sob and pressed the ring happily to her cheek, eyes squeezed shut tight.

He could lay there all day watching her.

With a contented sigh, she gazed down at him. His heart trip-hammered when she slowly lowered herself and pressed her lips to his in a chaste, but infinitely sweet kiss.

"I really mean it that I don't expect anything you aren't ready for even after we're married," he said when she pulled away. He didn't want to break the mood, but it was imperative she knew that marrying him did not mean he was going to try to rush her into bed.

"I know, James." She brushed her hand over his cheek. "Can we get up? The carpet smells like puke."

They both started giggling again.

"Yeah, the pizza aroma really helps to mask that unless you're up close and personal with it."

Petra clasped both his hands and pulled him to her. "James Aaron Brown, I will happily marry you. And I love you, too. Oh my God, do I love you! Let's go ask Father Lee how soon he can do it. I don't want to wait."

On cue, Father Lee's tinny voice came over the radio in James' backpack. "Petra? James? It's been 25 minutes. Where are you? I want you kids home. Now!"

They burst out laughing. James quickly fished out the walkie. "We're on our way." He let the button go and took Petra's hand. "The soon-to-be husband and wife."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

We've reached the end ...of this book at least! Yes! James' and the others' stories are not over. They have a lot more to say and parts of Book Two (and possibly Three!) are already planned and being written.

Thank you for joining me on this journey. You readers and your comments and votes make my day!

WORD COUNT: 2699

NANO WORD COUNT: 47, 766

TOTAL WORD COUNT: 49, 591