Her father’s rotting corpse watching her from the sheets of the bed was her only company. His eyes seemed to follow her around the small house, one almost perfectly intact and the other in the middle of decaying, surrounded by flies and maggots and worms. Eleanor could not take it anymore. The eyes followed her, and the stench of decaying flesh and rotting vomit was driving her mad. Knowing that she was infected, she dragged the corpse outside, gently laying Isaac on the grass outside of their front door. Hesitating for a minute, Eleanor grabbed the spade standing by the wall and began to dig. The process was slow; she was not strong anymore. She dug quietly, the spade hitting the wet soil was the only sound she could hear. The digging continued, she dug and dug and dug until she could not take it anymore and then she set the spade down. Stepping back, Eleanor gazed into the chasm in the ground, dragging Isaac’s arm until he was lying somewhat naturally in it. Singing a quiet prayer, just for Isaac, she covered his grave with soil.