Chapter 1395: Story 1395: We Laughed in the End
It started with a knock-knock joke.
Of all things.
We were holed up in the radio tower, second floor, with two broken rifles and one can of peaches. No power, no backup, no chance of getting out alive. The swarm had us surrounded—dead eyes glittering in the moonlight.
I was checking ammo. Useless. Empty.
And that’s when Mira turned to and said:
“Knock knock.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Knock knock.”
I stared at her, half-mad from hunger.
“…Who’s there?”
She grinned. Blood in her teeth.
“Zombie.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“…Zombie who?”
“Zombie serious, you look like crap.”
We laughed.
God help , we laughed.
For the first ti in weeks, sothing broke loose inside —raw, cracked laughter echoing off concrete and shattered radio gear. She joined in, eyes closed, hands pressed to her sides like she was trying to hold her ribs in.
It was ridiculous.
We were dying.
But in that mont, we didn’t care.
“Do you think it’ll hurt?” she asked later.
We were lying side by side, watching the shadows slither past the boarded-up window.
“Turning?”
“No,” she said softly. “Dying. This way. Like this.”
I thought about lying.
I thought about saying sothing poetic or brave.
Instead, I told the truth.
“I think it already does.”
She nodded. “Yeah. too.”
The tower creaked. Sothing was banging on the front door below—slow, steady. Like death wasn’t in a rush. We didn’t flinch. We just shared the last peach. Barely a spoonful each.
She fed the last bit.
“You always hogged the syrup,” she whispered.
“You always faked being full.”
Hours passed like ghosts.
We told stories—so true, so twisted from mory.
I told her how I found a wedding ring in the stomach of a walker once.
She told about the ti she danced barefoot on a rooftop while Ro burned behind her.
She made that part up. I think.
We both pretended it wasn’t our last night.
But dawn ca.
And with it, the breach.
Glass shattered. Boards snapped.
The tower shook as they poured in—feral and beautiful in that sick, final way.
We stood.
We didn’t fight.
We held hands.
And Mira said, through cracked lips:
“Promise one more laugh.”
So I looked at her, heart pounding, and whispered:
“Knock knock.”
She smirked. “Who’s there?”
“Last chance.”
“Last chance who?”
“Last chance to run like hell!”
She howled with laughter.
And then they were on us.
I don’t rember much after that.
Just flashes.
Her scream. My arms around her.
Teeth. Blood. Heat.
And laughter.
Still echoing.
They found my body days later, curled against the wall. Torn, but peaceful.
They said I was smiling.
They said Mira’s body wasn’t there.
Only a trail of blood leading down the tower stairs.
Maybe she made it.
Maybe she turned.
But I hope… wherever she is…
She’s still laughing.
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