The decision weather I should burn the bodies or leave them to rot…if they rot…was taken out of my hands. For all I know the pair of them are there still. A shrill whistle sounded from a nearby yard. It sounded twice before going silent. All I had was the lighter in my pocket and the shovel borrowed from the community gardening shed to bury my pet frog in the park near my apartment. I lived alone, and after what I saw in the parking lot, I knew that my building, all of my meager possessions, were lost to me. All I had was my lighter, the shovel, and the fear that whoever had blown that whistle was going to attract scores of rotten stumbling bodies, heavy legged and moaning. I turned and tried to walk away from the sound, and I discovered something else that I had. Even after years of living alone, working to keep from weeping, I still had my humanity. I still had my desire to help, to be part of a community, to give everything to help someone live that might otherwise die.