Then Joel ate them.

Joel always shared with his friends and family.

He’d be the first one at the corpse, and he would cut a piece of frozen meat from it and turn around, handing it to anyone of his friends and family who were still alive, waiting behind him for food, and he’d give it to them first.

He was considerate that way.

When Uncle Herpe went, Joel cut a chunk of meat from him and turned around to give it to whoever, but no one was there.

Joel looked out over the frozen desert.

Nobody.

There was nobody left.

He stared at the snow.

It covered the ice.

He was it, now.

Joel ate all of his Uncle Herpe quietly, crouching over his corpse, the cold wind whistling around him.

After eating Uncle Herpe, who was the only other person alive besides Joel, Joel sat there in the snow wondering who would eat him when he died.

He felt bad he couldn’t share himself to help someone else survive.

At least a little longer.

Then he thought, Wait, I’m starving now.

He smiled and felt proud, somewhat philosophical.

He imagined his body was its own cannibal.

Starving, Joel would be eating himself.