"Yeah, it looked good," Kisha said solemnly, her voice soft with reverence as she silently offered a prayer for the departed souls. Then, she quietly stepped inside.
The interior was organized into neat sections. Some of the compartments already held urns, remains of the brave warriors who had fallen during the last zombie wave. Roadside flowers had been placed near the entrance of the compartments, along with hand-drawn portraits to honor their memory.
For those who had photographs, their loved ones placed them beside the urns. For those without, Aston and a few others who could draw had lovingly sketched their faces from memory, ensuring no one was forgotten.
Each urn was protected behind a pane of glass, preserving both dignity and memory.
Kisha took a shaky breath as she slowly walked from one cubicle to the next, her eyes lingering on each name, each face, quietly trying to commit them all to memory. It was the least she could do. They deserved to be remembered.
