Eve

Chapter 6

The man raises his bat. Aims. I close my eyes, recoil...

... and hear a grunt.

"Roy! Over there!"

The blow doesn't come. I open my eyes. The men have their back to me, closing in around Jeff, who's struggling to call attention to himself, grunting and banging his hand on the floor. He grabs one of the man's feet, pulling and scratching. Tall man grabs the bat from his friend's hand and raises it.

Jeff's eyes meet mine. For a second, nobody moves.

He whispers, "Run."

I shriek as the first blow lands on Jeff's head. Then the second. Jeff spasms, then stops moving.

Swallowing back a scream, I pull myself up on and drag my feet towards the window, as quietly as I --

"Hey, the zombie girls still alive!" I hear from behind, as I reach the window. With a pull, I drag half my body out to the sun.

I keep pulling, hard as I can. I'm almost all the way through when I feel a pair of hands grabbing my feet.

Let go let go let go let go.

I thrash and struggle as the men try to pull me back inside. Finally, I feel my feet hitting something hard, and I hear a groan of pain. I fall to the sidewalk.

Head still light, images of Jeff's head splitting open flashing in front of my eyes, I get up and limp away.

"Damn bitch got me in the chin," I hear from the window. "Do we have some gaze?"

I keep limping. I'm sick. I'm nauseated. I'm scared. I'm lonely. I'm hungry. I'm weak.

I keep limping.

Three months since I've been infected and I've seen more people die than in the seventeen years I was alive before, by a long shot. It sucks. It's never easy, but you sorta kinda a little bit learn to deal with it, after a while.

There's suicide and starvation, like I mentioned. But a lot more. Most of your friends will die in the hands of the living. The survivors. Like Jeff and Kathy and Toby.

They weren't like best friends, or anything. I've known them for six weeks. Still. Sucks to watch your roommate get his head bashed in. Sucks to come home to your friends with bullets to their foreheads. Sucks to run for your life every second of the day. Your friends are all transitory when you're a zombie. You learn to not get attached. But it still sucks.

One second they're there, next thing you know they're headless. Limbless. Motionless. Overall a lot deader than you'd want them to be. And you wonder when it's going to be your turn. Wonder if you're next.

It sucks.

Sucks to be a zombie.

It's raining and I'm homeless now.

What? No, of course I can't just get inside any house. Most of them are destroyed, anyway. The few ones that are habitable are occupied. By zombies or survivors. What, you think I like sleeping under this awning? In the rain? I'm not that kind of zombie.

Well, I wasn't.

"-- yeah, totally."

"Did you hear there's supposed to be a pack of survivors around? Hunters. I heard they shot a bunch of people back at the Groove, last night."

"Really?"

I wake up and raise my eyes, searching for the source of the voices. Behind the curtain of rain, three figures limp towards me from the opposite sidewalk. Young, hipster zombies in band T-Shirts. The one in the middle sort of looks like Zoey Deschannel.

One of them is eating a rotten, black foot like it's a turkey leg.

"Hey!" I call, after a second's hesitation.

The zombies turn my way.

"Do you guys... do you guys have anything to eat? I'm kind of hungry."

I'm a bum now. Excellent.

Zombie Deschannel takes a step forward. She pulls a bag from behind her back and fishes in for something.

(Ok, she doesn't really look like Zoey Deschanel, I just really wanted to make the joke).

Zombie Deschannel throws something my way. "There you go."

I catch it. The zombies keep their walk, laughing and pushing each other as they fade under the night rain.

I look down. At a hand. Grey, full of wrinkles and scars. Smelly like tuna out of the fridge.

The pain in the back of my head is telling the rational part of my mind to just let go. Screw it, it's just a hand. Not like you're eating brains or a heart.

Just eat it. You can barely walk anymore.

I raise the hand up to my mouth.

And then I notice the engagement ring.

God.

Well, I can't fucking eat this now, can I?

I throw the hand over my shoulder, lying down on the cold pavement again. Trying to fall back sleep to the sound of the rain.

I wake up an hour later to gutter water invading the sidewalk, washing down on my feet. Into my shoes.

Today keeps getting better and better.

Squish, squish, squish, goes my sock, as I bobble into the Hollywood and Highland Mall. That's not awful, right? Sleeping at the mall? Better than the streets. Not that I can get much wetter, anyway. Still. It's warmer here, at least.

I look around at the overwhelming silence of the place.

When I was younger I used to fantasize that they'd close the mall and forget me inside. Just spend the whole night inside the mall. All the stores closed, the eerie mannequins staring silently at me through the glasses under half-light. The silence and the space.

This is kind of the same, expect I'm homeless and a zombie and other zombies and people and animals can find me and kill me. But it's kind of the same. Right? At least it's not raining here inside.

Right? Right? Life is good!

Sorry, I suck at keeping a positive attitude.

And I hear slicing noises. Like metal sliding against metal, somewhere to my right.

Crossing the '–OMINDAGLES' sign, I bobble between the dummies into the store. Hangers and blood and shirts on the floor. The sound again, closer this time.

Past a kiosk of necklaces and golden bracelets, I head to the --

Huh...

I turn back, eyes on the kiosk. The noise is like chewing now, wet and soft, punctuated by low groans of pleasure.

Slow step by slow step, I reach for the glass display, leaning my head forwards to look behind –

"HOLY SHIT!"