I shake my head. “I was tall, but much leaner. One of the many changes my body went through during my recovery.”
“Recovery?”
“You know that stereotypical look of a zombie? Like in movies, with the dead eyes, skin falling off, bones exposed, and that wonky limp/run as they hunt?”
When she nods, I continue.
“Turns out, that’s an extremely accurate depiction of a zombie, but only during our first year. That’s the period of time right after we’re turned that we’re not even mentally present. Our only purpose is to consume human brains. That’s it. But if you’re able to survive past a year, and most don’t, you start to come back to yourself. You remember things. You can walk normally. The body starts to heal enough that your skin stops falling off in chunks, and eventually those become scars.”
I don’t mind sharing these parts of myself with Lindsay, mostly because it distracts me from how much farther I have to walk to reach the bar, but also because I want her to know me. Well, most of me, that is. The parts that I know she can handle.
“Why don’t most survive?” she asks.
“Because most are on their own in the wild. The only reason I did is because Dr. Yates found me and brought me back to her lab. She kept me in a cage during that first year.”
“What?” Lindsay sounds horrified at the idea. “A fucking cage?”
“It’s okay, she needed to. I would’ve killed her otherwise. And I have no memory of it, so it’s not something that sticks with me.” I clear my throat. “She reduced my intake of brains little by little and replaced it with regular food; grains and proteins, mostly, until my system got used to it, and eventually she introduced fruits and vegetables. I was also given Zomonax, a medicine she created for our kind, which lessens our cravings and improves cognitive function. I still have to take it twice a month.”
“Was it just you she was treating?”
“No, there were others. It was a limited outbreak in a remote area, so she was able to keep it contained, but there were enough that she had to set up shop right next to it in order to capture and rehabilitate anyone who got infected.”
“Huh. I thought you answering questions about this would satisfy my curiosity, but now I have a million more questions.”
I chuckle at that. “Fire away.”
“How were you infected?”
“Contaminated berries in Alaska.”
Her eyes widen. “Tell me everything.”
“Maybe later,” I say, lowering her to her feet. “Because we’re here.”
“Thank fuck,” she shouts, then trots excitedly toward the entrance of the bar.
The apartment entrance is next to the front door, but it’s somewhat hidden by the awning that covers the outdoor seating area. I’ve always appreciated the separation of the two. Having to go back outside to access the apartment was an efficient way to mentally let go of the day and put my body into rest mode.
I turn off the alarm and follow her up the stairs, to a second locked door. Once inside, I turn on as many lights as I can reach and am pleased to find the place tidy. I’m not sure who stayed here last, but whoever it was cleaned up well after themselves,not leaving a stray cup or food wrapper in sight, and folding the towels and sheets neatly before putting them on the nearest bed.
The walls are a bland off-white, with nothing hanging on them, and the bedding was the cheapest I could find at the closest department store. There’s an oak nightstand between the two beds with a teal lamp on it, and a cheap, black cabinet holding up the TV. It’s not a cozy space, certainly not with how cold it is, but functional enough to use as a last resort.
“I’ll get a fire going,” I say as I gesture to the small fireplace in the corner. “There are some of my old t-shirts and sweats in the closet. Take whatever you want. I think there are spare toothbrushes in the bathroom too. The ones you get from the dentist.”
It doesn’t take long for a flame to grow among the logs and kindling, and once my hands are warm, I wash them in the sink next to the mini fridge. Then I make the beds, pull two bottles of water from the fridge, and turn on the TV. I need some form of noise to make me feel less like a teenager on their first date, which I’m well aware this isn’t, but I can’t seem to shake the knowledge that there’s a very beautiful woman inmybathroom, putting onmyclothes, who will soon be sleeping within two feet of me.
She emerges from the bathroom wearing a t-shirt that hits just above her knees, and a pair of knee socks that are big enough to pile around her slim ankles. Her hair is slightly wet from the snow, but it doesn’t diminish how stunning she is. In fact, seeing her in my old, faded t-shirt makes my cock stiffen against my thigh, my pants growing uncomfortably tight.
“You’re, um, out of toilet paper.”
“Right,” I mutter, unable to take my gaze off her muscular calves, the long white scar that runs through the middle of her left knee, and the way her juicy thighs disappear beneath the softcotton. The expectant look she’s giving me is what snaps me out of it. “Right. Toilet paper. That’s out here.”
She follows me out the front door of the apartment. There’s a supply closet at the top of the stairs, which is where I keep the overflow of bar bathroom necessities and extra toiletries for the staff when they sleep here. I’m handing her three individually wrapped rolls when the closet light goes out, and I hear the signaturezzzipof power being lost.
My palms immediately begin to sweat, and my breaths come out in shallow, uneven puffs. “It-It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” I’m not sure if I’m telling her or myself, but it does feel better hearing the words. “We’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, it’s just the power. I’m sure it’ll come back on soon.” Lindsay sounds unbothered, which makes me feel like an idiot. Of course, she’s not afraid of the dark. She’s a lioness. I doubt she’s afraid of anything.
