Oh, please don’t let him be a serial killer. I did not just kill my first zombie just to get murdered by a guy who sounds like he was an extra inHot Fuzz.
Swallowing down the hysterical laughter bubbling in my throat, Harlow and I follow him inside.
Andy’s cottage inside is a similar layout to mine, with the front door flowing into a large, country-style kitchen. Thanks to the black AGA oven that’s identical to mine, warmth envelops me and chases away the chill I didn’t realise I had. Andy fills the kettle with water from the sink, and I can’t help but stare at the water running from the tap.
The farmer glances over at me as he turns it off and smirks. “Your place isn’t the only property that gets fed from the spring,” he says, inclining his head toward the window. The mountain where said spring originates from stands tall and proud in the distance. “I even havehotrunning water.”
Well shit. I guess he has a similar setup to what I have at my cottage. I didn’t know what to expect from Andy’s place, but it certainly isn’t this. Maybe I should have because farmers are nothing but inventive.
Andy places the kettle on top of the oven and turns to face me. “Let me show you to the bathroom and my daughter’s room so you can grab some clothing.” He moves past me and through the narrow doorway at the other end of the kitchen.
I glance down at Harlow. “Stay,” I tell her before I follow Andy deeper into the house and up a steep staircase to the second floor.
A narrow corridor stretches out with three doors, two on one wall and one on the other. At the end of the corridor is a window with a small reading nook beneath it and an open book sitting on top of the cushions.
Andy stops next to the first door on the left and stares at the book, his eyes tightening and his lips pressing together with grief. Then he blinks and his expression smooths out.
“This door leads to the bathroom and the door next door leads to Rachel’s room. Hopefully, you can find some clothes that fit.” He clears his throat. “Your tea should be ready by the time you finish showering, and then we need to talk. Call me if you need anything.”
I want to ask him about his daughter and what happened to her, but now isn’t the time. So I nod and move to the side so he can move past me as he makes his way back down the stairs.
The first thing I do is check out Rachel’s room. It’s pretty much what I expected; feminine and clean. The walls are painted a light lavender colour that matches the bed sheets on the double bed pressed against the far side. Opposite the bed is a wooden wardrobe that looks a few decades old, judging from the marked, aged wood.
That’s where I go first, and it feels weird to go through someone’s wardrobe when they’re not present. But I need clean clothes, so I grab a pair of black leggings and an oversizedgrey hoodie.
Clothes in hand, I head to the bathroom next. It’s a decent size and clean, with a bath and shower combo. I avert my eyes as I move past the mirror above the sink to place the clean clothes on the closed toilet seat. I don’t want to see the blood and gore on me because I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose my last shred of sanity if I do. Shower on, I undress and jump under the warm spray.
Since I don’t want to waste Andy’s hot water, I hastily scrub myself to the point my skin is pink and raw and then shut the water off, even though I don’t quite feel clean enough. Although, after today, I don’t think I’ll ever feel fully clean again. Memories of the thick, wet gore soaking through my jeans and shirt after my foot sank into the flesh of the zombie flashes in my mind. I shudder and swallow a gag.
Holy shit, Ikilledsomeone. They may have been a zombie, but they were still a person at some point. And now they’redeaddead. Because of me.
Don’t think about it,I tell myself, but it’s too late.
The panic rises, constricting my chest to the point I can’t breathe. I gasp for breath as I slide down the cold tiled wall of the shower. My body trembles and tears slide down my cheeks. My thoughts spiral as the moans and groans of the zombie meld with the screech of metal against metal and the high-pitched screams of my parents.
I’m no longer in Andy’s bathroom, but in my own personal hell.
I don’t know how long it is before I’m roused by the sound of furious knocking and someone gruffly calling my name. There’s also whining and the sound of nails scratching against wood. I jerk my head up to find I’m curled into a ball at the bottom of the bathtub, my body shivering both from the cold and the remnants of my panic attack. My eyes are gritty and my throat is raw, like I’ve been screaming.
“Ollie! Olivia!” Andy shouts through the bathroom door. There’s another whine and bark that tells me Andy isn’t the only one outside the bathroom door; Harlow’s there, too.
“If you don’t answer in the next thirty seconds, I’m coming in!” He bangs on the door again.
Ah, fuck. Poor guy probably thinks I’m certifiable, if he didn’t already. “I’m fine,” I croak back, then wince at how sore my throat is. Stupid fucking panic attacks. Why can’t I be normal?
Andy sighs. “Bloody hell. Are you okay in there?”
“Yeah. Sorry if I worried you.” I unfold myself from the foetal position, and suck in a sharp breath when my back twinges painfully from being in the awkward position for too long. At least I had my attackafterI got clean.
“Right, well, I have your tea waiting downstairs, along with some biscuits. You’ll need the sugar. Come down when you’re ready.” I hear his footsteps as he moves away and the creak of the staircase. Another whine and scratch on the bathroom door tells me Harlow didn’t follow him.
With a sigh, I get to my feet, using the tiled wall to keep my trembling body steady as I step out of the bathtub. I grab a towel and quickly dry myself off before putting on my borrowed leggings and hoodie. Once dressed, I dry my hair as much as I can with the towel before plaiting it. Feeling a little more human, I grab my soiled clothes, my quiver and my bow before exiting out of the bathroom.
Harlow jumps up at me, her front paws digging into my stomach as she cries at me. “I know, girl. I’m sorry,” I say, trying to reassure her with my words because I don’t have a free hand to pet her. It seems to placateher because she jumps off me and clings to my side as we make our way down the stairs and back to the kitchen.
As promised, a steaming cup of tea and a plate of what looks like homemade Hob Nob biscuits sit on a plate next to it. My mouth waters at the sight. It’s been so long since I’ve had any sweet baked goods. Andy’s already sitting at the table, biscuit in one hand and mug of tea in the other.
He looks up as I enter. “Good to see you’re still in one piece,” he says before taking a sip of tea. “Just stick your dirty clothes in the washing machine and they’ll be done in about two hours.”
