Page 148 of My Undead Love Life

“Both would be smart!” the same female voice from the speaker called.

Mad lifted his axe. Keith’s rifle came up. Oxi’s cane sword angled forward. Luck tightened his grip on his shovel. I raised my katana with fingers that still didn’t want to obey me.

A woman stepped into view from the hall on the other side of the glass. She was probably in her early thirties, with brown hair pulled messily back in a bun that looked like it had been redone too many times. Loose strands framed a face that was too alert to be casual. Her brown eyes were sharp, taking us in so quickly. I had the strangest sense she had already diagnosed half our problems before we fully entered the room.

A white lab coat was draped over her shoulders, wrinkled and slightly stained near one cuff, as if she hadn’t taken it off in days. Underneath it, she wore black leggings, thick socks, and a faded shirt.

“Hi,” she said, smiling as if we weren’t half-frozen strangers holding weapons in her underground bunker. “I’m Sofia.” She clapped her hands once after we didn’t reply. “Clothes off.”

I blinked. “…I’m sorry?”

Why was it that whenever I met new people in the apocalypse, someone wanted me to take off my clothes?

Luck made a sound that was half cough, half laugh. “I know we do the same shit, but uh, why?”

Mad’s jaw flexed. “Explain first.”

“Decontamination protocol,” she said, already moving toward a panel on the wall beside the glass door. “All external materials go into that bin.” She pointed toward a large metal container in the middle of the chamber we were standing in. It was about waist-high, with a sealed lid propped open. “You stay put, get disinfected, and you get your clothes back once they’re sterilized in the bin. My scanner will also tell me if you have any open wounds, bite marks, contaminated tissue exposure, hidden infection risks, or other fun surprises.”

Oxi frowned. “Define fun.”

“The surprises are absolutely not fun.” She smiled.

“Then why did you say fun?”

“My relationship with language deteriorated around year two of isolation.”

Luck stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

She looked at him with a completely serious expression. “I never kid about a contamination risk.”

Mad looked at the vents. The cameras. The glass. The sealed door.

Keith stepped forward a little, not lowering the rifle completely. “What kind of disinfecting?”

Sofia lit up. “Oh, excellent. A science question.”

“A safety question,” Mad corrected.

“Those overlap.” Sofia tapped the panel, and several small lights turned green along the wall. “Aerosolized broad-spectrum antimicrobial solution. Safe for skin. Safe for eyes…if you keep them closed. Please, keep them closed. It is rather unpleasant if inhaled deeply, so do not stand there huffing it like it’s pure clean air. Just breathe normally. Or less. The chamber also uses heated airflow and particulate filtration. Your clothes will be sterilized separately in the sealed unit. Nothing gets past the glass until I’m satisfied.”

Luck looked at me. “I hate how scientific that sounded.”

“She’s clearly a scientist,” I whispered.

Keith lowered his rifle a fraction. “And our weapons?”

“Remain with you for now, unless of course they’re dripping with infected matter. I’m not stupid enough to ask five armed, desperate people to disarm before they trust me.”

Mad’s eyes narrowed. “But you are asking us to strip.”

“Yes, because infected material clings to fabric, and you look like you’ve collectively rolled through a zoo morgue.”

Oxi grimaced. “That is unfortunately accurate.”

“I also assume you’ve been sharing body heat, blankets, confined spaces, and probably…feelings.” Sofia’s gaze flicked over us. “Your contamination risk is communal at this point.”

Luck slowly turned toward Oxi. “She said feelings like it was a biohazard.”