Page 16 of My Undead Love Life

It was almost as if something forced the entire horde of zombies we saw in the city earlier down here.

The blond guy muttered, “Awesome. I love when the terrible plan is the best plan.”

“Move,” the cane-sword wielder snapped.

We sprinted toward the door.

My boots slipped slightly on smeared blood coating the concrete while my lungs screamed for clean air.

Please, don’t let it be locked.

The man with the axe grabbed the handle. The rusted door groaned loudly before suddenly giving way beneath his pull.

Relief hit me so hard my knees weakened.

“Get inside!” he barked.

The door burst inward with a hollow bang against the wall, echoing sharply through the tiny room beyond.

Dust drifted through the stale air as all four of us stumbled inside, almost on top of each other.

The cramped service closet smelled mildew and rust. It was barely big enough for all of us.

“It’s clear. Nothing moving in here!” The cane sword man told the rest of us.

The man with the axe slammed the door shut behind us so hard the metal frame rattled violently.

Darkness swallowed the room the second the door slammed shut behind us. For one horrible second, all I could hear was our uneven, panicked breathing. Until I heard the distant groans outside the closet walls. Muffled now, but closer than before. It was enough to make my skin crawl. Something scraped against the subway floor outside, followed by the faint clang of metal farther down the tunnel.

A zipper rasped through the darkness.

The sound startled me hard enough that I jerked upright against the wall, fingers immediately tightening around the handle of my katana.

A narrow beam of flashlight sliced through the black.

I relaxed instantly.

None of them were close to me.

The man with the cane sword had crouched near the shelves lining the back wall to unzip his bag. He dug through it with quick, practiced movements before pulling out a small matchbox. His dark hair fell partially across his face as he struck one.

The match hissed to life.

A tiny flame flared bright gold, briefly illuminating all of our exhausted faces, bloodstained clothes, and trembling hands before he leaned forward to light a candle sitting forgotten on one of the shelves.

Warm, wavering light pushed the shadows back just enough to reveal the entirety of the cramped service closet around us. Shelves crowded the narrow walls, packed with dusty cleaning supplies, cracked plastic buckets, rusted tools, and mold-speckled bottles. The air smelled overwhelmingly of mildew, damp concrete, and rust.

The blond man leaned heavily against the opposite wall, still breathing hard from the run, while blood dripped slowly from the edge of his shovel onto the floor beneath him.

The guy with the axe stood near the door listening intently to the tunnel outside, shoulders tense beneath his dark jacket. He switched off the flashlight and tucked it into his own bag, letting the candle be our light.

The candlelight flickered again, and I froze.

In the far corner of the closet, partially hidden in shadow, two skeletal remains sat slumped against the wall. Faded uniforms still clung to their brittle bones in torn strips of fabric that were stained dark. Their skulls were shattered, thick cracks spiderwebbing across yellowed bone and dried bloodstains splattered against the concrete behind them.

One skeleton had collapsed sideways slightly over time, its ribs splayed open. Dust coated everything around them.

My stomach lurched.