Page 17 of My Undead Love Life

On the lap of the sideways skeleton rested a worn journal. A handgun sat next to the other skeleton’s bony fingers.

The blond stepped forward before anyone else moved. His boots scraped softly against the concrete as he crouched near the bodies and carefully lifted the journal.

The pages whispered faintly as he flipped through them beneath the candlelight.

That was the first time I really noticed his eyes. One blue and one green. The flickering candle made them look like they were glowing against the shadows crossing his face.

His expression slowly changed as he read. His shoulders tensed before a visible shiver ran through him. “It says they got trapped here,” he murmured quietly. “After it started. They managed to get away in here without getting bitten, but there were too many zombies outside.”

His thumb dragged slowly down the page. “They waited,” he continued. “Thought someone would come.”

Silence stretched heavily through the tiny closet. Outside, distant undead groans echoed faintly through the subway tunnel.

“They realized nobody was coming after a week,” he finished quietly. “So, they…” His jaw tightened. “They killed themselves.”

“Damn.” The man with the axe dragged a hand down his face tiredly before leaning his head briefly against the metal door behind us.

Killed themselves.

The words slammed into me like a physical blow. The memory of Keith pushing me into the blond’s arms with that desperate look in his eyes tore into me. I could still hear the sound of his gunshots before they stopped. The man I loved faced an army of undead alone, just to give me a chance to escape alive.

Run, wildflower.

Agony flooded my chest until breathing physically hurt.

Wasn’t that exactly what Keith had done? Given himself up?

The thought shattered something inside me completely.

A sob ripped out of my throat before I could stop it. My legs gave out beneath me, and I slid helplessly down the wall until I hit the floor hard. Pain jolted through my ass, but I barely felt it over the grief crushing my chest.

I curled inward instinctively, arms wrapping around myself as if I could figure out how to hold the broken pieces together. But I knew I couldn’t.

My forehead pressed against my knees. Hot tears spilled down my face while my breathing dissolved into uneven gasps that hurt.

“Hey, hey, listen to me.” The one with the axe crossed the cramped closet in two quick steps before kneeling in front of me. The light flickered across his face, softening the harsh angles enough for me to see the exhaustion carved beneath his sharp features. “Please, calm down,” he whispered, urgency threading through his voice. “Or the zombies will know we’re here.”

A sob caught painfully in my throat as I tried to breathe around the crushing ache in my chest.

“Those fuckers are extra intelligent lately,” he continued, lowering his voice even further. “If they hear us, they won’t leave.”

As if summoned by his words, a chilling chorus of groans echoed from outside the closet door.

“If they don’t leave, we can’t leave,” he continued softly.

My entire body stiffened instantly.

Rotting flesh dragged against the concrete just outside with wet scraping noises while uneven footsteps shuffled beyond the metal door.

Something bumped faintly against the wall nearby.

I jolted.

Then came another low groan, deep enough to make my stomach twist.

I sucked in a sharp inhale through trembling lips and forced myself to nod.

Breathe, Spencer.