✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

 Enough was enough.

You decided last night in haste, you were done.

You counted the minutes until 7:00 a.m. when your boyfriend clocks into work, then you could be sure he wouldn’t turn around because he forgot something. The second the time struck you were out of bed and digging in your closet for the emergency bag you packed for this situation, you never thought you would be brave enough to actually need it. 

Shaking hands dig through drawers, collecting a few last minute treasures to take with you. Pictures, mostly, you didn’t need anything else anymore. You shove them between clothes in your bag and immediately drop onto hands and knees, squeezing yourself beneath the bed frame towards the vent under your bed. 

“Please.” You plead aloud, contorting your body in a way that allows you to lower your arm deep into the vent, twisting your wrist around the bend in search of a ziplock bag you had taped there many months ago. “Please, still be here.” You hold your breath, scooting yourself forward just to get in a little further. 

Relief blooms through your chest when your fingers graze against the smooth plastic. You were so close, this was it. You snatch the bag free from the vent and pull your arm back, shoving yourself backwards so hard that the wooden frame catches the skin of your lower back. 

The second you’re back on your feet you’re running towards the front door, the taste of freedom thick on your tongue and burning in your throat. You snatch your car keys from the hook, thankful that they were still there, and rush past the threshold and into the driver seat. Your bag flies into the back, and before you knew it you were on the road.

Free. 

Within fifteen minutes you were on the freeway, still shaking with the fear of getting caught. You carefully pull your phone from your front pocket and hold down the button for vocal assist, commanding it to call your uncle. 

The call rings a few times, connected to your car’s bluetooth. You squeeze the leather of your steering wheels in anticipation. Just when you thought it would go to voicemail he picks up. 

“Hey Champ, it’s early, is everything oka-”

“Davie! Hey.” You blurt out, your attempts to sound collected failing miserably. “Hi. I’m going to Threadfin. Is there any way I can stay at Grans while I'm there? I-I can figure it out if not just,” you pause to inhale, squeezing the tears from your eyes to clear your blurred vision of the road.  

“Woah, slow down.” You can hear the distress in his tone. “What’s going on? It's him isn't it? Did he do something?” 

You should have guessed he’d know. Your family was suspicious of him. They had every right to be. 

“No.” You blurt out without thinking. “Yes. I mean I'm fine, just need a getaway.” 

“Why don’t you come here? We have room, I’ll help you figure this out kiddo.” He tries to reason with you.

The thought of staying with him and his family made you nauseous, only because your now ex knew exactly where they lived. It wasn’t safe. 

“No. I can’t.” You put it simply. 

“It’s been years since anyone’s been there, it hasn’t been maintained at all.” Davie says. 

“I’ll clean it. The whole thing, I’ll work on it throughout the summer. Please.” You beg. 

There was a long silence on the other end of the call and then,

“The key’s in a pot, in the garden next to the bird bath.” He sighs. “Please call me when you arrive.” 

“Thank you.” You say, relieved. 

Two hours later, when you’re passing over a small body of water, you snatch your phone from the cup holder and chuck it out the window. Damning yourself to the radio and your cars' built in navigation system. 

*** 

Your escape plan was perfect, conveniently the time it took to arrive at your destination was the same as the shift your ex worked today. Eight hours, including the two stops you made. 

One, to pull into a random city to purchase the cheapest bare minimum replacement phone you could find, and the other to refill your gas tank. You found yourself thanking any god that would listen that the money you hid was untouched since under no circumstances could you swipe the card to the shared bank account. 

***

Threadfin Bay is what you would call a ‘blink-and-you’ll-miss-it’ town, deemed the safest city in the world by the locals. 

Bad things didn’t happen here, when there were children in town (which was rare) it wasn’t uncommon to see them around unsupervised under one universal strict rule. 

Do not go in the water. 

The only time you’d ever see an ambulance was due to a passing. The worst thing you’d ever heard of was an incident before your time; two teenagers pulled in by the current. It was weeks before they were found. Two memorials were attributed to them as a reminder of the only danger known in Threadfin Bay. 

The small town includes two diners, a postal office, a tiny family owned grocery store, a church, a hardware store and a quirky museum dedicated to someone who once lived there that drew comics for the local newspaper. Most everything was right along the same road, at the end of the street was the marina, and on either side of that was public access to the beach. 

When you finally get into town, your grandmother’s house is one of the first you see. Placed right there next to the church. To get to the front of the house you have to circle around a side street. 

The rocks under your tires crunch as you pull up the makeshift driveway. You turn off the car and step out, immediately met with a chill that runs down your spine, the heat of June not yet caught up to the northern city. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to retain heat as you look up at the house, it looks just like it did when you last saw it. The wrap around deck was worn with age, the blue paint chipping showing the wear of the wood underneath. You glance up, noticing the dark gray clouds rolling in above the house before observing the balcony just outside the old room you used to stay in, the stairs leading up wrapped around the corner of the house. 

You make your way through the yard and crouch down by the large tree, the bird bath in front of it long dried up and cracking at the base, and pull one of the painted flower pots from behind. Carefully you dig through the dirt, trying your best not to disturb the plant that currently resided in it, until your fingers grazed the cold metal of the key. You stand and brush it clean and finally get a good look at the yard, every part of it still as beautiful as you remember it being. Like it had been maintained for years. 

The front door squeaks as you push it open, when you step inside you’re right in the kitchen. The sunlight through the window illuminates dust particles in air, the smell of old house fills your nostrils but underneath you still catch a hint of what your summers here smelt like as a child. 

Everything is covered in a layer of dust, you have no idea where to start. As you stand in the doorway you thread the key onto the lanyard for your car keys and hang them from the door knob, then throw your bag onto one of the kitchen chairs; a puff of dust blooms out from the cushion. 

First you figure out how to get the water running, then flip the breakers for the lights. You walk around the ground floor and fix the time on anything that has a digital clock on it, when you get to the microwave you freeze, a pit forming heavy in your stomach when you realize your ex has now been home from work for about an hour now. 

Your thoughts start to spiral. What if he was able to find out where you were? He couldn’t, right? You never told him about this place. What if he put a tracker in your car? Maybe he sensed that this was a long time coming. You can’t put it past him to do that. What if he went after your family, Davie has young kids at home. He wouldn’t, not when he tried so hard to seem normal around them. 

Snap out of it. 

You’re safe now. 

You shake the thoughts, walk towards the kitchen sink and kneel down, opening the cupboards and cursing under your breath, of course there’s not any cleaning supplies left behind. Would they even be good if there were? 

You snatch your keys from the door and head back out, walking along the wrap around porch until you get to the sidewalk. The store was less than a five minute walk up the road. 

The bell rings as you walk into ‘Threadfin Shoppe’, a physical bell hanging over the door not a sensor, part of the charm of this town that you missed. You make your way to the back and start filling your hand basket with various cleaning supplies. The store looks exactly the same as you remember it. Wood paneling around the walls, short aisles crammed with various household items, a small section in the back for a deli and groceries, and a rack up front by the window with t-shirts for tourists. You swing up front and grab a shirt two sizes bigger than you’d need, something comfortable to clean in that you don't have to worry about staining. 

You immediately recognize the cashier up front as the owner, Arte. He smiles at you while you place your things on the counter next to him. 

“Not too often we see new faces,” He comments as he begins to scan the items. “What brings you here?” 

“Not new, just been a while, I’m fixing up my gran’s old house.” You hum in response. 

“Really? Who’s your grandmother Dear?” Arte asks. 

“Josephine.” You reply. His eyes widen in surprise, reciting your name from memory as a question, when you nod a soft sadness takes over his face. 

“This place lost something special when Jo passed. Glad to have you back in town again.” 

You thank him and continue to make small talk as he rings up the last of your items, lightly going over the various tasks you need to get done around the house. 

He bags your items for you and gives you the shirt free of charge. 

“Does Dale still work on cars?” You ask as you gather the bags and hang them from your forearm. 

“Not for a couple years now hun, he’s not doing well.” Arte says. “His grandson Caleb is always working on some rusty old thing, he might be able to help you.” 

***

When you get back inside you immediately throw on your new t-shirt, stretching it out to read the large font “Threadfin Bay, EST. 1886” across the chest, soaking it in before the shirt is surely ruined beyond repair. 

You start easy, cleaning the countertops, the stovetop, the table and chairs. Normally this large of a task would stress you out to the point of breaking it into smaller goals, but the cleaning was doing a great job of keeping your mind off the fact that you couldn’t take your car to Caleb until tomorrow morning at the earliest, and that was if he could take a look at it. That gave your ex plenty of time to make it to town while you were asleep. 

Hours passed and you were able to get most of the kitchen and bathroom done, but that was it. The rest would be a problem for the next couple days. As you look around at all your hard work, you realize you probably should have worked on one of the bedrooms first. You knew it was no use trying to go out and find somewhere that might have bedding for any of the mattresses left behind. 

You pull the chair out from the table and take a seat, resting for the first time in hours. You notice the ache in your lower back and wrists. You let your head fall over your crossed arms and close your eyes, you can feel sleep dragging you away the longer you lay there slouched over the table. Just when you feel that familiar falling sensation that comes just before the point of no return you gasp and shoot up in your seat. 

You’d forgotten to call Davie back. 

The chair skids across the floor as you jump up and rush over to your bag, sliding the zipper open and taking out a small palm sized notebook from the bottom. You stand up and open to the first page where you have about ten phone numbers jotted down in preparation for what you did today. 

You pull your new phone from your pocket and flip it open, quickly typing in the number and pressing it to your ear. It only rings once. 

“Hello?” Davie answers, his voice laced with worry. 

“Hi, it’s me.” You say, the crackle caused by Davie’s sigh of relief buzzes in your ear. “I made it, I’m really sorry, I just got straight to work and lost track of time.” 

“Scared us all half to death kid, where are you calling from?” 

“The house. Got a new phone, couldn’t keep the other one.” 

“Glad you’re safe.” He says “listen, we’re really worried about you being alone up there. We’d like-“ 

“Davie..” you interrupt him, now pacing back and forth in the kitchen. “I’m okay, I can handle it on my own.” 

“I know.” He says, but you can still hear the worry and doubt in his voice. 

“He hasn’t tried to you know.. he hasn’t stopped by your place or anything right?” You ask, fear creeping back through your body. 

“Not at all.” He assures. “I don’t know what he did, but he surely knows it’d be a mistake knocking on my door.” 

Classic Davie, always protective. 

“That’s good.” You respond, one less thing to worry about for tonight. “I gotta go though, I have something to do in the morning so..” you trail off for a moment. “Thank you for letting me stay here. You really saved me today.” 

“She would have wanted you there, sorry it’s not been taken care of.” 

Davie was given the house in the will after Gran passed. For a few summers after there were family trips organized but they eventually stopped due to Davie having more kids, life just got in the way. You couldn’t be mad about that over the house. 

You say your goodbyes and hang up the phone, setting it down. You take a moment to gaze out the window, even in the darkness of an incoming storm the garden is beautiful. Different colored bushes created irregular pathways around the yard, coming up to the center where space was left for the big tree, the bird bath with the surrounding pots, and clusters of assorted flowers growing from the yard around the…

Your throat burns dry as it tightens, every hair on your arms and the back of your neck stick straight up. Right there in the yard across from the kitchen window you’re standing in front of, A man sat on the stone bench. It was just dark enough that you would have missed him completely had you not looked in that direction. One second you stood frozen in complete terror and the next you spring into action. 

You lunge over the counter and flip the lights off, immediately shielding yourself from the window as you think about what to do. 

Nothing bad happens here.

You weren’t interested in being the first person in town murdered in the middle of the night by someone staking out your new home. 

No.

You’d just escaped one nightmare, and you refused to accept walking right into another. 

Think. Think. Think. 

The closest police station was forty-five minutes away, who knows what could happen in that amount of time. Your breath picks up as you frantically look around the dark kitchen for something, anything that could scare whoever this was away from the yard. 

Your eyes fall on the old knife block you cleaned around throughout the day next to the microwave on the counter across the room. You drop down low and quickly crawl over, pulling yourself up and ripping the only knife in it out of it’s socket. You examine it in your hands and 

Shit.

It’s dull. So dull that it could pass as an oversized butter knife. The tip was rounded, the blade entirely useless. It was all you had, maybe it would be scary enough from a distance. 

You slowly creep to the door and twist the handle before stepping outside, the creak sends a shock straight through your body. You closed it anyway and slowly crept around the bend of the porch. 

The man sat in the same position you saw him in from the window, one leg crossed over the other with his head turned facing away from the house. Still, almost peaceful, like he hadn’t heard you at all. 

“Hey!” You screamed. It came out before you could even process what you were doing. The knife was gripped harshly beside your thigh in clear sight. Your voice was firm, assertive, but your body trembled. 

The man turned to face you, eyes lowering and lifting back up but he showed no signs of fear. As he stood you braced yourself to run. It’s been years since you’ve been here but you still know it like the back of your hand, but the same could be said for anyone that lives here. 

You watched with sharp eyes as he lifted both hands in an attempt to show he was no harm to you. 

“Sorry! I didn’t know anyone lived here.” He smiled, actually smiled at you like he was harmless. He must be crazy. That didn’t make you feel any better. 

“I have a dog!” You yelled. The silence that followed was deafening, shining a clear light on the lie you just told. 

Thunder rumbled above as the man took a step back, hands still up. “You’re not a dog person.” Is all he said before turning around, walking the opposite direction through the garden, towards the few neighboring houses. 

Definitely crazy. 

You waited a few seconds before running back inside, throwing the door shut behind you and turning the lock. You press your back against the glass and hunch over with your hands on your knees, letting out a shaky breath.

You’re safe now. 

For a moment you considered calling Davie back to tell him what had happened but he was already worried enough, and you didn’t doubt his dedication to send someone on the trip to come get you. He’s just like that. 

Instead you make your way through the house, checking every single window and making sure they were locked. You step into your grandmother’s old room to check her window and pause. Her room was the most untouched out of the whole house, her favorite sheets still on the bed. If you trusted them you would have slept in her room tonight.  

You make your way back out towards the kitchen, the door to the stairs beside the bathroom. You check the closet and see there are still a couple beach towels left behind. To your surprise they were soft, and didn't have any foul odor. They’d have to do.

Lightening illuminated the upstairs bedrooms once you reach the top of the stairs, the snap of thunder that follows causing you to freeze momentarily. 

In your old room there’s a simple full sized bed, a futon in front of an old box television,  a dresser you never used and an old toy box on the far wall. Next to the TV is a window and the door that leads out onto the balcony.

As you lay the towels down on the futon you start to really regret not starting up here first. As you rest your head on your arm you try to focus on getting to sleep, the loud rainfall and the creak of the wooden balcony in the wind making it hard. You always hated storms here because it made the house feel haunted.

***

Tears begin to form in your eyes the longer the storm went on, loud bellowing thunder shook the house and rattled the balcony outside. You’re in your bed with the covers pulled over your head, hands pressed over your ears with a stuffed toy kitten that’s seen better days crammed in your elbow. 

You curl further into yourself, turning your head into the pillow when you start to hear tapping on the window. 

You can’t look, too scared of what you might see if you did. 

Tapping turned into a series of rapid knocks, then muffled through your hands you heard your name being shouted over the heavy rain. You recognized the voice. 

You slowly peek above the sheets, making out the silhouette of your friend crouched outside of the window so that you could see him under the half drawn blinds.

“Let me in! Hurry!” 

You sit up quickly, slide out of the bed and scurry over to the large door. There's a sliding lock  that you have to jump a few times to get all the way. Once you hear the click of the lock sliding out you twist the smaller one on the knob and pull the door, yanking it a couple times before it pops open. The loud sounds of the storm amplified while it was open.

Your friend, another boy your age who visits during the summer, stumbles onto the floor as he bursts into the room. 

You blink in surprise at him, it’s night time, he’s not allowed to spend the night. 

“I was out there waiting forever!” He groans dramatically as he sits upright on the floor, using his hands to scrape the water from his arms, then shakes his head to unstick the hair from his forehead. 

“Why are you here?” You whisper

He looks up at you from the floor and smiles, 

“I knew you would be scared.” 

*** 

One loud crack rips you from sleep, causing you to spring forward on the futon. Recalling your dream you turn your head to look at the window just a few feet ahead of you. 

There’s nothing there. 

It’d been so long since you thought about him, being back in your old room must be bringing things back up. 

Odd. 

You didn’t think the infected would have spread out this far yet. Maybe it was foolish to believe you’d get to the gun range before you ever had to encounter one. They can run, you know that, but you didn’t think it was this fast. The rifle on your back swishes back and forth, the strap rubbing your neck raw. If only you could get some distance between you and that thing. 

One misstep ruins that fantasy. You hit the ground hard with a yelp, quickly flipping yourself onto your back and using your legs to quickly kick your back up against a tree as what used to be a large man lunges forward. The force causes the rifle to dig hard into your shoulder blade. 

Now you’re sobbing as you push against it’s shoulders, even with all your strength it doesn’t seem to be doing much. It’s horrifying. The thing is drooling excessively as it strains its neck to reach you, baring it’s teeth and gnawing on nothing. And the sound, it doesn’t sound how it usually does in the movies. It doesn’t screech, moan, or click. It grunts, it yells in a guttural way. Like how you imagine a feral caveman would. It’s uncomfortably human.

At this moment you can't believe it’s going to end like this. Barely making it two weeks, your sister will never know what happened to you or that you even tried to come for her at all. Your elbows begin to ache, wobbling in agony as your efforts to save yourself prove fruitless. You’re staring death in the face, and it’s hungry. 

Another sob escapes your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut. You’re not giving up, you’ll fight until the bitter end but you won’t watch it happen. As the dead closes in, you hold your breath as you struggle against it. There’s a harsh cracking sound as the zombie crashes into your chest, your face is wet and just when you think you’ve died, the weight of it slowly slides down into your lap. 

When you open your eyes that thing is laying face down between your legs with a hatchet lodged deeply in the back of it’s head. Your eyes flicker up and there’s a man wearing a black trenchcoat peering down at you. He just saved your life. After he yanks the hatchet from the head of the zombie in your lap you waste no time shoving it of you with every ounce of strength you have left. You crawl a few feet away, that’s when you realize you’re still crying, and start coughing uncontrollably from the slowly subsiding panic coursing through your body. No matter how hard you try you can’t regulate as fast as you’d like to. Your body wants to run, but you can’t move. A few seconds later you’re vomiting onto the ground beneath you. You freeze when you hear the mechanical ‘click’ just above your head, when you turn there's a gun pointed directly in your face.

“Did it bite you!?” The man shouts at you, gun steady. 

“What? No!” You insist, waving your hands in denial. 

“Your arm!” He says, his gaze and aim never leaving your face. 

Panic fills you again, you look at your sleeve to see the fabric of your jacket is torn and your arm is bleeding. “It’s from the fall, I swear!” You insist. 

The man before you narrows his eyes, you can’t tell if he believes you or not. “You threw up. Do you have chest pain?” He shouts “Tightness in your neck or shoulders!?” 

Fuck, he really thinks you’re infected. 

“No!” You plea. “You can take my rifle and check me, I swear! It just chased me.” You leave one hand up and slowly remove the rifle from your back, setting it down in front of you. 

He glances down at it, then back at you before slowly kneeling down and picking it up. He slips his handgun back in the holster and you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Is this all you have?” He asks. When you nod he lets out a sigh you can only describe as disappointed. “I can only assume you realize how dumb that was now?” 

You open your mouth and then close it, there was really no way to argue against that. 

“Where were you even planning on going with just a rifle?” He asks, dropping it back down in front of you and kneeling down, pulling the backpack off his shoulders and opening it up, as he digs inside you can hear clattering of metal on metal.

“The gun range.” You say. “The rifle was just supposed to get me there.” 

“It’s a miracle you’re alive at all.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“I’m not calling you smart. Do you really think there’s anything left for you at the gun range?” He asks, pulling out a hefty switch blade and tossing it in front of you. As he pulls the bag wider you see an alarming amount of guns and ammo inside the bag. 

“Where did you get all those?” 

“Evidence storage at the police station.” He pulls a hand gun from the bag and a small thing of bullets to pair with it. 

“Whoa, you a cop or something?” 

“No. Do you know how to use this?” 

“Yes.” You confirm. “Are you seriously just giving me all this?” 

“I have plenty.” He lets you gather up your new belongings and stands up, holding his hand out to help you. You grab it and pull yourself up. As soon as you put pressure on your right foot you fall forward, wincing in pain. 

He catches you as you grip onto his coat for support, with the fabric twisted in your hand you can see a white lab coat underneath. “Are you a doctor?” You gasp, pulling away from him. 

“I was a surgeon.” He confirms. 

“Surgeon? Like at the hospital?” you ask frantically. 

“Yes?” 

“You have to help me.” You beg. “Please, can you get me in the hospital, my sister was there for treatments during the outbreak and-” 

“Don’t waste your time.” He cuts you off. “Your sister is dead.” 

“You don’t know my sister.” You furrow your brows at him. “She’s strong. I know she’s there, or close.” 

“Did you have access to the news at all before the signal was lost?” He asked, kneeling down again and pulling your pant leg up. Sure enough your ankle is swollen.

“I did, and the hospital was contained.” You argued. “You should know that.” 

“Doctors were contained.” He quips. “Your ankle is sprained. You’ll need to stay off it.” He changes the subject. 

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“I won’t be leaving you out as bait for the dead.” He pulls his map out from the side pocket of the backpack. “Main road isn’t too far from here, if we’re lucky we’ll find somewhere safe before nightfall. A car perhaps.” He picks his bag up and puts it on backwards, turning his back to you and leaning forward, prompting you to jump onto his back. “Come on then.” 

“Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.” 

“I’m a doctor. It’s what we do.” It was simple enough, as wary as you should be he did save you, so you trust him. You walk over to him, place your hands on his shoulders and use your left leg to jump onto his back. He does the rest for you, easily hoisting you up from under your thighs and heading west in the direction of the road.

“Zayne, by the way.” He says, and you give him your name in return. 

*** 

As strong as Zayne is, the added weight does slow him down, you choose not to voice it because you’re sure he feels it too but the setting sun is worrisome. You’re an hour into your journey with your destination nowhere in sight. There is no guarantee for refuge once you get there anyways. You also avoid asking him to take you into the city again for now, figuring you’d get the same refusal. All you can think about is that you need him, he definitely knows his way around the city in ways that you don’t and how to navigate through the hospital. His clear display of combat skills only strengthens your desire to convince him.

You’re grateful for his help, looking back taking only a rifle out was stupid but you felt like your plan was solid. Get to the gun range, collect supplies, maybe find a car, and get into the city. You have experience with guns of all types but the rifle was all you had at your immediate disposal. Help wasn’t coming, things didn’t start getting better, so you needed to take matters into your own hands. 

“Look there, right ahead.” Zayne whispers, it’s the first time he’s spoken since you guys set off. 

Just ahead you can see it, the faint orange glow of an artificial light. Zayne slows down and jumps, throwing you up a tad higher on his back before you feel him speed up a little. 

“What do you think that is?” You ask.

“A porch light.” 

Your stomach drops, lights on generally indicate someone is home, and with the world being the way it is now, you can’t just trust anyone you come by. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You ask. 

“Better than what we’re currently doing.” He says. “We’ll be okay.” 

As you get closer you can clearly see that it’s a cabin positioned at the end of a dirt road. Not one of those scary horror movie cabins either. It was small, but you could easily tell it was constructed by people who had the money to spend on it. There was a long porch outside the door with a swing on it, the area surrounding it was manicured nicely like it was kept up on. All of this only served as more fuel to your anxiety. 

Zayne carries you to the nearby shed and carefully sets you down, taking off the bag and rolling his shoulders back. 

“Sorry if I was-” 

“You weren’t.” He says before you can finish that sentence. It was then that you could tell just how kind hearted he is. 

Zayne draws his gun, holding it at the ready as he slowly pulls the shed door open. When he sees there’s nothing inside he carries his bag in and sets it down. “Get in.” He orders. When you do he steps outside, as he closes the door he says “Don’t come out until i come back to get you.” 

“What if you don’t?” You ask, the question leaves your throat hot. 

He pauses before answering. “Then wait until dawn, take my bag and leave. Don’t look back.” With that he promptly shuts the door, leaving you in the pitch black shed. 

After you hear Zayne enter the house and shut the door behind him it’s quiet for several minutes. If you thought you were worrying before, it’s amplified by ten when you hear the loud sound of glass shattering on hard flooring. You gasp and hold your ear up to the wall of the shed. Silence. No struggle, no gunshots, just quiet. 

You place your hand over your chest, breathing picking up as you mentally prepare to have to sit alone in the shed overnight, having no idea what could possibly be in the house just a few feet away. It could be the dead, or worse, squatters with malicious intent that could easily see or hear you depart in the morning. 

Just when you start to feel like you might be sick, the shed illuminates from the little amount of light left outside. Zayne stands in the doorway, unphased. 

“It’s clear. Think you can walk up the stairs on the porch?” He asks.

You nod and follow him warily. He holds out his hand and helps you up the stairs and leads the way into the house. 

“Watch your step.” He instructs. 

When you walk in, you see what appears to be a broken ceramic vase shattered across the floor, and just beyond that a body; lifeless and facedown. 

You cover your mouth, staggering backwards in shock. Zayne cocks a brow at you. “He was turned. You really don’t have a lot of experience out here do you?” Well, at least he didn’t kill someone just to take their home for the night. 

“There’s one bedroom down the hall. It’s yours, and if you’d like you can wait there while I clean this up.” He offers, and he barely has to finish his sentence before you take off down the hall, shutting yourself away.  

---

About half an hour goes by before you hear a gentle knock on the bedroom door. Zayne brings you back out to the living room and it’s like there was never an incident to begin with, a mop bucket with the mop sticking out leans up against the nearby wall, and the body is nowhere to be seen. 

“Where is it?” You ask. 

“In the shed.” He says. “I can take it out further in the morning if it bothers you.” 

“Aren’t we leaving in the morning?” 

"Didn’t I say, you need to stay off your ankle.” 

“I don’t have time.” 

“Make time. It will only hold you back, and likely result in your gruesome death.” He says coldly. “We have a house, full of food, with little to no threat for miles. I suggest we treat it as a blessing.” 

“Appreciate the concern, Doc, but I'm not interested in playing ‘Airbnb’ when I have somewhere to be as soon as possible.” 

“It’d be wise to reconsider.” 

You let it go. If you had to, you’d leave while he’s sleeping. Screw convincing him to help you.

“Follow me.” He urges, then leads you into the kitchen with the backpack in hand. Once you reach the kitchen sink, he holds out his hand and pats on the counter. You take his hand and prepare to jump only to squeak when he leans down and lifts you up himself, setting you down easily beside the sink. 

“There’s still gas for the stove and running water, it’s cold but it will do.” He pulls two rags from a nearby drawer, using the first to wipe the dead’s blood from earlier off your face and neck, throwing that rag in the trash afterward. He then has you take your jacket off and uses a fresh rag to clean your wound from the fall. He’s gentle, asking you repeatedly if you’re comfortable, if you’re okay that he’s doing this for you, and if you’re in any pain elsewhere. 

After he’s done he grabs a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water and placing it in your hand. He turns around and digs through his backpack, pulling out several miscellaneous pill bottles and setting them down after reading the labels. 

“Here, this should help.” He says, holding out his hand with two pills sitting in his palm. 

“What is that?” You inquire. 

“Anti-inflammatory. Harmless.” He said.

You take the pills, then his hand to help you down.

“Did you take those from the hospital?” You ask.

“No.” He sighs. “When this happens in the movies, people raid pharmacies, hospitals, gun ranges, grocery stores, liquor stores,” He lists. “No one seems to remember that jails also have a pharmacy, and an evidence storage room for that matter.” He pauses for a moment before changing the subject, he does that a lot. “While everything still runs now, it can get shut off at any time. I suggest a shower, and we can throw our clothes in the washer after dinner.” He stops himself again. “Don’t eat the beef in the fridge.” He warns, his tone suddenly ominous. 

You take his advice, rummaging through the man who used to live here’s closet and drawers. A t-shirt and sweatpants will do just fine to hold you over for the night. When you leave the bathroom you’re met with a very flavorful aroma coming from the kitchen, when you investigate Zayne is standing in front of the stove, cooking in a large saucepan. 

“What are you making?” 

“He had a ton of fresh veggies.” Zayne shrugged “I figure why let them go to waste?” In the next ten minutes he’s setting the table. You’re surprised at the elegance of it all. Two plates, with silverware placed strategically on a napkin to the right of each plate, canned drinks from the fridge along with two glasses of water. Way too fancy for the peak of an apocalyptic nightmare, but you roll with it, like he said it’s a luxury you might never see again. 

When you sit across from him and examine your plate, you grimace at the sheer amount of carrots in your dish while his has none. You don’t question it. You take your first bite and widen your eyes. 

“It’s delicious.” You say, you don’t know how it was possible to make a plate of fried vegetables this good. 

“Thank you.”

“Did you.. Have someone at home to cook for?” You ask carefully. 

“What, like a wife? No.” He shakes his head. “You?”

“No.” You echo. “Just me and my sister.” You eat in silence for a few more minutes before another question arises. “What’s the deal with the beef in the fridge?” 

“I threw it away.” He says flatly. 

“But, why?” 

Zayne is quiet for a few seconds and then answers. “The virus is found in beef. Even when fully cooked.” 

“What!?” You gasp. “They never warned the public of that?”

“It was never broadcast.” He won’t make eye contact with you now. 

“How do you know?” 

“I was the head cardiac surgeon at Akso hospital. We were in early stages of discovery when the outbreak started.” 

You stare across the table in shock, from what little you learned of the virus before all television signals were lost You learned that symptoms first presented themselves as a heart attack, when people passed away from it, they came back different. It didn’t make sense to you, it still doesn’t. 

“How is that possible?” 

“Some sort of mutation in the genetic makeup of the meat. I’m not quite sure.” He says.

You finally get a real look at him for the very first time since you met; finally notice his striking green eyes, how muscular he truly is, and now that he's taken off his layers you see the scars that envelop his arms. You wonder if maybe he’s ex-military, maybe he did some medical work. You almost get the feeling that you want to know him more.

“So, what was the hospital like? How did they contain it?” 

“I wasn’t there.” Zayne stands up from his seat, taking his plate to the sink and rinsing it off. “I’m going to take a shower, help yourself to the rest.” 

---

Late at night you hear a soft knock at the bedroom door. Frantically you fold up Zayne’s map that you borrowed while he was showering and stuff it under the pillow in the space next to you. You’re still up because you couldn’t sleep, so you were mentally mapping your new route. You knew where you were headed before you were chased but completely lost your direction in the chaos of it all. Part of you wanted to stow it away before you head out, but you would feel cruel leaving Zayne without a way to get around. You’re sure you’ll find one for yourself eventually anyway. 

You wish Zayne would just sleep so you can make your escape guilt free, so you can sneak out without having to fight him so hard on it. But he keeps moving about the house. You’ve given up on asking him for help since he’s so cold every time you bring it up, there’s no use in wasting your breath.

“Come in.” You call out, sitting up when Zayne enters the room with several items in his arms. He drops them at the foot of the bed.

“Looks like our guy was a hiker and a hunter.” Zayne says, holding up two coats. “These jackets are thick, no way human teeth can bite through them. I want you to take one and get rid of whatever you were wearing earlier.” 

“Luckily his shoes are my size, I don't have to wear dress shoes anymore.” He continues. “I also found several hiking backpacks, these are the biggest ones.” He explains, picking one of them up “We can split his canned goods between us before we leave and-” 

“Zayne.” You stop him. “I’m leaving in the morning.” He furrows his brows, leaving an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. “I can’t justify days of lost time over an ankle. I’ll be okay, especially with the supplies.” You go on. 

“Wait.” He tries, but you continue anyway.

“I’m really thankful for everything, I owe you my life seriously, Maybe one day when all of this is over we’ll get the chance to-”

“Stop talking.” He says harshly. You’re so surprised you just stare at him, jaw agape. “If you agree to stay, until your ankle is healed, I will take you into the city and get you inside the hospital.” He says.

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. It’s stupid, and a complete death wish, but if you truly believe your sister is alive at Akso then I trust you.” He says. “But you won’t make it there alone. Four days, that’s all I ask.” 

“Promise?” You force your lips into a thin line.

“I promise.”

That was until your prescription needed to be filled. Making the call was the easy part, leaving your home to go get it? That was another thing. It really shouldn’t be as hard as you made it out to be but as the days went by you found yourself making any excuse to put it off and stay in. After all, you still had enough to make it through the week. 

Thursday came around, you couldn’t get out of bed. By the time you left work on Friday it would have been a race against the clock to get there before the business closed, so you just went home. Saturday morning the pharmacy called you, letting you know if you didn’t pick up before they closed your order would be voided. You didn’t even know they were open during the weekend, to make matters worse their hours were short today.

The walk there wasn’t too bad, it was warm but not unbearingly so. The skies were clear and the streets weren’t crowded. On the way you passed by some children who were celebrating successfully chasing down an ice cream truck, it reminded you of someone you didn’t know anymore. 

The cool air of the pharmacy swallows you whole as you pass through the threshold. As you make your way to the back you’re relieved to see there's no line, only one person ahead of you at the counter. Standing just a few feet behind the man in front of you, you scan over his frame. Today is cruel in the way that things keep reminding you of someone you were trying to forget, times you were still desperately trying to move on from. The man ahead of you, he dressed just like him. He had the same haircut– at least from what you could see from the back– he even held the same posture. Your heart pangs with discomfort, even months after that breakup you still see him in the smallest things here and there, each time more defeating than the last. All this just because you couldn’t convince yourself to do one thing until it was almost too late, but when you heard the man in front of you start up a conversation with the woman processing his pickup, time stood still. 

That voice. 

That voice was unmistakable. A horrible feeling rips through your chest and before you can even process it you’re turning on your heels, walking the opposite direction towards the aisle across from the pharmacy.  

You turn the corner into the aisle and let out the breath you were holding, staring down at your shoes against the white speckled flooring. Out of all the times and places, you see him in line to pick up your prescription. He didn’t even notice you, yet you still felt the stitches being torn from a healing wound. Using your palm, you smear away the tears you tried so hard to contain as you peak around the corner. It really was him, Caleb, after all this time. 

He looks great, really he does. You should be happy to see the way he glows effortlessly, the way he so easily stands tall. You bet it didn’t take him six days to get a task done like it did you. It still felt like a knife the way the same breakup that left you prosaic seems to not have done a number on him at all. 

You look away when the memories start crashing in. Playing in the sprinklers on hot summer days, sneaking into his room late on school nights to help him build those silly 3D models, His grasp around your shaking body after your first heartbreak.

“He’s a loser, pips. Don’t cry.” He said to you. “He’ll regret this.” 

Did he ever think it’d be him making you cry one day? 

When you peer back around to allow yourself one last look before he becomes a memory again, he’s gone. Was he really even there at all or had you truly lost it? You start to think, what if you had just said hi, would he even acknowledge you? What if he turned around before you had the chance to walk away? You shake your head, it’s just silly, stupid, wishful thinking to let the what-ifs consume you like this; there’s a reason the two of you aren't together after all. 

“...Pips?” 

The nickname makes your blood run cold. 

“Is that you?” 

Slowly, you turn around and come face to face with Caleb, he must have come down the other end of the aisle while your back was turned. Your gaze falls down, landing on the stapled white bag which was now twisted in his firm grasp, eyes darting back up to meet his when he reflexively pulls his arm back to hide it. 

“Caleb?” 

Maybe you didn’t have to wonder about the what-ifs.