#zombie!ghost

“I’m not contagious! You fucking fucks!”

One of the goons raps on the plexiglass window with knuckles encased in slick tactical gear like Simon was wearing when you first met him. The thought of that makes panic rest inside your stomach, already sore from morning sickness, aching and fearful. You murmur his name endlessly, tears threatening to spill over your lashes as you blink them back furiously. He’d tell you to stay calm, wait for a good moment to either run or strike somewhere fatal. But you can’t leave Laswell here to fend for herself.

Pointlessly you try the cuffs again, definitely solid, nothing on the floor to wrench at them with. Irritation flares and you kick out at the seat opposite you, succeeding in doing nothing other than hurting your big toe. It throbs angrily and it’s then that you let the floodgates open. Big fat drops of water land on your cheeks, sniffs following them thick and fast.

How could you be so utterly stupid? Abysmally dense? It all seemed so cordial on base, heavily geared men helping you into a jeep while John waved you off, Johnny stood dismally at his side. You thought you caught a strained look between them as the door shut, John’s brow furrowing incomprehensibly. You couldn’t read it and you’re not sure you’d trust it even if you could, after all he’s the reason you’ve been left in this position.

Less than a mile off base, you’d been wrenched from the backseat alongside Laswell, restrained and dumped unceremoniously into this steel framed cage. Kate was shouting, you were screaming and the entire situation escalated rather rapidly. It’s cold in here, whether that’s because they consider you half dead and therefore not in need of heating, who knows. But you’ll be damned if you give up now, let this misstep put the precious life inside you at any risk.

Tethered in the chill, it all becomes blindingly clear to you. Meeting Simon, the bite and the connection you share with him that transcends all sense of self preservation. No one has ever understood you in the way that he implicitly has from the beginning. Even without words he found a way to keep you safe, communicate with you, feed your empty stomach. You’ve repaid him with trouble of epic proportions, by leaving him on some quest for a cure you recognise is probably never achievable.

In the same way they couldn’t ever see Simon as more than just a reanimation of flesh and bones, you’re an outsider to humanity now, the mark on your ankle singling you out as a high value asset in a game you don’t know the rules to. This convoy has military contractor written all over it, a stinking vat of corruption you’re mired in. They’ll probably sell you to the highest bidder and then what?

“Laswell!” You shout out hopelessly. “Laswell!”

But all it does is earn you another tap on the small window, dim headlights silhouetting the figures in the cab like shadows.

————————————————————————

“Fuck!” Johnny slams the door of the abandoned jeep so hard, a crack snakes it’s way along the glass of the windshield. “Knew it was a set up when they were all geared up ta the nines. Who the fuck comes to pick up a civvy with AKs!”

“Contractors I reckon. Couldn’t even be fucked to send their own men out here.” John snarls, pacing backwards and forwards alongside the tyre tracks turned over in the damp earth, evidently thinking fast.

It’s almost like old times again, all four of them out in the middle of nowhere, hunting a quarry that’s slippery and hard to pin down. Little has changed really, other than Simon’s quietness being entirely different. In this world it’s born out of silent and incandescent rage, whereas formerly it was a preference unless he was spoken to directly.

He can smell your fear in the prints on the mud, almost hear the sound of your screams as they dragged you off. There’s blood on the ground, not your own, either you or Laswell managed to clock one of them and that gives him a small sense of satisfaction. It can be a prelude to the carnage he’s about to inflict, rain down on their scheme like a hurricane of fury.

“Si? You alright mate? Kyle’s trying to track the signal off Laswells watch, see if she’s pulled the distress pin.” Johnny says, watching him carefully, crouched close to the ground, broad white palms stark against the dirt.

“Don’t need signal. Know where they’re headin.” Simon grunts in response, standing to his full height, the metal in his repaired jaw flashing lethally in the cold air, blue moon hanging low over the lot of them. Turning, his swirling ying yang eyes gaze on his team. “Clearing ahead, they’re meeting others.”

“Fucking chopper collection point. Shit!” Snarls John. “You able to go on ahead Simon? Lead the way?”

Simon nods, clenching his fists.

“Got my six Cap?”

“Always.” John replies sternly, tapping him on the shoulder. It’s a motion he’s felt hundreds of times before now, but it makes Simon’s head clearer and for that he’s intensely grateful. He needs vicious focus to keep you safe, one that won’t be easy to maintain if he’s full of raging bloodlust.

Low in his throat the virus purrs, quieter than usual but still pleased with the thought of soft throats to tear out all in defence of its precious, yet strange family. It would burn the entire remaining free world to be at your side again, dormant formerly through heartsickness, it pounds in his chest, rising from the dead in the same way Simon did.

————————————————————————

Eyes nodding shut, you bump your head again on the harsh metal behind you, wrists now throbbing with the effort of being trapped in one position. Your throat is hoarser than Simon’s usually is, mainly from shouting, swearing and cursing at your captors for the last hour and half. You need to keep your mind sharp, so resting during this transitional time seemed the most optimal. Inside your growing bump the baby flutters anxiously, accompanied by your own jitters about what will happen when the drive eventually ends.

You’re just about to try and slip back into quietness, when three things happen in quick succession. The brakes on the vehicle are applied so sharply you’re launched forwards, elbows trying to cushion your fall against the corners of your prison. An extremely heavy object lands on the roof, making the metal above you crumple inwards while the wheels beneath swerve violently. Then the sound of rapid gunfire comes whistling against the panel by your head.

It hits a tyre and the vehicle rolls in slow motion, the world suddenly tipped upside down while you grasp the bars, desperately trying to remain upright. One of your wrists bends awkwardly, twisting with inertia in a way it definitely wasn’t designed to. Nausea climbs up your windpipe, the sound of breaking glass and something sharp hitting your soft flesh. Cheek stinging, while hot liquid begins to ooze down your neck, you finally come to a stop on your side, huddled up on a panel that is now the floor.

It’s very dark, so dark you can no longer make out anything through the plexiglass, not even dim headlights. If either of the drivers are alive, they’re surely badly hurt, but it’s difficult to tell disoriented as you are from the crash.

Gingerly you look at your arm. Shit. Definitely broken, it’s bent at a strange angle, excruciating pain spreading up and into your elbow. More gunfire, you hear it ping all around the capsized vehicle, peppering the ground. A few grunts and then utter silence. Blinking, you try and tug at the handcuffs again, but it hurts the break in your bone so badly, you nearly coat the ground in vomit.

Shouts start up again, along with a horrible snarling sound, followed by an even nastier wet spatter. It’s guttural, demonic almost. More squelching and the noise of something hitting the ground in a puddle.

“Simon!” You call, kicking at the buckled door with the heel of your boot. “Simon I’m here!”

There’s only one thing that makes sounds like that, and it’s the person you’re determined to spend the rest of your life with. The door is ripped open, but Simon doesn’t appear. Instead, one of the masked mercenaries does. They look decidedly worse for wear, bloodied gear and a nasty gash in their thigh. They crawl in beside you and start fumbling at the locks to your cuffs with trembling fingers.

You stay still long enough to let them free your hands, then immediately try and scramble out while their preoccupied with the keys.

“I don’t fucking think so.” The person snarls, trapping your throat under a bicep, dragging you close to their torso. It’s a guy you’re fairly sure, tall and muscled. You choke, one arm useless against the attack as he starts to drag you out of the van by the neck, your feet kicking as you struggle.

Your nails dig hard into the fabric covering his arm, but it doesn’t release you. Oxygen constricting, you flail uselessly, silently shouting for Simon as he tugs you backwards into the woodland bordering the road, away from the gunfight taking place ahead, lights popping and shouts echoing in the stillness of the night.

His breath is hot against your ears, while he limps urgently, hampered by your wriggling body and his injury. Fruitlessly you try and pat him down one handed, looking for a weapon on his hip you can use. His fist meets the side of your head, stars swimming behind your eyes as the force of it cracks your socket with a violent zing of pain.

Suddenly and with no warning, you’re dropped from the height of a fully grown man onto the pine needles littering the ground. Coughing, you try and regain your bearings, while the guy above you sputters violently. Flecks of wet hit your face, spatters like rain, except these are hot, smelling strongly of iron and something gruesome.

Blinking furiously, rubbing the blood out of your eyes, you look upwards.

There Simon stands in all his glory, pale skin glowing through the clots of death covering him from head to toe, one hand outstretched with what looks like an entire spinal column clenched in a large fist.

Your assailant sinks to his knees, rudderless as his eyes roll backwards in his head, a gurgling sound still echoing in his throat. Then he drops like a stone, while Simon clutches his backbone, horrible snarls and spits leaving the pit of his chest.

For a moment, when he turns his gaze on you, his eyes look opaque once more. Just as inhuman as he was lingering in the ruins of that military base before he saved your life. Here he is again, risking his eternal soul for you, grasping sentience with a narrow hold. You can see it, the creature you tamed fighting to protect you and his cub. He’s perfect, utterly glorious, a stunning vision of your saviour drenched in crimson and gore.

Yours. All yours.

“Si…” You whisper softly. Momentarily his molten, milk filmed amber stare darts down to you, crumpled on the floor.

“You’re so bloody beautiful.”

Then you pass out cold.

One Year Later ❤️

“Garrick, ye holdin that the right way up?!”

“Oh fuck off Soap, we all know you still cry about the fact google don’t exist anymore.” Snaps Kyle, scowling at him from the passenger seat, a broad and expansive map of the surrounding wilderness spread across his lap.

“Do miss google actually. Miss porn more though.” Johnny quips back, while Kyle rolls his eyes and returns to plotting the jeeps course through the wasteland.

It’s laden with supplies for a very special destination, one each of the three men heading there have been counting down to with keen anticipation.

“Sure the Cap has a few dirty mags in his locker he’ll lend you.” Kyle’s gaze doesn’t move from the paper in front of him, but his lips quirk mischievously.

“Don’t fuckin drag me into this. N’don’t be bickering in front of little miss either.” Barks John, avoiding a particularly nasty crater in the dirt track they’re following with practiced skill. “Do I need to remind you both how to be houseguests eh?”

“Sorry sir.”

“Aye sorry sir…but do you have any mags on ye?” Johnny guffaws as John’s hand reaches back to smack him around the head.

Soon enough, a house looms into view, set back in grassy fields, a tree large enough for a tyre swing swaying gently in the distance. Chain link fences surrounds it, a low buzz of energy flowing through each spiked post so an unnatural humming sound fills the air.

Johnny hops out immediately to examine it, a keen eye for how his invention is holding up, while John presses his radio on.

“Bravo-06 to Bravo-07, how copy.”

“About time.” Comes the rough reply. “Missus… keen to see ya.”

The voltage in the fence line drops and Johnny unlocks the gate, peeling back the door so John can move through it. A hulking figure is making it’s way onto the porch, discernible by height against the white panelling, something small and plump perched on his hip.

By the time they all reach the gravel across the long grass, you’ve joined Simon, one hand on the growing bump at your front. Waving animatedly at Kyle until he scoops you up in a hug, entirely whisked off your feet.

John grasps Simon’s frigid fingers, while the little boy in his arms squirms, fat hands reaching for the older man. He is Simon entirely in miniature, right down to the ash blonde hair and freckles. The only inkling of his unorthodox parentage can be seen in the tots round, wide gaze, currently fixed on the shiny tags hanging around John’s neck.

Perfect blended black tourmaline, with lily white swirls around his irises.

“Aye Teddy lad come here, how big yer gettin!” Johnny pinches the babies cheek until he chuckles, snatching at the overgrown Mohawk and twinkling blue eyes.

“Been busy I see?!” John nods at your round form pointedly, a rye smile curling his features.

“Good on ya Simon!” Kyle claps him on the back, while you let Johnny kiss your cheek.

“Got yer a present lass!” Soap produces a set of coloured pencils in a neat tin, placing them in your palms with a flourish.

“Oh Johnny they’re perfect! Thank you so much!” You wrap an arm around his waist happily. “I can do your portrait now!”

Chattering giddily, Simon watches as Kyle and Johnny escort you into the kitchen. His son paws at the metal plate still attached to his jawline, placing a resounding smack there with the flat of one small palm, then giggling wickedly.

Simon tickles him under a drool soaked chin, while he and John make to follow everyone inside.

“How’s Kate?”

“Good, very happy to have a spot by the seaside with the wife. Retirement suits her actually. Suits you too.” John pauses, looking into Simon’s face seriously. “Listen Simon, never got the chance to say it before, but I’m sorry for letting you take that fucking mission alone. I’m sorry you paid for my mistake with your life. Should have been with you. Should have gone together.”

Simon places a hand on his Captains back. There isn’t a hint of remorse in those misty orbs, just unflinching peace, a contentment with how things are, how they were always destined to be.

“Glad it was me n’ not you, happy here. Wouldn’t change it Cap.”

Later, having cooked up a storm and unpacked all the new provisions, you finally settle down to sleep next to Simon. Teddy, lies happily on Simon’s stomach, snoring with exhaustion from being chased on unsteady legs by Johnny and Kyle all evening long.

You scratch Simon’s scalp and he hums. One big palm stretches across your swollen stomach, feeling your second child move under the skin. You wince slightly from the cold and Simon rolls his eyes dramatically until you giggle. It’s quiet, your guests getting ready for bed themselves.

“Been thinkin, reckon issa girl.”

“Oh yeah? Check your crystal ball for that one did you?!”

He grins lopsidedly.

“Just a feelin.” His fingers splay against your belly, one arm cuddling Teddy tighter. “Gonna let me try again if it ain’t?!”

“Only if you say please.” You reply, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, that Simon leans into.

The virus dwelling inside you both rumbles peacefully.

Masterlist

@ashy-kit @cutiecusp @deadmarygolds @redbleedingrose @magicstrengthandcourage @darkangel4121 @cmbghost @silly-norman @sigrid666 @pxssygxblin @spicyspicyliving @itsyaboinoah @misshugs @blush-haze @kolpvii @sobbingnshtting @murder-hobo @nexthyperfix @chinaza444 @contractedcriteria @soapsmohawk-16 @coqwuette @juneonhoth @lanalafey

Thank you so much for the love on this one besties ❤️ I’m so sad to see it finish, but hopefully I’ve done it justice!

It had been less than two days since you lost Simon.

The image of him dying in the infirmary wing, bleeding out on the bed, was plastered behind your eyes. You saw it every waking moment and even dreamt of it during the night. You could still feel Soap’s hands squeezing your arms far too aggressively as he dragged you out of the infirmary while you cried out for Simon. You tried to claw your way to him but Soap was stronger than you by a long shot. “We have to get out of here!” he shouted at you over the cacophony of voices, people running around frantically. You let him drag you away to safety, your body limp in his hold, thinking of Simon’s dying breath.

The infirmary had promptly been boarded up, the doors all sealed tight. The breakout had begun a few weeks ago and it only just infiltrated the base. When Ghost had come back, bleeding out after a mission gone wrong, you furiously checked him for bite marks. The relief you felt when you didn’t find any was short-lived. Simon had lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. You could still see it covering your hands the days following like a wraith. You felt like his blood was still wedged under your fingernails even after scrubbing your hands violently in a bucket of water. 

With the infirmary infected and the outside world gone, you had little options but to hunker down in the barracks. There were small hunting groups that would leave base and dare to edge into the city, trying to help people, and gathering resources. Ghost had been in one of those first groups to leave the safe confines of base. You wished you had begged him to stay. Pleaded with him not to go. 

The lights above you flickered, the generator not the most reliable of equipment. You looked across the table to your teammates, trying to keep yourself pulled together. It was only at night that you let yourself feel the pain, crying yourself to sleep. 

“We’re never gonna survive here if we don’t get that medical supplies,” Soap explained. 

“It’s too dangerous, Soap. We have no idea how bad it got in there. We have no way of knowing if all the bodies left behind turned,” Price retorted, pulling off his beanie and running his hand through his hair in nerves. 

“So, what then? We’re gonna send more men off to die, tryin’ to get shit from the city?”

Price closed his eyes momentarily. The bags forming under them showed just how little sleep he was getting. “We can’t risk more men. We’d be sendin’ them to their death, Soap. We don’t have the ammo to spare.”

“We don’t know that. We’re still not even sure if it's a guarantee the dead will change, or if they have to be bit.”

“It’s too–”

You cut the men off. “I can go.” Both their heads snapped in your direction. “I’m just a technician. With everything gone to shit, I haven’t been as much help as you guys have been. I can’t fight. I can’t–”

“No. We’re not riskin’ you,” Soap said sternly. 

“Soap,” you breathed. “I’m the only one here that isn’t crucial to the team. And don’t argue with me. It’s just a fact. Let me go. I can sneak in and grab what we need. I’m far quieter than any of you boisterous men anyways.”

Soap breathed your name. He was worried about you. He could see the pain in your eyes after losing Simon. He was worried this was a suicide mission. And that you wanted that. 

“Let me be of use,” you begged. Soap wanted to argue. So did Price. But you were right. You would be the fastest. And as much as they valued you, the remaining men couldn’t survive here without Soap or Price. 

“Lass, are you sure?” Soap said finally. He wanted you to feel useful, but he didn’t want you running off and risking your life because of the pain you felt from losing Simon. 

“Let me do it, Soap. Please. I need this.”

He couldn’t argue with you. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you more than you were already hurting. 

“Fine. But I’m not happy about this.”

You stood in your gear, an empty backpack plastered to your back waiting to be filled with medical supplies. Price had gone over the layout of the wing with you, showing you exactly where you needed to go to get the right supplies on a map of the building. 

You stood before the infirmary doors, the ones that would lead to a long, winding hall that would bring you to the center of the infirmary. Off of that were several rooms and more halls, and a surgical floor. It was a large span of space to cover, but you believed you could do this. 

“Be quick about it, lass. We’ll be right here when you get back,” Soap said to you, his hand resting on your shoulder. 

You took in a breath and walked up to the doors that had been unlocked, a large piece of plywood that had previously been nailed against it, removed so you could go in. Before you reached out to the door handle, you turned around and rushed into Soap’s arms. He held you tightly, your head tucked right under his chin. “Don’t you fuckin’ die on me,” he mumbled into your hair. 

You pulled back and gave him a sad smile. Then you nodded at Price and faced the daunting doors again. Once you stepped through the threshold and the doors shut behind you, you could hear the plywood being put back up, a hammer nailing it in place. When you got back, you were to knock and Soap would be there waiting to let you back in. 

The hall was flickering with a few overhead lights, the generator still powering a few of the rooms in this wing. 

Ghost had a glazed-over expression when he rolled off his medical bed. The room around him was silent apart from the ticking of a clock in the corner. There was blood pooled all around him and dripping onto the tiled floor as he stood. He had some semblance of who he was, of what happened, but most of his thoughts were hazed over like he was stuck in a daydream. 

He had walked the length of the room, a sudden craving for food hitting the pit of his stomach. Any sound made him snap in that direction, rushing towards it as if on cue. He heard banging coming from one of the med rooms, the door locked and nailed over with whatever scrap of wood they could find. More people like him were trapped behind those doors, their groaning echoing down the hall. 

Ghost limped as he walked, remembering how he had been shot in his leg. He looked down at his crimson-stained pants, almost like he should be feeling pain, but he felt nothing. 

Days had passed and he roamed the halls aimlessly, not even getting bored. His mind had drifted off, somewhere that wasn’t in his body, allowing him to walk around like a zombie, completely void of any logical thought. 

He grumbled as he made his rounds, stuck in a time loop, walking down the flickering hall again and again, passing by bodies that had been left behind. 

He hesitated when he heard something. He turned to look in the direction of the noise, intrigued. It sounded like someone had just walked blindly into a metal medical tray, knocking instruments onto the floor. His movements were fast and nimble as he approached the sound. 

He froze in place when he saw you–though he didn’t know who you were at that moment. You cursed yourself for being loud but didn’t hear anything in retaliation so you figured you were safe. Your hand rested on the knife strapped to your hip anyway.

You were edging towards the main infirmary double doors, your hand touching the metal of the handle. You should go in there and get supplies, but that’s where you had last seen Simon. You didn’t have it in you to see what had become of him, his body rotting alone. 

Instead, you walked down the hall and into a storage closet, oblivious to the shell of Ghost who trailed behind you. 

You left the door to the storage room open to let in a few strips of light so you could see better. You hunched over and began to dig through the supplies that had been thrown all over the floor in panic. 

Ghost rolled his neck as he saw you in the room, your back to him. He had a sudden urge to sink his teeth deep into your skin, to tear you to shreds. In fact, he wanted nothing more; the instinct was overpowering. 

But when he got close, he could hear your voice as you mumbled to yourself, going over the list of the items you needed. You held up a pack of linens, trying to see if they were clean. “These will have to do,” you said softly, shoving them into your backpack. 

A wave of familiarity surfaced inside Ghost, a strange feeling of being alive pumping through his veins. When he got to the doorframe, he could smell you. His senses heightened, the waft of your natural scent sent Ghost into a daze. He remembered—though he wasn’t sure what he was remembering. All he knew was that he recognized that smell. 

His body had felt like it was in hibernation, his motors set on autopilot as he mindlessly walked down the halls. But suddenly, Ghost’s true mind was brought to the forefront. And his body craved you, though not in the way he had just moments earlier. He didn’t want to sink his teeth into your neck, he wanted to feel your warmth against him. 

Ghost moved with such dexterity and silence, it was clear he was no longer human. When you stood, his arms immediately wrapped around you, eliciting a scream from your throat. 

Ghost still wasn’t fully comprehending what was happening; all he knew was that his body wanted you. His hand slid up around your neck, leaving a trail of blood on your clothes. He tried to speak, but he couldn't fathom what he wanted to say. All that came out was a strangled groan. 

You sputtered, trying to catch your breath as your heart raced in your chest. Ghost felt for your pulse beneath his fingertips, relishing in the way your blood pumped through your body. 

You turned your head slightly, spying the man who had you trapped against the many shelves in the closet.

It was Simon.

Terror flooded your system. He didn’t look like himself. His eyes were glossed over, his pupils and iris almost unidentifiable, the entirety of his eyes were white, appearing like he was blind. The blood that had soaked his face had congealed, the rusted color running down his clothes where he was shot in the chest and leg. He looked just how you left him, and it sent a sense of terror through you. 

“S-Simon?” You whispered, unsure if you were caught in a nightmare. 

A groan escaped his cracked lips. You gulped. He had become one of them . 

You were certain he was about to tear you apart, just as you had seen other fallen men do to your teammates. You closed your eyes, tears rushing down your cheeks as you prepared for the worst. His hands felt cold around your neck, like ice. You shivered against him. You accepted your fate—a small part of you actually wanted it. You wanted him to end you. To take you down with him. You didn't want to be alone anymore.

He nuzzled his nose against your neck and you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for him to bite you. But it never came. 

Instead, he just moved his nose against you, smelling your hair and skin. His hands were still locked tightly against you, but they began to travel across your body. You opened your eyes in shock. Ghost’s hands trailed your chest, groping you with one hand, the other sprawling over the front of your thigh and stomach. You gasped in surprise. 

You felt him harden against you, something you had experienced many times before now, and the familiarity of it made your heart pound with mixed emotions. Your mind was too caught up trying to decipher what was happening to truly take the moment in. 

Ghost’s cold hands slid under your black shirt, snaking their way up to your breasts, cupping each one in his hands. Your nipples immediately hardened from the iciness of his touch. He ground himself against your backside, making you close your eyes in a moment of reprieve. You got lost in the past, imagining this was how it used to be. How he had touched you so many times before. 

You breathed his name and he seemed to like that, for he rolled his hips against you harder, his chest rumbling in satisfaction. 

The cold of his hands left you, making you oddly yearn to have them back on your skin. His fingers traced the hem of your pants before aggressively pulling them down. He got them past the curve of your ass and turned your bodies so your hips hit the edge of a shelving unit that acted as a table. You knocked all the supplies off as Ghost pushed you down against it, using your hands to catch yourself. 

Ghost shuffled with his own pants, wasting no time at all to slip himself inside you. You called out in a brief shock of pain. He held himself deep within you, his hands squeezing as he held you, his body bent over slightly, his chest flat against your back. Your own hands reached out to grab the edge of the table to help steady yourself. The searing heat of you against his frozen skin spread through him like wildfire.

Your cries ignited a flame in Ghost’s chest—the feel of your body, the sound of your gasps, the smell of your hair—felt natural, like this was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. That he was made to take you like this. That your body against him was something so ingrained in his system, that he had no choice to to let his limbs move on muscle memory. 

He began to thrust inside you, your hips hitting the table with each snap of his hips. His hand snaked around your neck, the smear of blood now coating your skin. One of your hands came up to wrap around his wrist, resting it there in support. 

You groaned as he rocked into you harder. The pain from his sudden intrusion had subsided, and now you were filled with a haze of rapture. A tear slid down your cheek. You were unable to process what was happening, but what you did know was that you had missed Simon more than anything and that this wasn’t real. This wouldn’t last longer than this moment in time. 

Ghost’s chest rumbled in pleasure as he thrusted into you. Your walls squeezed around him and he let out a loud groan. His arm not clutching your neck wrapped around your midsection, pulling you away from the table so you were flesh against him. He held you tight, almost like he couldn’t get you close enough. That if he had his way, he’d let you make a home beneath his skin. 

His hips snapped vehemently against you, his pace quickening. You moaned, your sounds coming out strangled as his cold hand held your neck. Your walls tightened around him, your climax rapidly approaching. You couldn’t quite believe that you were not only fucking your dead boyfriend, but you were going to come in record time. 

You were absolutely intoxicating to him as your warmth clenched down on him, your heat something recognizable to him, and yet, the intimacy was foreign at the same time. Now that he was devoid of his usual body temperature, the warm feeling of you around him was almost painful. 

When you mewled and cried under him, your walls spasaming, he drew himself to the edge right behind you. Ghost came inside you with a great urge, growling in your ear as he tried to support the two of you. You felt him fill you, the white fluid seeping out around where his cock continued to pump in and out of you. His movements became sloppy, your legs shaking, your hand clutching onto his wrist for dear life. 

You couldn’t hold back the cascade of tears, finally letting them flow as Ghost slowed his pace before stopping altogether. He edged out of you, his arms hesitantly letting you go, and you immediately turned around to face him, burying your face in his chest. You sobbed as he stood there. His arms didn’t reach out and hold you like he once would. He didn’t try to comfort you like he always did so well. 

But still, he just let you huddle against him, taking what you needed from him. He didn’t attack you. He didn’t try to kill you. He wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t fully gone either. You turned to look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. He looked down and you stifled a cry. His white eyes were going to be permanently burned into your mind, haunting you for eternity. His face was sullen and blanched, blood smearing all across him; fresh blood dripping slightly from his mouth.

You tentatively reached a hand up and rested it on his frozen cheek. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. Ghost made no indication he could even hear you. 

You took in a deep breath, willing yourself to do this, and stepped back. You adjusted yourself before slowly reaching down for your bag. Ghost stood and watched you, the only thing moving was the tilt of his head as he traced your movements. 

You shuffled to the door, anticipating him to reach out and end this daydream, ripping you apart. But he just watched you go, his mind riddled with foggy thoughts. He wanted to tear into you, but another part of him prevented him from doing so. He wanted to grab you and hold you against him for some reason. He liked the warmth your body provided. But another part of him felt nothing at all. 

He watched you leave in a stupor, his mind just barely grasping onto the image and memory of you. It’s true, he wasn’t completely gone, but he was fading fast. 

You cried violently as you stumbled back to the exit. When you banged on the doors, you heard the plywood being ripped off and the doors swinging open. Soap pulled you back into the base and held you at arm's length. “What happened?” he asked desperately. You were sobbing and covered in blood.

Should you tell him? Would Soap let you return to Simon knowing he wasn’t gone? Or would they make you stay here, letting Simon slip away forever? 

Lelia was quiet the next morning. She hadn’t come outside to get him, though he’d caught her peeking through the curtains when she first woke. A half hour later, she stepped out into the cold, bundled up and dragging a large pack laden with supplies.

“No,” he grunted, taking the pack from her and moving to head back inside, but she just stood in front of him and crossed her arms, chin notched and jaw set. He growled, frustrated. “Toooo much. You need!”

“Last night, you said there were people,” she replied steadily. “As in, more than one. They need food more than I do, and that’s not even half of what we have. I‘m giving it to them, and that’s final.”

Ghost snarled, looming over her. He wasn’t above scaring her into submission, not when it came to her safety. Maybe it was a blessing he’d been reminded of his place, last night. Dogs showed their teeth even to their Masters, after all. It was simply in their nature.

Drool dripped from his broken jaw, and Lelia’s face softened. She reached up and wiped it away, and the vicious sound coming from him cut off abruptly as he went rigid. Then, with a hiss, he turned around and began marching towards the house the other survivors had claimed as their own.

Fine. If she wanted to be stupidly selfless and give away all her food, the food Ghost had worked so hard to find for her, she could. See if he bloody cared.

He cared. He cared so much it made him fucking sick.

Won’t matter if she ends up leaving with ‘em, a voice in his head—cruel and crackly and sounding nothing like Johnny—whispered. Or invites ‘em back home… either way, you’re out, kid. You’ve lost her, an’ there’s no one to blame but yourself.

He didn’t look at Lelia at all, not even when they stopped, just a few houses short of their target. He held out the pack to her, staring over her head, into the distance. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it from him, struggling under the weight but managing to secure it onto her back.

She touched his arm lightly, and against his will, his gaze was dragged down to his dov— to Lelia’s sweet face. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he—they just looked at each other for a long while, until finally, she stepped away, hoisted the pack a little higher, and walked off towards the house.

If she thought that was a good enough goodbye, she’d be in for a sore surprise, because he wasn't leaving until she told him to his face she wanted him gone… or until she left him behind.

He knew, though, that even if she did either of those things, he’d linger. Follow her around like a bad smell. Just like he’d done in the beginning. He’d keep her safe, from a distance. And maybe, if she noticed, she’d sneak off every once in a while to feed him scraps of affection. It would never be enough, not after everything they’d shared, but like a dog, he’d live for it. Sit on his haunches and beg for it, if he had to.

Fuckin’ hell, he was pathetic.

When Lelia knocked on the door, she wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was expecting to find. Simon had said there were people, but not how many, nor if they were man or woman, young or old. So she felt that she was prepared for anything—until the door opened and there was a gun pointed in her face, and she abruptly realized she was, quite actually, prepared for nothing.

“Wait!” She squeaked, half to the man holding the gun, and half to Simon, who she knew was lurking just a few houses back. She had a feeling he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt the man if he thought she was in danger, and that was the last thing Lelia wanted. “Wait, please— I have food. I w-wanted to bring you food.”

The gun lowered ever so slightly, though her wide eyes remained fixed on its barrel. It looked to have been sawed off, and though Lelia had no earthly idea why someone would do that, she was not at all curious to find out.

“Who else is with you?” The man demanded, and Lelia jumped, fingers clenching the straps of the pack so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“N-no one! You’re the f-first human I’ve seen in months,” she stuttered. It was true, technically. Simon wasn’t human, technically. Simon was a zombie, technically.

It didn’t feel true. Simon was more human now than Andrew had ever been, zombie or not.

The man narrowed his eyes, and the gun raised again. Clearly, he didn’t believe her. Lelia’s heart started to race, and she flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing herself to get her head blown off. She doubted even Simon would be able to save her in time.

“Michael! Put the gun down,” another voice, a woman’s voice, called from further inside the house. Lelia opened her eyes in time to see a girl, maybe five or so years older than herself, shoving against the barrel of the shotgun until it pointed firmly at the floor. Lelia let out a huge whoosh of air, trembling from relief and leftover adrenaline. “She’s just a kid.”

“I’m twenty,” Lelia said, for some reason. Likely because terror had robbed her not only of her filter, but also all her good sense. “Or— maybe not yet. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed. Is it March yet, do you think?”

“Bloody Hell,” the man—Michael—muttered, stepping aside. He looked vaguely ill. “Get in ‘ere, kid. Don’t wanna attract the dead.”

“Right,” Lelia said as she stepped through the door, giving Michael a wide berth. She was still shaking a little, and the thought of being too close to him only made it worse. She wasn’t very happy to be coming inside, out of Simon’s line of sight, but she couldn’t say that she knew the village was clear without telling them how she knew—and she refused to put her zombie in danger like that. What if they didn’t believe that he could control himself, and tried to hurt him? What if they tried to kill him? The idea made her feel faint, heart thumping hard in her chest and her belly twisting. She let the pack drop from her shoulders, and it landed with a muted thud on the entry-way rug. There was a large, suspicious stain in the center of it, brownish red, and Lelia tried not to think about what had caused it. “I brought you supplies. Food mostly, but some water bottles too, and— and a first aid kit.”

She’d hesitated over including that last one, but she knew they would need it more than her. She was safe here in the village, with Simon. She’d only needed stitches the other day because of a dumb accident. She wasn’t constantly in danger like the other two survivors would be when they left.

And she was praying that they would leave. This was her home, the one she built with Simon, where they were safe from monsters—living and dead. This was their sanctuary. She didn’t want to give it up, the very thought made tears prick her eyes and the tip of her nose go hot—but if she couldn’t convince these people to go, then she’d have no choice. She couldn’t trust that Michael and the woman wouldn’t hurt her—or her zombie.

“Yeah?” Michael asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And why the hell would you do that?”

“It’s— it’s the right thing to do,” Lelia replied nervously, gaze darting from him to the woman, searching for support. She’d stopped the man from shooting her earlier, so Lelia hoped she’d be easier to convince. “And… I heard the gunshot the other day, so I knew there had to be people around. I— well, I thought that maybe if I came with a gift, you’d be less likely to kill me.”

The woman let out a soft huff of laughter.

“But why not just wait us out? Avoid us til we move on?” Michael continued, and Lelia reluctantly looked at him once again. “You took a stupid risk for no reason. Worse, you’re losing supplies. Makes no sense—unless you have some sort of ulterior motive.”

“You want to join us, don’t you?” The woman asked, face still hard but with a hint of pity. “You said you’ve been alone for months… you must be desperate to talk to someone.”

Join them? She might have been upset with Simon for lying to her, but she would never leave him. Never. In fact, that’s why she was so hurt—she couldn’t help but think that the reason he hadn’t told her of the other survivors was because he was afraid she’d leave, and it infuriated her. How could he think that, after everything they’d been through? Everything they’d shared? She loved him, she’d given herself to him, body and soul—how could he still think so little of her?

So no, she wasn't desperate to talk to them, let alone join them. Lelia was desperate for them to leave, actually, but despite being separated from other humans for several months now, she still retained her manners, and so said no such thing.

“It’s been… difficult,” she said carefully, voice quiet, gaze locked back on the floor. That wasn’t a lie, exactly. Everything had been difficult since the dead started walking, for someone who had grown up like she did. Even after marrying Andrew, they’d still had maids and butlers and cooks, so she’d not had to do anything for herself, really. Her only job had been enduring Andrew’s cruelty. Even in the safezone, she’d not been put to work, though her quality of life had decreased drastically, of course. No, it wasn’t until she’d met Simon that she’d ever had to learn survival skills—and, to her shame, several basic tasks. It was a miracle he’d never gotten angry with her over how oblivious she’d been—and how much she had yet to learn.

“You expect me to believe some slip of a girl has kept herself alive this whole time? She’s not even got a damn weapon,” Michael said skeptically, no longer even looking at Lelia. She frowned. It seemed he had certainly forgotten his manners. Before his companion could respond, he continued. “You said it yourself, Laura, she’s just a kid.”

“Luck’s a hell of a thing, Michael,” the woman, Laura, answered, though her expressions wavered a little. “And this village has been pretty quiet, we’ve not seen a single undead since we got here. If she’s had this cache and a place to hide since the beginning, it wouldn't be impossible to have made it this long, even on her own.”

“No, no. I don’t like it. She’s got a group stashed somewhere, waiting to take our supplies. They send her in, all pretty and innocent and young with some big sob story to guilt us into taking her along. Next thing we know, she slits our throats in the middle of the night and makes off with our stuff like the cat that’s got the bloody canary.”

Laura blinked. Lelia blinked. Laura laughed. Lelia did not.

“You are one paranoid bastard,” Laura chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t you think they would have sent her sooner if that were true? We shot that dog three days ago.”

“You shot a puppy?” Lelia gasped, tearing up at the very thought. She suddenly regretted giving these people any supplies, right thing to do or not. How could they do something so cruel?

“It wasn’t a puppy, but it was rabid,” Micahel said dismissively, not even turning to look at her. “Big teeth, foaming at the mouth, snarling like one of the fucking zombies… you would have shot it too, if you wanted to live.”

Lelia wasn’t so sure about that herself. She knew she was far too soft for this world, even after Simon’s lessons. The only reason she was still alive was because he stuck around protecting her, like a knight in shining armour.

“I don’t— just take the supplies and go, please,” she begged, taking a step back towards the door. Michael raised the shotgun again, and she froze, holding her hands up in surrender. “Please. You won’t let me join, that’s— that’s okay. But at least let me live. I haven’t— I haven’t done anything to you.”

“She’s right, Michael," Laura said. “You think she’s too much of a risk to take on, fine. But there’s no need to shoot the poor thing. If she really is alone, the undead will get her soon enough… and if she’s not, I doubt her group will take kindly to her losing them so much supplies. Either way, she’s not a threat. Just a death we’ll have to carry on our conscience.”

Michael stared at the woman intensely for a long moment. Lelia shuddered at hearing her death talked about so casually right in front of her. Simon would never.

“Fine,” Michael said after a long moment, and to her surprise, he even sounded a little relieved. It seemed he didn’t want to kill her almost as much as she didn’t want to die. She smiled tremulously. Her plan to get them to leave was working!  “She can come. But we sleep in shifts until I’m sure we can trust her.”

Huh?

“Wh-what?” She stammered, startled. Laura was already bending down to pick up the heavy pack of supplies Lelia had brought, the muscles in her arms flexing. “Erm— I don’t— what do you—?”

“Michael’s not actually a murdering arsehole,” Laura laughed, sending Lelia a conspiratorial wink. “He just puts up a tough front. It’s the big brother in him, you see. Thinks he gets the final say just because he was born first—but we both know it was me mum used to leave in charge when we were home alone as kids.”

“That’s not true!” Michael exclaimed, and Lelia gaped at the way his entire demeanor had changed, from a stoic, dangerous man on a hair trigger to a bratty little boy. Upon seeing her expression, he cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders before trying again. “That’s not true. Now come on, we need to leave now if we want to find somewhere to lay low before dark.”

Oh. Oh, things had gone horribly awry at some point, and Lelia had no idea how or when. But she had to fix this, and quickly.

“Wait, I— I can’t go with you,” she rushed out, searching frantically for a believable excuse. “I’m— I’m too scared to leave the village.”

“We can’t stay here,” Laura explained softly, like she was talking to a spooked horse. “The supplies you had might have been enough for just you to wait out the end of winter, but between the three of us, it won’t last two weeks, even if we ration. We have to move on.”

Lelia shook her head, backing away again. There was no one between her and the door. She could just—make a run for it. Simon would follow her—

But what if they saw him going after her and thought he was trying to eat her? They’d shoot him for sure. And she couldn’t risk that.

You were a scientist who understood exactly what was happening to yourself—the stages of glucose depletion, the slowing of your metabolism, the way your body was consuming itself to keep your heart beating.

Simon stood by the window. He didn't need to eat. He didn't feel the bite of the frost that seeped through the floorboards. To look at him, he was perfectly preserved—the same blue sweater, the same neat hair you combed for him every morning.

He was a monument to a world that had ended, while you were a flickering candle running out of wax.

Simon spent hours just watching you. His clouded eyes followed the shallow rise and fall of her chest. He knew something was wrong; he could smell the change in your chemistry, the sweet-sour scent of ketosis.

He tried to help in the only ways his stalled brain remembered:

He would bring you empty cans he found in the pantry, placing them in your lap with a hopeful, jerky tilt of his head. He would tuck the blankets around your feet, though his touch was as cold as the air around them. He stopped moving entirely, standing over you like a gargoyle, as if his sheer presence could ward off the shadow creeping over you.

"It’s okay, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely a thread of sound. You reached out, your hand trembling. You didn't have the strength to sew his clothes anymore. "You’ll... you’ll be okay. You don't need what I need."

Simon let out a low, mournful vibration. He knelt beside your chair, his movements uncharacteristically fluid in his desperation. He took your hand—so small and frail now—and pressed it against his own gray cheek.

For the first time since he turned, a single, thick drop of moisture gathered in the corner of his milky eye. It wasn't a tear in the biological sense, but a leaked bit of the soul he had fought so hard to keep.

He watched your eyelids flutter and close. He stayed there as the sun set and the room turned to ink. He didn't move when your hand went cold, matching his own. He simply waited, the silent protector of a house that was finally, truly empty, holding the hand of the woman who had spent her last days making sure he looked like a man.

—

The world had been a series of blurred shapes and muffled echoes for a long time. To Simon, time wasn't measured in hours, but in the temperature of your skin and the specific vibration of your voice against the quiet of the house.

He felt the static in his brain—the white noise of the virus that had tried to eat his mind and failed. It was like looking through a frosted window. He could see you, but he couldn't quite reach you.

He watched you now, slumped in the chair. You were so small. Every time he tucked the blanket around you, you seemed to take up less space, as if you were evaporating into the cold air.

He didn't feel hunger, but he felt a different kind of void. It was a hollow ache in the center of his chest where his heart used to beat—a phantom limb of the soul. He saw the way your breathing had changed, turning into a shallow, jagged rhythm that reminded him of a bird with a broken wing.

He knelt. The floorboards didn't feel cold to his dead nerves, but he knew they were. He knew you were freezing.

He wanted to tell you not to go. He wanted to tell you that the blue sweater was itchy, or that the tea you tried to make him weeks ago smelled like the spring they met. But the muscles in his throat were like rusted iron. Every thought he had turned into a low, dry rattle before it could reach his lips.

He pushed. He fought the fog in his head with a ferocity he hadn't used since the day he was bitten. He gathered every scrap of who he used to be—the man who bought you lilies, the man who danced with you in their first kitchen, the man who promised forever.

He took your hand. It was transitionary—no longer warm, but not yet as cold as his.

Your eyes flickered open one last time. They were dull, unfocused, searching for him in the twilight.

Simon leaned in. He forced air through lungs that didn't want to move. He broke the rusted locks of his own throat. It felt like glass tearing, like a mountain moving, but he forced the sound out into the silver silence of the room.

It wasn't a groan. It wasn't a vibration. It was your name, clear and heavy with a decade of unspoken devotion.

Your lips curved—just a ghost of a smile, a tiny exhale of relief. You closed your eyes, your head lolling against the chair.

Simon didn't stop holding your hand. He didn't move when the last of your warmth faded. He simply stayed, the name still echoing in the hollows of his chest, finally understanding that his "forever" had just begun.

—————————

Those were his favorite dreams, dreams where he got to hear your voice, your laugh, anything that involved you. He especially loved seeing the way you would look at him, as if he was the most important person in the world, even though you had to remind him several times that he did, in fact, deserve the love, you gave him and more. Simon Riley will do whatever it takes to see that look on your face again, even if it is just one last time. 

It has been two months since the world came crashing down; a new bioweapon was released that turns people into terrifying and disgusting creatures who are no longer human once infected. They become monsters that will stop at nothing to fulfill the unstoppable hunger coursing through their veins for blood and gore. No one ever thought they would see the day when zombies would actually walk the Earth. Simon remembers when he first heard the terrible news; he was just getting back from a relatively easy mission when he got the news from Price. 

—-

“There’s nothing we can do anymore, Simon. This might just be the end of the world as we know it.” Price said, sounding hopeless, something that Simon had never thought he would hear from his strong-willed Captain before. 

The thought of you at home or at work alone, on the other side of the country, so far away from him. If something were to happen to you, he didn’t even want to think about it for fear of speaking it into existence. He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking as he called you. Simon’s heart was pounding in his ears, making the ringing of the line barely audible. He began to hold his breath; the longer it took for you to answer, the seconds felt like centuries. On the fourth ring, you answered the phone, not even able to greet him before he was already giving you orders, something he never does, hating to let you see that side of him, but when your life was on the line, it was something that had to be done. 

—---

That phone call was the last time Simon had heard your voice as he walked through the broken streets of your once lively neighborhood trying to find you, hoping with everything he had left that you listened to him and stayed safe. All you had to do was barricade yourself in your shared home; Simon was always a worrier when it came to your safety, teaching you how to correctly defend yourself with guns and knives should the need ever arise, making sure the house was constantly stocked full of emergency supplies such as first aid kits, nonperishable foods, and bottle water, something you always poked fun of him for asking if he was ready for the zombie apocalypse, little did you both know that a simple joke would soon quickly become a reality. In the back of his mind, he was very thankful that you, at the very least had enough supplies to last you a long time and keep yourself safe until he could get to you. 

As he walked closer and closer to your shared home, broken glass crunching under his heavy boots, Simon thought about the long journey here. After the last phone call he shared with you, it was too long after that electricity, the internet, and everything quickly stopped working all over the world. The only source of communication was radio transmission, but only if you were lucky enough to find a working generator hooked to a  radio station or one that was run on solar panels. Luckily, he did not need any of that to locate you, knowing exactly how to get back to you no matter what it takes, even if he has to walk the whole way by himself. 

Simon promised Price that whenever he was able, Simon would try to contact him and that once he found you safe and sound, he would meet Price and the rest of the task force at the safe house Gaz was at to regroup and create a haven for themselves and other survivors they should find along the way. Though, if Simon was being completely honest, he didn’t really care about finding or helping anyone else, at least not until he found you, the only thing still keeping him going, his light in the darkness. Even though he was fairly used to walking long distances, combat, and guerilla warfare, the more that got in his way to reaching you felt like another nail in the coffin. Sometimes, though Simon was lucky, he would find a car in working condition that still had a bit of gas left in it, so he was able to speed down the damaged roads covered in corpses, cars, and monsters. 

Simon sees it now, the place you both called home; over the last two months, the agriculture has run wild, the weeds and grass growing tall in the yard, your once carefully looked after garden of flowers and small fruits and vegetables destroyed by what he can only hope was wild animals. The familiar wooden steps groan under his added weight as Simon slowly ascends the stairs. He grabs the worn door handle to find it locked, taking that as a good sign, hoping you are safe inside, he reaches into his hidden pocket underneath his tactical vest and pulls out the small house key that you painted black with a tiny little ghost in the center telling him ‘it matched his aesthetic more’ his heart clenches at the memory afraid of what he will find behind the closed doors. 

Simon slides the key into the lock and turns it, causing it to click into place, again, he grabs the handle, turning it to push the door open only to be met with resistance. Looking through the small crack of the door, he sees the heavy wooden bookshelf, ‘you just had to have for all your trinkets and books’ shoved against the door, blocking entry. A rush of pride fills his chest that you listened to him and blocked the entry points of the house with furniture. Using all his might, Simon slams his shoulder into the door, trying to push it open along with the bookshelf. 

“Love! Are you here? Answer me?!” Simon's deep voice cut through the silence of the house as he squeezed through the small gap in the door he was able to make. Once inside, he reached back and slowly shut and locked the door, not wanting to have any surprise visits from anyone or anything else. Still not hearing any response from you, Simon begins to make his way through the house. Looking at the small, cozy couch where he first worked up the courage to tell you that he loved you, though a whisper at first, scared of your reply, fearing it would ruin your relationship, until you threw yourself in his arms saying it back much louder than he had, it was now propped up against the wall as a makeshift barrier covering the window that looked out over your garden. 

Simon walks into the kitchen with his gun raised just in case, already fearing the worst. The kitchen that was once filled with your joyous laughter as you covered him in flour from an impromptu baking idea you got after watching one of those silly baking shows you liked to watch when he was away on a mission. Now, nothing but his heavy breathing and footsteps can be heard. A muffled cry reached Simon’s ears, causing him to whip around in search of the source of the sound. Heading towards your shared bedroom, the door slightly ajar, letting him see somewhat into the room, memories flashed behind his eyes: the bed where he held you close at night, where you moaned out his name in pleasure, the bed where you comforted him after harsh nightmares that seemed too real. 

Using the tip of his gun, he pushed the door open quickly checking the corners of the room for danger, finding nothing until another muffled noise could be heard coming from the closet. Slowly, he walks toward the closet, he reaches out his hand, shaking from what he might find, and rips open the closet door, aiming the gun. Only to find you huddled in the corner of the closet shakily holding one of his hunting knives while tears stream down your face while you cover your mouth trying to hold in your sobs. 

Upon seeing you, Simon drops to his knees, whispering your name, ripping off the mask from his face. Through the tears in your eyes, you see Simon kneeling in front of you, and you leap forward, throwing yourself into his awaiting embrace, the knife now forgotten on the floor beside you. You loudly sob as you tuck your face into his chest, Simon's arms tighten around you to the point where it almost hurts, but it is a good kind of pain. His face is tucked in the corner of your neck; his breathing is shaky and labored. You both sit in the opening of the closet, holding each other as close as you can, until Simon pulls back from you and grabs your face, holding it carefully in his hands, his eyes searching your face, before leaning forward and placing his forehead against yours closing your eyes. 

He lets out another shaky breath, “I am glad that I was able to make it in time to see you one last time.” 

Your face fulls together in confusion, putting your hand overtop of his, “One last time? Simon, what are you talking about?”

Simon feels you pull your face out of his hands, but still holding his hands, he opens his eyes to see more tears now streaming down your face as your eyes focus on the bite mark on his left arm, the ripped shirt covered in blood as he tried to fight off the spreading infection as best he could with a tourniquet. Simon tried so hard to make it back to you unscathed, but he was ambushed and attacked by a horde of zombies just yesterday. Everything happened so fast that he didn’t even realize he had been bitten until later. When he realized, he thought about killing himself right then and there to protect you, but he couldn’t, not yet anyway, he wanted to see you again. He had to, he had to know that you were ok. Plus, he couldn’t stand the thought of you never knowing what had happened to him, making you spend the rest of your life worrying about him. So, he decided he would find you and see you again for the last time. 

“no, no, no, no. Please no! Simon, I just got you back you can’t leave me. Please don’t do this to me..I… can’t do this anymore.” you are sobbing uncontrollably now. 

Simon pulls you into his chest again and rubs a soothing hand down your back. “I am so sorry, love. I hate to do this to you, but I needed to see you. I had to know that you were safe.” His voice rumbled against your face. “You won’t be alone; I wouldn’t do that to you. I was able to contact Price earlier today and told him and he is on the way to you. He will be here within the coming week. The safe haven they create isn’t too far from here. They all promised me they would keep you safe.” Simon feels his control wavering, but he needs to stay strong for you; crying right now would not help you. 

—

You both stay like that, slumped on the floor, holding onto each other with everything you have because you know when you let go, it will be for the last time. “How much longer do you have left?” you whispered out, your voice raw and strained from all the crying. 

Simon let out a deep, painful breath, “A day at most, the infection moves at a fast rate. But I am not taking any chances; I’m doing it tonight. Price will be here soon, and you’ll be ok.” 

He feels you shiver in his hold at his words. Simon knows that you understand his meaning without having to say it. Simon knows he is already risking so much by coming back to the house to see you one last time, but just for once he wants to be selfish and make all of his suffering worth it, holding you in his arms makes him feel complete once again even though you both know that time is running out. He grabs your face and brings your lips to his uncovered ones, kissing you, trying to show you that everything will be ok, that you are going to be ok, trying to say everything that he is too scared to say through your last shared kiss. Salty tears can be tasted on your lips as you wrap your hands around his neck, running your fingers through his hair like you always do. Simon pulls back from you just a bit, though your lips still brush against each other with every word he whispers, “I love you. No matter where I end up, I will always search for you to keep you safe.” 

He gives you one last peck against the lips as he slips out of your hold, walking to the door and closing it behind him because he knows if he stops now and looks at you, he won’t be able to follow through with his plans, and he has to do this. He has to keep you safe, even if it means breaking your heart in the process. Your sobs echo loudly throughout the home that was once filled with so much happiness. Tears fill his eyes, but he keeps on walking, squeezing through the gap in the front door, pulling it shut, locking the door back, hoping that you will move the bookshelf back in front of the door. The key feels heavy in his grasp as he rubs his thumb over the small ghost painted on it. He bends down carefully, placing the key under the doormat for Price to find. 

Simon walks around to the edge of the house where the tool shed still stands with overgrown weeds covering it. He prys the door open till he finds what he is looking for, pulling out the heavy wrench from inside the toolbox. The metal feels cool in his grip. Simon rolls his shoulders back, raising the hand that holds the wrench above his head before bringing the wrench down onto his jaw with as much force as he can muster. Pain explodes across his face, but he won’t stop not until he knows for sure his jaw is broken. He refuses to take any chances of coming back as one of the disgusting zombies and potentially end up biting or hurting you.

 It took three blows before Simon could feel his jaw hanging limply from his face. The pain was one of the worst pains he had ever felt in his entire life, but to keep you safe, he had to do it. Plus, the physical pain he was experiencing was nothing compared to the pain inside his chest. Simon slides down the side of the shed, sits down in the grass, pulls his gun, places it on the side of his head, closing his eyes, picturing your smiling face in his mind, the life you both should of had together flashing throughout his mind as he pulls the trigger, the last thing he sees is you standing before him the day you meet smiling brightly at him. 

—-----------

Four days later, when Price arrives at you and Simon’s home, he walks up the steps leading to your door when something catches the corner of his eye off to the side of the house. Price sees the tool shed with a slumped figure sitting in the shadow, walking over to it with his weapon raised; bile raises in the back of his throat that he has to force back down at the sight of you covered in blood wrapped in Simon’s arms your face tucked under his broken jaw. In your hands, Price sees a note. He reaches down and pulls the note from your hands, opening it.

 ‘I am sorry, John. I couldn’t leave him all alone here.” He places the note back where he found it, looking down at his friends as tears fill his eyes. He refuses to let them fall because he knows wherever they are, they are together. 

--------------------------

He was holed up alone in an abandoned farmhouse back in the thick of the woods a town over from the base. What should have been a reunion with someone you knew was thrown off by the fact that he had in fact been turned into one of the undead. Out of everyone that you could have run into, why him? You two had history, the kind where intimate details were something that you shared, and now you were both thrust together once again only this time there were bigger things at stake other than if you’d get caught fooling around by the captain.

The strange thing was that even though Ghost had been fully transformed by the infection, it was not what you expected. You realized quickly that Ghost had kept most of his humanity, though the more finer details of his person were scrambled by the disease. Even though he could not speak anymore due to the fact that his jaw was broken, Ghost was still inside there. And the strangest part of it all was that he remembered you.

It wasn’t like anything you had seen from the horde of mindless undead and so instead of facing the unknown alone again, you decided to stick with him. For over a year you two stayed side by side and although you did not come across any others of the task force, it was enough to just have one another.

Honestly he wasn’t a terrible companion, though a bit of conversation would have been nice. Still, having him with you had its perks. Being one amongst the walking corpses had great benefits and Ghost used them to their full capability to keep you safe so that after a time, even though the world still sat in ruin, you two were not doing too bad. At least you were able to stay in place for more than a day now.

That’s where you found yourself, shacked up in a two story cottage you had found almost untouched and secluded in the middle of the woods. It was easy enough to make secure, as secure as you could having limited supplies, but apart from a few stray corpses stumbling by there wasn’t much action. That anxiety riddled tension that you had held in your chest for over a year began to ease and with that came old stirrings that you hadn’t felt since before the world collapsed.

An old familiar ache brought on by being near someone who you used to share such things with, the one that leaves you begging to be quenched, wormed its way back into your life and now that you had more time on your hands it was becoming a major problem.

You see, adrenalin has a funny way of fucking with your head: heightening your senses, making your pulse race, everything feels so much more intense. You were only human, one who still had needs which had not been met in so fucking long that you couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be touched by another and so having your blood always rushing and your skin tingling, how could you stop yourself from giving in to that most basic of temptations?

It was a shame that Ghost wasn’t an option now; you would liked to have him one more time as the world burned, but there was no way no… right?

So, instead, one evening after the perimeter had been secured and the doors re-bolted, the windows rechecked and the traps restrung, that ache reached its peak and you had to do something before it got in the way of staying safe. Sneaking off to the bedroom you had claimed for yourself upstairs, you allowed that overwhelming need to finally overtake you.

Leaving the door slightly ajar so that you could still be alert to any stray sounds, you laid down on the cushioned surface of the mattress, your pulse racing rapidly in your chest at the prospect of doing this. You made quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling down the zipper only enough so that you could access that throbbing between your thighs. Clamping your mouth shut in an effort to keep quiet you slid your hand down the front of your pants, down all the way until you reached your sex. 

A whimper filled your mouth that you choked back down; the last thing you needed was to alert a horde with your desperate cries as you worked yourself. It may have been a while, but you knew exactly what to do and extending your middle finger you split yourself open to find your clit, another whimper rising in your throat as you made the connection and began to draw tight circles around the bundle of nerves.

It was hard not to get worked up so fast as that remembered pleasure filled your mind and snaked its way through your limbs to make your body vibrate and as you stroked that pulsing bean you were brought back to those times when you and Ghost used to get lost in that ecstasy together. You couldn’t be blamed for where your mind wandered, not when you had to be near the one person who knew how to draw your pleasure from you, even if he couldn’t do it anymore.   

Before you knew it, you had flipped yourself onto your stomach and then onto knees to ride your fingers, hips grinding away as you imagined him underneath you. Fuck, the way he used to look staring back up at you with those hungry copper eyes, hands greedily clinging around the meat of your hips as he shoved you down harder onto his cock before he would inevitably flip you onto your back to pound into you; it was enough to make you salivate with need, but still you tried to keep quiet.

You thought yourself sneaky, keeping things to a minimum as you desperately drew out your release, but Ghost was not the same man he was when he was alive. His senses were different now, enhanced like a wild animal’s by the infection that took his life and made him into something entirely new. As he stood in the living room, staring blankly out the window to watch for any signs of undead, something caught his attention.

The scent of pheromones were on the air, enticing him forward to the upstairs. He followed it all the way to the back bedroom, your room. Slowly, silently, creeping towards the door, Ghost peered unblinking through the slit to watch you up on your knees on top of your bed, your pants hanging slack around your hips while your ass point upward towards the door. That motion, he knew it; that back and forth sway of your hips over top of your bed. 

There was another fragrance on the air now, something more familiar. Taking a deep breath, his heightened sense of smell caught the scent of your natural lubrication currently soaking your fingers and it awoke something deep within him like a fire in chest akin to what an animal feels when it goes into heat. His slack mouth began to unconsciously salivate as ingrained memories surfaced, flashes of remembered sensations from times when he too enjoyed such pleasures. Inherent, primal, a reaction as innate as breathing.  

It was then that he became acutely aware of a tightness growing down below and instinctually he cupped his hand around it, rubbing the growing bulge against his chilly palm. Was he actually getting hard? That was surprising as anyone would have expected that to not happen anymore; he had retained much of his humanity, but he had not had the time until now to explore all the facets of what that entailed.

The more he rubbed the more it grew until the front of his pants tented out near the zipper, straining so hard against the fabric that he had to wonder if he could pop the closure without even trying. God, it felt…amazing.

“Fuck, Simon,” he caught the whispered hiss through the silence as you pressed your body down harder onto the bed, onto your fingers, and it sent a shiver up his spine. The way you said that name he hadn’t heard in so long, in that desperate way almost as a plea to your lust to fulfill its unspoken promise and wash that euphoric feeling over you, caused memories to violently resurface. He had heard that before in just that exact way- from you.

Scattered and disjointed memories of you beneath him burst into his minds eye, brought back to life by the sound of your voice: you writhing with eyes closed, your skin glistening with perspiration in the pale light of a dimly lit room, bare breasts bouncing up and down with each of his strong thrusts, crying his name into the silence as you came.

If breathing was something he was still required to do those lungs would be heaving by now to bring in enough air as he was so worked up that he would surely be panting. His hand gripped tighter now around the head of his cock, stroking with more purpose now as his dilated pupils followed the curve of your back all the down to your ass to watch it bob up and down.

The pace of his hand quickened to match your rocking as if fucking you by proxy, stroking through his clothes while transfixed on you. Goddamn he wished he could remember the way you felt wrapped around him, but that sensation had been lost when he succumbed to the disease. All he could do was watch and enjoy the way your body looked while your movements became more sloppy as the warmth gathered in the pit of your stomach, that delicious heat that you had not felt in so long.

“Yes, yes,” you mewled under your breath while your thighs clenched around your hand as you were so close. You brought in another finger to join the first one and with both you slipped them inside your entrance; it was nothing like the way Ghost could fill you out, but it would have to do.

Bearing down hard while you kept the pace steady, your breathing more erratic, you finally reached the peak and spilled violently over the edge, tumbling down as your body writhed and jerked through the overwhelming intensity of that first orgasm. You stifled your cries as much as you could inside your mouth, but they still reached an unknown listener who nearly came himself if he had not had to move quick before being spotted.

…and that left him very frustrated…   

You fell onto the mattress, removing your fingers from your pussy as you breathed out a sigh of contented relief. It hadn’t been clear just how much you needed that until you came and fuck did you feel on cloud nine now. As you rolled over onto your stomach to stare up at the ceiling while you rode out the wave of your euphoric high, you swore you heard a series of strange movement just outside your door; a soft few taps that sounded like they were getting farther away which would have been out of place, but the house you were currently boarded up in was old and so you convinced yourself it was nothing.

Besides, if anything was truly wrong, Ghost would have already alerted you by now. 

It was several minutes you just laid there in the silence before you took one last deep breath to calm yourself as you got up to straighten your clothing and re-buttoned your pants, hoping that your self-pleasuring session had gone completely unnoticed to your companion as you headed back down stairs to double check that everything was still secure.

In his usual spot you found him standing, always watching with that unblinking gaze, but as you stepped into the living room his sight was immediately drawn to you. “Hey,” you greeted him, “everything still okay out there?”

The usual grunted reply was returned and you stepped over to where he stood, just to take a look for yourself. It didn’t hurt to have another set of eyes to catch things and you felt more comfortable checking for yourself anyway. Scanning the area outside you saw nothing out of place, but as you pulled back from the window you were met with those cold eyes directly staring at you.

Silently Ghost’s large hand came up to touch your cheek, rubbing his thumb across a certain flush pooling there that drew his curiosity and he grunted with a nod of his head at it. You diverted your gaze, suddenly self-conscious about how warm they were still, like a fucking beacon calling attention to what it was you were doing upstairs; not that you cared, but shit you didn’t need your business plastered all over your face like that.

“It’s nothing,” you reassured him with a chuckle. “Just got a bit warm I guess. I promise I’m not infected or anything like that.”

Fully expecting him to take you at your word you went to move over to the sofa, but his hand clung to the side of your face to keep you in your place. You tilted your head as he shook his own side to side slowly. 

“What? Don’t believe me?” you picked, slightly concerned about this strange development; he had not acted in such a way before and you did not know if it was a part of the infection or not. 

Again he shook his head before his eyeline lowered down your body until his sight stopped at the crotch of your pants. Shit, had he heard you? Could he smell the trace amounts cum still clinging to your cunt? There was no real way to tell, but the way his eyeline kept drifting down before meeting your own again was enough to indicate that he was aware of what you had just done. 

You cleared your throat. “You know what I was doing, don’t you?” you asked and was met with another nod, this time to the affirmative.

Well, nothing to do about it now; what was the point of denying it? “Look, I just… needed something to take the edge off okay?” you spurted out. “I mean fuck, I still have needs, even if they had to be put on the back burner for a bit while we tried not to get overrun. You of all people should know how I get sometimes. At least I was quiet enough not to cause problems for us.”

Ghost looked back at you with those milky white eyes, but there was something behind them, something that you recognized, something… yearning. Suddenly you were aware that his other hand was on your hip now, tracing sloppy circles around the soft warm skin just under the hem of your shirt. 

Goddamn the familiarity of his fingers lingering over old paths they used to take in times almost forgotten; if you closed your eyes, it was like you were right there back with him. Your chest was tight with the increased thumping of your heartbeat in your throat, the air not filling up your lungs as well now as he pulled you in a little closer to him until your bodies were against one another. 

That was when you felt something against your thigh.

“Can you…?” you risked asking the question. No, there was no way that he could still get hard, right? Right? 

A large, cold hand wrapped around your wrist and brought it down to his crotch where he rested your palm against it and to your surprise the bulge in his pants responded to your touch. Your eyes shot back up to his as your breathing hitched. 

“Fuck,” you murmured and was promptly met with a grunt from him followed by a deep chuckle. 

Perhaps it was the history, the knowledge of what his body used to give you; perhaps it was the need that you had not truly quenched fully yet; perhaps it was your memories that you’d used as you touched yourself; or maybe it was as simple as you still wanted him; whatever the reason it didn’t matter. All you knew was that you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more of what you started upstairs.  

Hesitantly your fingers grasped at his shirt, slowly tugging at the seam as if to silently ask to be allowed to remove it. Never letting his gaze waiver, Ghost raised his arms and allowed you to pull it up and off over his head. His body was just as you remembered, though quite a bit more pale and the flesh discolored in places, but all the lines and bumps, scars and imperfections were the same and as you ran those delicate fingertips over his skin it all came flooding back.

This is crazy, you told yourself. But it was the end of the world after all, why not go out with a bang?

“It’s been a while,” you said, gaze taking him all in. “God, you always did make my heart race just taking off your shirt, ya know.”

“Uhh,” he grunted in agreement. 

The contrast in body temperature between you both was stark and he enjoyed the warm, tingling feeling your finger left behind wherever they went. He had not felt such a phenomenon in so long that it was like lightening striking inside his mind as nerve endings reignited. It went the same with his pants as you undid them to let them hang loosely around his hips.

Following your lead, he helped you out of your shirt as well so that you stood bare chests facing one another. Your nipples were already hardening as they hit the cool air and he ran a fingertip over the tiny rosebuds to feel them. You were perfection, a sight of decadent flesh that fueled that hungry need he had to abruptly cut off before and the more he stared the more it grew.

The couch sat just behind you and taking your hand in his he moved the few steps over it to take a seat. Grabbing onto your hips and turning you around, he pulled you down onto his lap to sit on top of him. That throbbing bulge barely covered by the pants slipping off him was straining even harder now and you had to open your legs so that it could comfortably stand at attention in between them.

Situated on him you leaned your warm, bare back against his chest, those muscles that you knew by touch alone were now clammy, yet still familiarly fit against you just as they always had. Ghost took those stiff, cold fingers and ran them slowly down the line of your neck to your chest, around the tissue of your breast and down still to the curve of your hip. 

Being touched that way by another, by him, after so fucking long made your skin tingle and you leaned your head back against his shoulder to close your eyes and simply enjoyed the icy prickles his fingers created. He brought those fingers back up all the winding way to your throat and then back down again, except he did not stop at your hip this time. 

Lower he walked those decaying digits into your lap, then inside the waistband of your jeans, and then all the way down until he was inside your panties. You didn’t try to stop him, instead letting your knees fall open to give him more access. The further he went the more he could feel just how warm you were, the damp heat radiating off your cunt and into his pulse-less palm as he cupped his hand around your sex.

“Christ,” you exclaimed in shock as your body jolted against him, your pussy still a good bit sensitive from before. 

“Uhhh,” he groaned in response, intrigued by how much he enjoyed causing such a visceral reaction and wanting to replicate it. 

Again your scent filled his nostrils, those delicious pheromones that he had caught a whiff of earlier, and it began to awaken something primal within him. Taking his fingers, he drug them heavily over the slit of your cunt until they slipped between your petals and into that still dripping core. Again your body jolted into him as those thick fingers rubbed the length until he found what he had unconsciously been searching for: a small bundle towards the top. 

“Ugh,” that deep groan was more breathless this time, as if he were enjoying the feeling of your juices coating his fingers.  

Cool fingers began stroking against your clit with a rhythm that was ingrained in him from past experience and it was like falling right back into old habits. Your hips started to roll over his hand as they were want to do in response to his movements so that it was like a dance of give and take and he had to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you from slipping, but it was worth it to feel the way your body moved.

Like an animal a strange compulsion awakened inside, enhanced by the disease coursing through his veins, and the untamed part of his new nature was flooded with the need to rut into you. The more music you made, the more it filled his chest until the sensation became too much to quell. 

With a growl he moved you both to the floor in a rush, ripping your jeans off of you in one strong tug before pushing you forward and pulling your hips up so that you had to get on your knees. He too knelt behind you as he shoved the fabric of his clothing down enough to release his engorged cock and taking both of your hips into his preternatural grasp, so firm that his fingertips made the muscle sting, he aligned the head with your slit. 

This was crazy, highly dangerous, and slightly insane, but you couldn’t stop, not with how your body felt being pleasured for the first time in well over a year by someone who knew it. Whatever the consequences you’d deal with them later, right now you just needed to be filled to the brim with everything he had. 

Instinct knew what to do and slipping through your petals a few times, he rested the head against your opening and with a strong thrust shoved himself inside as far as he could go. Goddamn you had forgotten the actual feeling of how big he was, but there must be something in being undead that made him even more engorged because his girth almost more than the walls of your pussy could handle. Fuck, you were so full of him that when he finally pulled out of you it would feel so goddamn empty it would physically hurt.

You were aware that his cool palm was on your back now, running up the length of your spine to just between your shoulders where Ghost stopped to shove your top half down further into the ground so that your ass would rise more and without more of pause he began to thrust in and out of you furiously. Each stroke stretched you out more until the sting subsided and that was left was the satisfying euphoria that comes with being filled so full.

“Simon,” you moaned out his name and a dormant part of his brain lit up. Hearing it for the first time upstairs was nice, but being inside of you as you breathed life into that moniker was the highest level of ecstasy he had experienced yet.

And he need more. “UH,” he growled with force as he slammed into you from behind to make your ass bounce off of his hips. 

You braced your hands under your head to steady yourself, but it did little; the man inside of you was gone and all you could do was hang on. Still, even with his roughness, the way his cock still reached those desperate nerve endings inside of you made the arch of your back even more pronounced. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you choked out the exclamation as your voice vibrated from the impacts. 

Harder and faster Ghost pounded your pussy from behind, throwing caution to the wind as he grunted and groaned like a beast on the hunt about to capture a fresh kill. You were so fucking warm, so gorgeously wet, that even his dead skin felt reanimated so that each brush of your body against him had him reeling in pleasure. 

This was the closest he would get to feeling like a living thing again.

Stopping suddenly he ripped his cock out of you amidst your begging protests to flip you onto your back, brutishly pulling your ass onto his knees. Your thighs rested high around his torso, squeezing against him as he immediately thrust back into that warm, wet hole and expeditiously returned to that overwhelming rhythm. 

The room was filled with the wet, sticky music of your bodies slapping against each other as Ghost worked your hole for all it was worth with a reckless abandon that you had not seen in him before. This wasn’t love, not something tender, but only pure animalistic lust and the more he stroked in and out of you the more he needed.

And then he felt it; a warmth in his stomach like he had swallowed coals. It started faint, almost indistinguishable until it had nearly filled him full the more he kept going. 

He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t back down, he was so close he could taste it. You weren’t far off either, nearly at the peak of your second orgasm the harder his cock stroked in and out of you, stimulating your clit along with it just from the pressure of his thrusts. 

“Shit, don’t stop,” you pleaded pathetically to him, your toes curling into the air as you focused on your breathing. Right there, it was right there; all he had to do was keep going.   

A few more pumps of him deep in your core and that was it, like a hot flash of white light you cried out in shaky whimpers as your orgasm tore through with such force you shot up as your back arched and your hips bucked harshly into him. “Goddammit Simon, fuck.”

He wasn’t far behind as the warmth that had been building finally shot through his body, coursing like a burning river of fire through his veins as he ripped his cock out of you and through your thighs to cover your stomach in his milky white semen. The roar he released while he drained his cock dry over top of you rang out through the house like a wild animal’s cry until he hung limply over top of you, completely spent.

Everything lay still once again as you caught your breath, allowing your ecstasy to run its course before you even tried to move out from against him. As you came to sit up, once again you were met with his eyes watching you closely. It felt like he was admiring his handiwork: the flush in your cheeks, the sweat speckling your torso, the exhaustion in your limbs. 

He had done that…and he liked it.

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Well, that was something wasn’t it?” you laughed and he chuckled deadoan along with you.