I nod. “Sure. Would love to.”
Dani takes my hand, leading me back to the loud chaos of the party. Again the strobe and disco lights blind me, burning my retinas. She grabs a glass of blood for her and fat on a cracker for me. I’m not the type of zombie who enjoys fat, or crackers, but I take it anyway.
“Corpse!”
I turn and see Drac, the asshole from school, about to throw a football at me.
Dani steps in front of me, placing her hands on her hips defiantly.
Drac speaks up. “Dani, why are you protecting that lump of flesh?”
“Because,” she loops her arm in mine, “he’s my boyfriend. And I don’t want to hear any shit about it. And stop calling him ‘corpse.’ His name is Nicholas. Now go back to your own little girls, douche bag!”
For the first time since I died, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. I like this new feeling. I want more of it. And I want to hear Dani call me her boyfriend again.
We sit at the bar in the kitchen. Dani sips her blood. I pop the fat and cracker in my mouth. Dani slides her hand over mine, rubbing my knuckles. For the first time I feel confident enough to look in her eyes. So beautifully crimson-colored, highlighted by sunset orange. I touch her cheek, feeling the softness with my own rough skin. She leans into my caress.
“You beautiful,” I murmur.
She smiles again, that award-winning glow to her.
My own smile comes, a sensation I’m still not used to. But I’ll take it. And I’ll take being dead. Maybe becoming a zombie wasn’t my first choice of an afterlife, but if it brings me to Dani, I can’t complain.
SWEETER THAN TO WAKE
Thana Niveau
What do the dead dream? Do they dream of life? Of the living? Do they dream of us?
Liam had always loved to watch Colleen as she slept. He loved the protective feeling it stirred in him, the sense that he was watching over her while she was at her most vulnerable. Her eyelids would flicker with whatever strange adventures she was having, sometimes good, sometimes bad. He himself never remembered his dreams so he loved hearing his wife’s. But he could never join her in them. Only when she woke could he share her sleeping world, listen as she told him of fantastic landscapes and impossible creatures.
Now, however, her eyes were still, her face pale and serene, her skin cool as she thawed. He had been unable to protect her this time. A single bite was all it took. Within minutes she was dead. Liam had allowed himself no time to grieve; he had carried her at once to the mortuary, placing her in one of the refrigerated drawers to keep her from waking. For now anyway.
He hadn’t wanted her to become like the others and freezing was the only way of delaying the Waking. All across town the Woken roamed like sleepwalkers, in a state that was neither life nor death. They weren’t especially aggressive; most of them merely seemed lost, confused. They moved slowly and clumsily through familiar places, shying away from the living. They didn’t speak or respond like the people they once were. Rather, they behaved like frightened animals in the wild. If they felt startled or threatened, they would attack. And if they were hungry, they would bite.
Liam laid Colleen on the embalming table and began to massage her hands, her arms, her shoulders. He stroked her face, setting her features as if for viewing before a burial. He kissed her cold lips and parted them to see her teeth one last time. Her dazzling smile was gone forever but her teeth were still dangerous. When she woke she would be frightened. And hungry.
With infinite skill and patience he drew the curved suture needle through the mucosa beneath her lips and pulled the silk thread taut. He placed the stitches as deep inside as possible so as not to make her mouth look pursed. He didn’t want to mar her beauty in any way. A little blood ran over her lower lip as he finished the final stitch. She was starting to thaw. He didn’t have more than an hour or two before she began to stir.
Now that her limbs were more pliable he could restrain her. He wrapped the ropes around her wrists and ankles as gently as if she were still living, securing her to the table. The bite on her arm had turned black just before she died; now it was shading to a virulent red. It was what happened just before they began to move again.
With a pair of scissors he slit her dress open down the front, exposing her pale breasts, the porcelain skin of her belly. She was like a sleeping statue, a sculpted Galatea he could wake with a kiss. She would wake, of course, but her new life would be short unless he intervened.
The reanimation didn’t last long and within a week or two the moving bodies began to fail, to fall apart. The streets and buildings were littered with body parts. Bones and joints weakened until they could no longer support the weight of arms and legs. That would never be Colleen’s fate. She would suffer none of the indignities he’d witnessed since the Waking began. She would be preserved.
His hand trembled slightly as he positioned the knife above her belly and he steadied it with the other hand. Then he took a deep breath and pressed down, making a quick, firm incision from the bottom of her rib cage to her navel. He set the bloodstained knife aside and teased the folds of skin apart, slipping his hand into the dark cavity.
Inside her organs were slick and wet but still cool. Her body would never warm them naturally but the heat of the sun would eventually cause them to rot. The blood in her veins would pool in unsightly bruises. He’d seen it happen to others and he was determined that it would not happen to Colleen.
He stroked the smooth surface of her liver before grasping it firmly and pulling. He cut the fleshy threads that held it inside and deposited it in the dish beside her. It was then that she began to move.
Her fingers opened and closed experimentally and she raised her head. Her eyes scanned the room before coming to rest on Liam and he saw her lips move. She was trying to open her mouth. Whatever instinct made them wake, it was presumably now telling Colleen to bite. Here was prey: eat.
“My love,” Liam said softly, reaching out to stroke her face with the back of one gloved hand. “Don’t worry. It will be over soon.”
She was still as he spoke, as though listening intently. Her eyes seemed a little more focused, her expression a little more attuned. As though she knew him. Liam hadn’t dared to dream that anything more than her physical beauty remained. He’d seen too many of the Woken in the past few weeks to hope that they retained any memory of who they were before. But something drew his gaze back to Colleen’s again and again as he worked. He worked; she watched.
He lovingly lifted each organ out while she lay still, incapable of feeling any pain. There was something strangely intimate in touching parts of her he’d never seen before. Even her insides were beautiful. He cradled her delicate kidneys, her pristine womb, her tiny ovaries, caressing each soft pulpy mass before setting it aside. He left her heart until last.
Throughout the procedure Colleen remained passive. She didn’t struggle in her bonds or try to resist in any way; she merely watched, her eyes wide and curious. Her skin was smooth and cool and Liam found himself stroking her absently as he worked, emptying her of the parts she no longer needed, the parts that could now only hasten her deterioration. They weren’t what made her who she was anyway. They were no more “Colleen” than her hair or fingernails were. Or her clothes, her makeup, her jewelry.
At last he filled her with soft cotton wool, as though she were a lovingly crafted doll. A lifelike figure of his wife. Dead but not dead. Lost but not lost. As Liam sewed up the incision, he became more and more certain that the essence of his wife, her soul or her being, was still there. Buried perhaps, muffled in her newly Woken form, but unmistakably there. He would keep her with him and care for her as long as he was able, even if he were the last living man on earth. And when her preserved body at last began to succumb to the disintegration that eventually claimed all of the Woken, he would join her in death. Real death.
He drained the blood from her veins and injected a warm solution of chemicals to preserve her, to keep her fro
m becoming like the ones outside. Even now Liam could hear them scratching at the door of the funeral parlor. Many of them were quite docile and several were so badly decomposed that they were no threat to anyone. But all it took was a single bite. His eyes watered as he gazed down at Colleen. His beautiful Colleen, his wife of only two months.
When he was done he stripped off his gloves. He untied the ropes and Colleen reached for him as soon as her arms were free. The solution had brought some warmth and color back to her skin and he lifted her off the table. He set her on her feet and she stood gazing at him, a little uncertain, a little hesitant. Then her lips moved in something like a smile. She took his hands and drew them to her, placing them against her face.
Liam closed his eyes as he stroked her soft cheek and let his fingers trail down the curve of her throat, her shoulder, the swell of her breasts. He knew and adored every inch of her, could have sculpted her likeness if he were blind.
“Oh, Colleen,” he murmured.
Colleen sighed in response and guided his palms over the firm, warm flesh of her newly eviscerated torso. He drew his fingers along the line of stitches, down past her navel, then down a little farther. Then he stopped. He opened his eyes to find Colleen watching him intently.
Her eyes roamed over his face, not with the fear and confusion of the Woken, but as though he were someone familiar that she was trying to place. She looked like someone shaken from a dream, trying to remember the details even as they faded. In her short sleep of death, had she dreamt of him?
“My love,” he said, hardly daring to speak the words. “Do you remember me?”
She cocked her head to one side with a puzzled expression.
“It’s Liam. Your husband. You know me, don’t you?”
Her lips parted slightly and she brought her face close to his. Then she took his hand and pushed it down, pressed it between her thighs. Liam gasped, surprised to find her warm and wet. He met her eyes again, a little startled by the intensity in her piercing gaze. It was not the dull, glassy stare of the Woken; it was the loving gaze of his wife. Colleen moaned softly as she writhed against his touch.
Liam felt his own body begin to respond. No matter what had happened, no matter how she had changed, she was still Colleen. And she knew him; he was certain of it now. She wasn’t like the others. Her body remembered his touch even as what remained of her spirit remembered his face, his voice.
He touched his lips to hers, gently at first, then with a little more passion. Her jaw worked hungrily and he was grateful for his presence of mind in stitching her mouth shut. She knew him and loved him. And of course she wanted him. Wanted him to join her, to be like her. But he couldn’t follow her there. He had to stay as he was to look after her, to keep her as long as he could. All he wanted was a little more time with her. He wasn’t ready to let her go.
“Oh, Colleen,” he said, burying his face in the hollow of her throat. “I missed you so much.” It had only been a day but any time apart felt like an eternity. And eternity without Colleen was unthinkable, unbearable.
Her arms slipped around his neck and she moved her pelvis against him, grinding against the hardness in his crotch. She whimpered with desire and Liam could resist her no longer. He swept her up in his arms and carried her into the next room.
He deposited her on the plush carpet and began to undress. His fingers trembled as he unfastened the buttons of his shirt and Colleen crouched there on her knees, gazing up at him with animal eagerness, unnatural hunger.
When at last he was naked Colleen reached for him and he pushed her down gently onto her back. Kneeling above her he allowed his hands to roam over every inch of her supple flesh. He’d massaged her with cream to keep her skin soft. She felt like silk. He entered her and she whimpered softly, as though she were gagged. He smiled, remembering all the games they had played before the world changed.
A tide of memories swept over him as he pushed himself deep inside her. Colleen arched her back and wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper, harder. She threw back her head, closing her eyes in bliss as she moved with him. Her body responded in all its familiar ways. Liam knew every step of her sexual choreography and there was no mistaking it: Colleen was here with him, fully and completely. Not even death had been able to separate them.
He thought of their honeymoon, two weeks of paradise in the Caribbean. Colleen bronzed and naked on the beach, spreading her legs in the surf, gasping as the waves lapped between them and chilled her nipples into stiffness. Later, at dinner, she had kicked off her shoes under the table and slipped her feet into his lap, smiling impishly as he tried to eat in spite of her distraction. She’d kept him hard through the entire meal and as soon as they’d got back to their room he’d flung her down on the bed and ravished her, tearing her dress and making her scream into the pillows as she came. Then again in the shower. And then on the balcony under the full moon. And then. And then…
They came together, their limbs entwined, their bodies one. Colleen trembled beneath him, her cries of pleasure muffled. Liam enfolded her in his arms and covered her sealed lips with his.
Days passed like a dream. Outside the Woken shuffled by, growing weaker and more frail while Colleen retained the blush of new life. The new life Liam had given her. But he knew it wouldn’t be forever. Each moment was precious to him because each moment only brought them both closer to the day when she too would begin to grow weak. He had extended their time but not stopped it and his heart ached that it was all he could do.
There were still living people out there. Liam had heard vehicles, voices, seen notices. Doctors and scientists were searching for a cure. But even if it were possible, it would never come in time for them.
He’d heard a single radio broadcast. A man was asking for information on the Woken. Had anyone, anywhere, seen any evidence of personality remaining after waking? Was it possible for the Woken to recognize the living? Any information—any hope—would be welcome. Please come forward, please contact us…
Liam had turned the radio off. He wanted nothing to invade their private world, to taint their final days.
It was time. Colleen could barely lift her arms now and she seemed frightened and confused, as though aware that they would soon be parted. She made soft mewling sounds and her eyes shone with tears.
But Liam reassured her with a smile as he kissed her. He wrapped her naked in his arms, dancing a slow waltz with her as he led her back to the embalming room. There he took up a pair of manicure scissors and gently, so very gently, snipped away the stitches holding her lips closed. He held her face in his hands and kissed her.
“I love you,” he whispered. Then he offered her his wrist.
At first she merely blinked in slow confusion. She licked her lips and closed her eyes as though smelling something sweet, something tempting. She kissed the skin of his hand and he felt the tip of her tongue like a final caress before she sank her teeth into the thin skin of his inner wrist. He hissed with pain as blood ran from the wound and Colleen, strengthened, held his wrist against her face, lapping at his blood as though it were a fine wine.
The wound itself wasn’t enough to be fatal but the poison in her bite was. Liam’s head swam and he sank to his knees, his heart throbbing in his ears, deafening him. Twin images of Colleen swam before his eyes and she sank to the floor with him, nuzzling her cheek against his as his vision began to fade and the world grew soft and gray. He closed his eyes.
And then he opened them again.
The soldiers had swept the town and so far found only piles of limbs and body parts littering the streets and houses. Checking the funeral parlor was almost an afterthought.
Inside was evidence that a couple had been living there for weeks. On the floor of one room lay a woman’s white velvet dress and a man’s shirt and trousers. The clothes were strewn like a trail left by lovers as they stripped on the way to the bedroom. But instead of a love nest, the trail led to the embalming room of the mortuary. There they
found a tangle of limbs, two bodies so entwined that at first it was impossible to tell them apart.
“Carlson! I think you should take a look at this.”
The two men swept their torches around the room and Carlson shrugged, unimpressed. “You dragged me all the way in here for this, Fletcher? One killed the other and then died. Again. We’ve seen it before.”
Fletcher moved closer and gestured at the bodies. “No, it’s not that. It’s the stitches.”
On closer inspection they could see that it was clearly a man and a woman, wrapped in a tight embrace. The woman’s mouth was slightly open and her teeth were stained with blood, her lips trailing the snipped ends of black stitching. A pair of manicure scissors lay on a table nearby. The man’s wrist had recently been bitten.
The soldiers were quiet as they pieced the scene together.
“Why didn’t he wake?” Carlson asked at last.
Fletcher frowned at the scene, pondering the question. After a while he spoke. “I think he did. He just never left her side.”
They lay peacefully in each other’s embrace, as though they had simply fallen asleep while dancing cheek to cheek. There was no sign of a struggle.
Suddenly Fletcher gasped.
“What? What is it?”
Fletcher pointed with a trembling hand. “Her eyes. I swear I saw movement.”
“Her eyes are closed.”
“I know. But they moved. Like she was dreaming. Look! His just did too.”
Carlson crouched beside him and they both peered closely at the faces of the dead couple. From time to time their eyes did indeed flicker beneath the lids.
“But that’s impossible. They’re dead. I mean, they already woke and now they’re really dead.”
Neither man had an answer or an explanation. They watched the dreaming lovers for a little while before silently turning to leave. They closed the door behind them, neither intent on telling anyone what he had seen.
Love, Lust, and Zombies Page 6
