Zomtropolis

by A. P. Fuchs

  “Hm?”

  “Nothing.”

  She held me tighter. I adjusted my body and brought her as close to me as I possibly could. Her body fit perfectly into mine, as if my frame was carved out in such a way to accommodate only her.

  When she pulled away, she looked at my face, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

  Then she leaned in, and kissed me.

  At first, I didn’t reciprocate, but instead just let the feeling of her lips against my own finish sending a bolt of lightning into my heart.

  She moved back and her lips left mine. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered.

  Her arms were still around me. She looked at me again, then fell into me, our lips meeting again. This time I didn’t hold back but instead poured out my love for her as our lips moved across each other’s, our tongues gently touching then backing away, meeting and moving. She held me so tight, it was as if she had never hugged anyone else in her life and only now was discovering the power of an embrace.

  I didn’t care. I needed her. All the time we had spent apart began to fade away like a bad dream. Our lips never left each other’s, and even as she began to slowly undress, we still kissed. I followed her lead and began to remove my clothing as well, my heart pumping so quick I got lightheaded.

  Our naked bodies met, fit into the other‘s, and though I wanted to open my eyes so I could appreciate her beauty, I couldn’t. So lost in her passion, I just let myself and my heart sink into her.

  We made love on the couch; it was like we’d never been apart. Together, we shook with each tender movement, each reveal and each moan. I kisssed her all over and she did the same to me. It was like the first time we did this. Why here or why now, I didn’t know. Maybe she just needed to feel loved? Maybe she was so scared and I was able to offer enough sense of security she simply lost herself in the moment.

  Maybe she still loved me.

  Time lost its meaning, and her and I came together several times throughout the night. Out of respect for Selena, I won’t write every detail, but the rest of the world faded away. There was only us, love, and a joy I thought I’d never feel again.

  After, lying in each other’s arms, I could only manage three words: “I love you.”

  ·41: A Perfect Night Gone to Hell

  Have you ever watched someone sleep? Have you ever taken the time, or are you too focused on your own fatigue?

  Selena captivated me that night the way she lay perfectly still beside me, mouth slightly open, her eyes closed, a strange world of dream and thought dancing before her vision, a secret known only to herself.

  She had the blanket right up to her chin, only her head peeking out, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest a balm to my aching heart.

  We’ve been here before, both before the undead plague and after. I’ve seen her sleep many times, wondering if she’s resting comfortably or if she’s merely dozing. Wondering if there’s peace inside her or if sleep was her escape from this wretched world filled with the undead.

  I could watch her forever, but, I admit, a part of me wanted to wake her. Every moment she spent in sleep’s embrace meant one less moment with me, and moments with Selena were always precious, especially these days.

  I gently kissed her forehead, then placed my lips upon hers. Even though she didn’t return the affection, there was still an electric tingle when our lips met.

  “Good night, princess,” I whispered, and lay down my head beside hers. I looked her over one last time, then closed my eyes.

  All was dark. No dreams came, none that I could recall.

  When I woke up, it was still dark, and a tired headache hovered behind my eyes. My body ached to reach over and hug Selena and fall asleep pressed against her. I looked over. She wasn’t beside me.

  Probably gone to the bathroom, I thought. I closed my eyes, thinking she’d come back to bed any moment.

  I don’t know how much time passed, but I was jolted out of my sleepy haze by low, gurgling gasps and ear-splitting coughing. I bounded out of bed, and followed the noise, made a beeline for the bathroom. I started to shake immediately upon seeing her. Selena knelt before the toilet, naked, blood and partly-digested food smeared on the seat and the floor around her. Her body shook with each gut-based lurch. A splash of red throw up gushed from her mouth, half landed in the toilet, the rest running down her chin and chest.

  If this was the old days, I would have called 9-1-1 immediately. These days there was no one to call.

  Heart galloping, I grabbed the towel off the rack and draped it over her shoulders, and pressed my hand to her back. Her body shook beneath my touch, then lurched as another gob of blood and stomach fluid burst from between her lips.

  “Let it out,” I said, not sure if that was even good advice.

  Right after I said that, she started dry-heaving, her body rising high then settling low as everything within her locked and nothing came out of her mouth. It kept happening, and I could see she was trying to gasp for breath, but everything was so spasmed inside she couldn’t get air into her system.

  “Come on, Selena, breathe,” I said, tapping her back, thinking maybe my effort would somehow shake something loose.

  Her whole body quaked as it locked up again, her eyes wide behind the sweaty and blood-coated bangs dangling above them. It looked like she wanted to speak, but didn’t have the strength to say anything.

  “Talk,” I said. “Scream, yell, burp—anything! Breathe!”

  She kneeled there, frozen, not a single muscle moving. Her body was like stone beneath my touch, every muscle taut and strained over her bones. More blood oozed out of her mouth. She remained still, letting it run over her lips and onto the toilet and floor.

  Everything was so tense she shook head to toe—then released and fell to the bathroom floor.

  “Selena!” I brushed her hair away with my fingers, her face smeared with blood and puke.

  She lay perfectly still, eyes closed, mouth slightly open—as if she was sleeping.

  Except she wasn’t. She wasn’t breathing. I put my hand to her chest and confirmed my suspicion that her heart had stopped.

  She was dead.

  Again.

  ____________________________________________________________________________

  I sat just outside the bathroom door, Selena’s towel-covered body not two feet from me. I needed the wall against my back to keep me from slumping over. I started blankly at the wall across from me.

  “Over and over and over again, I wish you were here, my sweet tender friend.”

  Don’t know where I heard it, but it seemed to fit. Every time I glanced over at the blood-soaked towel covering my ex-girlfriend’s body, a wave of electric emotion ran through me, the kind filled with numbstruck awe, hate and frustration. Longing and pain.

  “Over and over and over again, I wish you were here, my sweet tender friend.”

  A perfect night gone to hell. Imagine a world where all is well. “Tell me again, Selena, my dear; tell why you’ve left me here.”

  The rhymes somehow helped me think even though they were awful. This wasn’t a poetry contest.

  Just couldn’t believe I lost her again.

  And even when her body stirred beneath the towel, I wasn’t surprised.

  Jay’s words from before came back to haunt me: you’ll be dead by morning.

  ·42: No More, I’m Done

  I was up against the fridge, lodged between Selena’s undead corpse and the fridge itself. For a second I thought of somehow throwing open the fridge door, ripping out the shelves, then going in and holding it closed from the inside and hiding from her.

  That’s right. You guessed it.

  Selena came back from the dead.

  Again.

  Her body was pressed against mine with such pressure that I wondered where she got the strength from. Was her undead form just instinct and muscle and that’s where all its energy was channeled? Didn’t matter. Her
face was against mine, sallow skin, eyes drooping as if she was having a heck of a time trying to keep them open. If it wasn’t for the coolness of her skin, you’d just think she was under the weather and that’s all.

  Studying my face as if trying to figure out who I was, Selena ran her dead hands up my chest, by my neck, then down my shoulders as if trying to seduce me into letting her bite me. Her touch was awkward, and though she had been dead and resurrected for several minutes at this point, I was still happy she was in front of me, her hands touching me.

  I’m a sick bastard.

  She opened her mouth and drew her face close to mine. I shoved her away, against the counter behind her. There wasn’t much room and she moved back all of one step before bending backward over the counter and hitting her head against the cupboard just above that. I slipped to the side and left the kitchen and went to the living room.

  With a groan, Selena followed, her feet stumbling across the floor, this undead version of her seeming to have some real trouble with maintaining her balance.

  She stepped toward me, feet turned inward, one in front of the other, and reached out with her hands.

  I pushed them down and moved to the side. She turned, keeping her body in line with mine. The hunger for flesh was taking over, I knew.

  “Selena, honey, you can’t do this,” I said.

  I could imagine her asking, Why?

  “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Good. Just let me bite you and we can be together.

  It was tempting, I admit, but obviously there was no conscious awareness of what was going behind her gaze, so even if I became like her, we wouldn’t be aware of each other in that special way anyway.

  Sidestepping again, I added, “Please. I’ve hurt you enough. Don’t make me do it.”

  I’m going to hurt you.

  “No,” I said and turned toward the door. No more. I was going to run, leave her, and never hurt her again. Except she grabbed me from behind, tugged me down and back, causing my legs to bend and for my head to angle upward. Selena held me tight, opened her mouth, and tried to bite my face again.

  “No!” I screamed and flailed my arms, knocking her head to the side.

  She let go of me; I lost my balance and fell, my back hitting the floor. A jolt of tingly pain shot through my shoulder blades and into my lower back. It quickly faded to an ache and I got up as quickly as I could, hearing something in my back pop as I did, a sharp pain running from the top right of my shoulder blade to the center of my back.

  I headed for the door. Opened it. Selena hit me from behind, slamming me into the door. It hammered shut, my fingers getting caught between the heavy door and the jamb. Howling, I tried to yank my fingers out but they were stuck.

  Selena grabbed me from behind again and tried to take a bite out of my shoulder on my free side. I shot my elbow up and caught her in the mouth. Her head snapped back. As fast as I could, I opened the door and withdrew my throbbing hand, the fingers feeling like someone was stomping on them good and hard with steel-toed boots.

  I pulled the door open all the way and stepped out into the hallway. About to spin around and tug the door shut behind me, I ducked when a green glass bottle spun through the air straight at my head. It struck Selena in the face and she fell to the ground, jaded shards of broken glass sticking out from her forehead.

  In the doorway of the suite across the hallway was Jay. He stood there holding the door open with one hand, the other resting on the jamb.

  “Told ya, man,” he said, “you’d be dead by morning.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Selena sat up, glass sticking out of her head, blood running down her face in ribbons.

  “Come on!” Jay said, waving me over.

  Selena stood.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her, and ran toward Jay.

  Selena grabbed me. I threw her against the hallway wall, ramming her head into the concrete face first, jamming the glass into her skull all the way. She simply dropped to the ground and didn’t move.

  Shaky, I looked at her, mind and body racked with adrenaline. I slowly went back to my apartment and closed the door and locked it.

  I’d forgot Jay was on the other side of that door, waiting for me to say something.

  43: Spam

  It’d be nice if I had any booze left. No, check that, it’d be friggin’ awesome! But, alas, here we are, dry as cold toast, just waiting for things to make sense.

  After the big ordeal with Selena dying again, I just paced my apartment until my heels were sore, all the while ignoring Jay’s door banging and shouts in the hallway. Part of the time I heard him; part of it I didn’t. Eventually I tired myself out so much I took a short nap right there on my living room floor. When I awoke, I got up, peed, then walked across the hallway to where Jay was staying. Pride told me to just forget about it, but I’m smarter than that.

  Selena’s body still lay there, a big shard of glass sticking out of her head. I looked away, unable to stomach it. Not for Selena.

  I rapped on Jay’s door. He opened it, didn’t say anything and let me in. You know you have a good friend when you act like a jerk and they take you back, no questions asked.

  The suite he stayed in used to belong to this Spanish guy, Hernandez somebody. I never got to know him, not that he was all that friendly to begin with. Very much one of those people who only left their place just to go to work and get groceries. Come to think of it, I was pretty much like that, too, because right now I can’t say I knew my neighbours all that well despite living beside them for a few years.

  “Any food kicking around here?” I asked after sitting at the kitchen table for a few minutes.

  “Found a can of spam, a couple packs of dried noodles,” Jay replied.

  “I’m not picky.”

  Jay got up from the table, pulled the can of spam from the cupboard above the sink, then rummaged around in one of the drawers and found a can opener.

  “You don’t need that, you know,” I said. “There’s a tab-key-thing on the side.”

  He picked up the can, tilted it left and right in his hand, then said, “What do I know? Never ate this stuff. Probably makes good spackle.”

  I chuckled. “Or window caulking.”

  He smiled, and fiddled with the key on the can until he figured it out. He opened another cupboard and pulled out a plate, then dumped the contents of the can onto it. After grabbing a couple forks from the drawer, he sat down, gave me one, and said, “Dinner is served.”

  “Beats nothing,” I said.

  Jay paused before eating, bowed his head and closed his eyes. Out of respect, I waited until he was done, then the two of us divvied up the spam. It was like half-dried baby food cut into chunks. We ate in silence–guys do that–and when we were done, Jay said, “Want to talk about it?”

  So much for forgive and forget, I thought. “Not really.”

  “I’m not talking about us,” he said. “The girl. Want to talk about it?”

  I sighed. “There’s not much to say.” My eyes met his. “She’s the love of my life, you know.”

  “I can tell.”

  I wrinkled my brow.

  “I saw it in the way you looked at her, the way you defended her. No shame in that.” He paused then added, “But she’s dangerous . . . or, at least, something’s not right with her. Sorry to say that.”

  It was true I didn’t want to hear it, but Jay was right. There was something wrong with Selena. No one kept dying and coming back, not in the way she did.

  “You said you’ve seen her before, yeah?” I said.

  He nodded. “Lots of times while I was out and about. Sometimes she was downright pretty, even normal-looking except for a mouth covered in–” He made a circular motion with his hand in front of his lips. “Other times . . . other times the only thing that gave her away was her eyes. Eyes don’t change. They’re beautiful and easy to pick out.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “It doesn’t make sen
se, though,” he said.

  I mulled over his words for a moment. “Something’s up. Something weird. She’s come here several times now. She’s also died several times.”

  He simply looked at me, his expression reading: Obviously. Tell me something I don’t know.

  “Okay,” I said, “have you seen anyone else? I mean, anyone else repeatedly who looked different each time? I don’t go out much, but so far as I know, I haven’t seen any familiar faces.”

  “Hard to say. Big city. But for me, no, she’s the only one I’ve noticed.”

  “So, what, she’s either got a pile of twin sisters, or she’s regenerating somehow or . . .” I didn’t know what I was saying. None of it made sense.

  “When you were together, was she, you know, normal?”

  “Yeah. Of course. Everything was normal back then.”

  “Family? Sisters?”

  “Nothing that would indicate a plethora of look-alike siblings.”

  “Superpowers?”

  “What?”

  He was dead serious, which I didn’t expect from him. “You know, some kind of special ability. Able to multiply herself or something?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “If she did, she never told me.”

  “Just going through the possibilities.”

  “I know.”

  “And she keeps coming to you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Know why?”

  “No. We broke up before all this started. The only thing I can guess is that everyone else she knows is dead or a walking corpse, and when we split, I promised her I’d always be there for her no matter what she needed. Maybe I’m her last resort.”

  “Could be.”

  “And I’m fine with that,” I said softly. “At least I get to see her.”

  He tapped his index finger on the tabletop. “We need a plan.”

  “For?” I coughed. “I mean, aside from the obvious shelter, food, and all that.”

  “What if she comes back?”

  “Can’t really stop that.”

  “No.”

  “Would you attack her again?”

  “I don’t know.”