Love Starts With Z

by Tera Shanley

  “Don’t call me that,” Soren muttered.

  “It’s what you are.”

  Soren clenched her jaw until the muscles there ached. “I can’t eat this.”

  “You can and will. It will do you good to eat more like the other people around here. Maybe if you didn’t eat raw flesh, people would be more comfortable around you.”

  “I don’t eat raw flesh, Marie. Just raw meat, and that’s not my choice. It’s all my body will digest. This,” she said, shoving the plate back into Marie’s hands, “will make me sick. I’ll start eating at regular intervals if you and Chef will stop cooking my food into hunks of charcoal.”

  Marie twitched her head and pursed her lips. “Mel wants to talk to you.” The corner of her lip turned up in a smile like she’d won.

  If ever Soren decided to start eating people, she would begin with Marie.

  “Fine, bye.” Turning, she lengthened her stride until her heels dug into the soft soil of the path.

  Marie didn’t take the hint of dismissal. That or she wanted to watch her get reamed by Mel again, which was the more likely culprit, and she followed directly, loud, like a drunken giant in the woods.

  “You’re not allowed to talk to me like that, Z. I’m your handler. You do what I say, when I say it, no back talk. Also in the rules.”

  She’d like to see where these magic rules were written, because she was pretty sure Marie just made them up as she went along. Her other handlers, Jake and Margaret, weren’t as overbearing as the tiny titan that stomped after her now. Oh, they hated her, but they were quieter about their distaste for all things Dead. And they didn’t try to force feed her human fare. Theirs was more of a somber acceptance. Dead Run River housed a monster, and it was their duty to protect the colony from her when they were assigned to do so. They followed at a distance, brought her food, and at least seemed to control the disgusted looks on their faces as they watched to make sure she ate everything on her plate. As a reward to Jake and Margaret, for not being Marie, she at least made an effort to eat on Mel’s rigorous dining schedule at mess hall so she could spare them collecting the food and tracking her down.

  As if she could read her charitable thoughts, Marie said, “Margaret quit.”

  “What?” Soren said, spinning. “Why?”

  Marie’s laugh echoed through the quiet forest, and a bird above them took flight at the noise. One of her eyebrows arched until three deep wrinkles etched into her forehead. “Because she hates you,” she whispered.

  Closing her eyes against the unexpected pain the words caused, Soren turned and strode up the path again. Marie was just trying to get to her.

  “I’d quit too, but we’re already going to have a hard time filling Margaret’s position. Nobody wants to watch you eat like an animal and stare at lab equipment all day.” A put upon sigh sounded from behind her. “Mel needs me.”

  Marie wouldn’t ever give up power over her. If she quit, she’d be just another colonist—one who didn’t control the house Dead. She liked the attention too much to ever resign. Most of the rumors probably started directly from the conniving woman’s mouth.

  She could just imagine Marie’s conversations with her friends. And then I made her eat cooked food, because it’s important that she adjust her body to fit in. I only try to help her, but monsters are instinctively ungrateful…

  Soren clenched and unclenched her hands until she didn’t feel like strangling her handler anymore.

  Mel’s cabin topped Dead Run River. It stood proudly, looking over the paradise its leader had created. Mel had been the head of this place since before Soren had been born. It seemed she had only grown tougher over the years under the strain of keeping her people alive, and the woman had very little patience for threats like her.

  “Come in,” the leader called when Soren rapped her knuckles against the door.

  The door creaked as she opened it, and the smell of peach pie enveloped her as soon as she stepped over the threshold. It smelled divine—tart, juicy, with underlying currents of sugar, which she imagined to be heavenly from the looks on people’s faces when they ate rare delicacies in the mess hall. Too bad she couldn’t eat a slice without retching.

  “In here,” Mel called from the office.

  The entryway led to a sizable kitchen, with a dining area visible from the front door. A living area with plush, dark furniture sat to her right, and to her left was Mel’s office. The back wall was covered in corkboard, and pinned to it were handwritten letters, requests, pictures of missing men, women, and children who they’d lost to the apocalypse. Every colony had one. Somewhere to put all of your hope into finding lost loved ones. Only a few had ever been answered, if rumors were true, but people sent out pleas for information anyway. Such a deep, resonating sadness washed over her when she saw the somber faces drawn on the wall. How could Mel stand to be in a room with so many ghosts?

  Mel gestured for her to take a seat and the doorframe creaked as Marie leaned against it with a smug look on her face.

  “Have you eaten today?” the colony leader asked.

  Soren took a long, steadying breath and opened her mouth to defend herself.

  “I brought her food, and she flat out refused it,” Marie said from behind.

  “Cooked food,” Soren said through gritted teeth. “I can’t eat what she brought me.”

  Mel studied her for a long moment. “Have you tried?”

  “Do I need a doctor’s note? I’m sure Doc would be happy to oblige. He has medical journals that stretch for miles about my immune system, my reproductive system, my respiratory system, and most importantly, or so it seems to every person who lives in the colony, my digestive system. I can’t eat the food cooked. I’m not like you, or you.” Thank God. “It’s like trying to feed a Dead a burned carcass. They might force themselves to eat it, but they’ll pay for it later.”

  Mel had gone green, but so what? She’d been living there for two years and still, she was a pariah.

  “Do I need to remind you what happened when you were ten, Soren?”

  A wave of ice hurtled over her insides and she froze. Her hands were the only part of her she had feeling in, and she gripped the arms of the chair until it whined under her palms. Of course she didn’t need to be reminded. No one would let her live a day without bringing it up. “Of course you don’t.”

  “Now, I respect your parents. Laney and Mitchell have helped Dead Run River in more ways than we can ever repay. But they stole away in the night with you in your infancy for a reason. This place isn’t the right fit for you.”

  “But my research is here. They don’t have more than a makeshift doctor’s shack in the Denver colony. Doctor Mackey has everything we need to find a cure. The vaccine isn’t enough. We need to be able to reverse the effects of decay on the newly turned. I can’t go anywhere else.”

  “Which is exactly the pitch I took from your parents. You can infect people, Soren. And still, I allow you to live inside the gates. I put the people who live in Dead Run River at risk every day just by allowing you to stay here. And I do that for your parents. That’s it. They are the thin thread between your home here and woods full of your own kind.” She pulled a small stack of papers from a desk drawer and slid them in front of her. “I’ve had six complaints this week from colonists.”

  “About me?”

  “Yes. Sometimes it’s more, sometimes less, but we rarely go a week without having to douse the fires you start. I didn’t tell you before because I know it has to be hard enough on you, being different. But this?” She curled rigid fingers around the papers and held them in the air. “This has been going on for too long, and people are getting more and more upset about your behaviors. Eat in private from now on. Eat plenty and on time. That’s not a friendly suggestion.”

  Marie snickered behind her, and Mel stabbed her with a sharp look.

  “Listen to your handlers, because I’ve instructed them to report any inconsistencies in your routine to me. I had to
lay down those orders to soothe the colonists you’ve pissed off.”

  Unable to take her eyes from the fluttering, damning handmade paper clutched in Mel’s hand, Soren slowly nodded her understanding. She couldn’t lose the lab. She couldn’t just go back to the Denver colony with her tail between her legs and wait for others to find a cure. “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “I assume you’ve heard Margaret quit her handler position.” At Soren’s slight nod, she said, “She forced our hand. Said she’d leave the colony if we made her watch you anymore. As you probably know, her entire family was taken by your kind, and it became too much. We’ll assign you a new one as soon as we’re able, but until then, give Jake and Marie a break with the rule bending, okay?”

  “Okay.” She’d sell her pride to keep the lab. She’d do anything it took to ensure her future.

  As she stood to leave, Mel tossed the complaints to the edge of the giant desk she sat behind. The handwriting on the top page blurred as she hesitated to touch it. The curving ink etched into the fragile paper fibers would only cause pain.

  The paper crinkled against her palm, and she fought the urge to drop them into the wastebasket by the door as she left.

  “Oh and, Soren?”

  She turned slowly. “Yes?”

  “I don’t want you leaving the front gates to spend time with the Deads in the woods anymore.”

  That was her time to be herself, unmuzzled, out in the open and unconcerned with people staring or being frightened of her. Mel was asking too much.

  “But I go out there to draw. It’s what keeps me sane.”

  “You’ll draw inside the gates and remain sane. You communing with Deads makes people here uncomfortable.”

  She didn’t even know anyone had noticed until this very moment. “People? Or just you?”

  The hard look in Mel’s vibrant green eyes said it didn’t matter. The rule was set and wouldn’t be taken back.

  Chapter Two

  A THREE-MAN TEAM was pushing it, but two? If Kaegan Langford lived to the end of the day, it would be a miracle. Colten groaned again, and Kaegan adjusted his weight across his shoulders.

  He couldn’t keep this pace for much longer. Already, his legs burned like he’d stepped into a campfire, and a hollow numbness crept up his calves, making each carefully placed footstep treacherous.

  Bit. Colten had a chunk taken out of his leg the exact size of that giant Dead’s jaw. He’d come up on his friend right as the monster clamped his teeth on him. Damn it. He’d never get that scream of pain out of his head as long as he lived. And really, he should be used to it by now. He’d heard it a hundred times. Still, it was different with Colten. He’d known him since he was a boy.

  They’d lost the rest of the team in the fight, got separated, but he knew their outcomes. He’d put Trevor and Mike down when they came after him with their vacant eyes and gnashing teeth. They hadn’t been fighting together long, but it was a loss that echoed through him. Every human life lost counted. Every friend he lost left a scar on his soul.

  He’d twisted an ankle tripping over a root when one of the Deads he fought landed on top of him, and now he tried and failed to focus on placing one foot in front of the other without grimacing. Acknowledging the pain would only make it worse.

  Colten was vaccinated, so he would at least stay human. The problem lay with the raging fever he’d been incubating for two days. The bite looked grotesque, and every so often, Colten whispered incoherent mutterings about family and friends who were long dead. He spoke to them as if they were walking beside them through the woods. Honestly, it was unhinging Kaegan more than a little, and the chills that brushed his spine in waves didn’t help the feeling they were being hunted—or haunted.

  He knelt with a grunt and set Colten down as gently as his exhausted arms could manage. He had to rest, but more importantly, he needed to check the map again. If he’d managed to stay on track, he should be nearing a colony called Dead Run River. Some said it was paradise. Some said it was full of Dead sympathizers who let them in their gates. Whatever demons it housed, he was going to find out, if he was lucky enough.

  Pouring over the map, he checked his compass twice and measured the distance thoroughly to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. He was so close. There was a Denver colony not terribly far away, but he wouldn’t make it that far. Not with Colten as bad off as he was. He needed help and shelter. A sanctuary where he could rest his ankle, trade for a good meal, and make sure Colten survived the infection that was burning him from the inside out. Dead Run River was their best shot.

  Only then would he be able to deal with the startling information he’d gathered at the last colony they’d stayed in. Right now, there was only room for survival mode in his head. If he didn’t live through the journey, the information would die with him, and then every risky decision he’d made over the last few weeks would’ve been for nothing.

  A twig snapped in the brush to the right. He froze and stared at the shaking brush with a sense of dread so heavy, he found it difficult to move his arms. Snap! Another branch broke behind him.

  His heart tripped to a galloping pace, and he shoved the map in his pack and shouldered Colten with the aid of the adrenaline that pounded through him.

  “They’re coming,” Colten rasped.

  No crap they were coming. Deads were always coming for them like they were two limping cheese cubes trying to escape a hungry pack of Dobermans.

  More crackling leaves sounded to his left. They were closing in, and he gritted his teeth against the pain in his ankle. If he set Colten down to fight, they’d be all over him. The best shot at both of them making it out alive was to run. They were so close, groans and hitched breaths filled the forest. A steep embankment jutted out of the earth, funneling him into a ravine. Oh God, if a Dead came from the other direction, he was trapped.

  Gripping Colten’s legs harder, he pushed until sweat ran in streams down his face. His breathing was ragged and loud against his eardrums, and Colten spoke a steady stream of gibberish that told the Deads exactly where they were. It was useless to try to get him to shut up. Colten hadn’t understood a word he’d said in over twelve hours. Lungs burning, he escaped the ravine just as he saw the first onslaught of Deads out of the corner of his eye. There were so many, ten at least, and he was only one man, carrying the dead weight of a friend he wouldn’t drop to save his own hide.

  There. An ancient spruce with a jagged and painful looking split down its middle, likely from being struck by lightning, stretched up toward the heavens. He could almost feel the Deads breathing on his neck now. Any moment, a clawed hand would grab his shirt and pull him back. His body screamed to rest, or slow down at the very least, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

  Ducking, he shoved Colten into the opening of the injured tree and turned just as the first flesh eater was on him. Sunken eyes and blood stained clothes. Lips curled in hunger away from yellow teeth. Sagging, cold looking flesh clung to jutting bones, and one of its arms was missing completely. The foot long bowie knife slid out of its sheath in one fluid motion, and he arched it into the temple of the monster.

  This was it. His last stand.

  “Come on!” he screamed as a roiling rage wracked his body. After everything, he was going to die here in the woods. He and Colten. After every skirmish they’d outlived, every time they’d been treed and weaponless, every time they’d survived a bite. And now here they were, at the end of their lives. Kaegan was angry at the world. At the necessity of situations like the one he was in. At the mindless Deads who lived to hurt him and the ones he loved. He kicked one back and put the blade into another’s head. Stabbing uselessly at their torsos wouldn’t prolong his life. They didn’t feel. The creatures would just keep coming. It was a kill shot to their head or death by being eaten alive. He’d only lived this long because he was much more efficient at killing than the horde.

  He wouldn’t go down gently. It wasn’t his style to sag to his kn
ees and accept his fate. Oh, he knew what was coming for him, but he wasn’t going down without taking out every single moaner that he could while he stood on this earth. Bellowing his fury, he slashed again and again until the number of bodies at his feet became a blur. He shoved limp Deads away from him as they cluttered the forest floor at his feet, soaking the earth with their putrid blood. And always the searching eyes, silver with death—empty, soulless.

  He hoped they ate all of him so he wouldn’t come back a monster.

  He stood, staggered and hunched with fatigue as the last Dead fell away from his knife. Every muscle shook and red streamed down his face until it dripped from the tip of his nose and from his hair. The break was temporary. More were coming through the woods toward them, and this was his chance. He hadn’t the energy to do more than throw Colten’s arm over his shoulder and drag him through the blanket of leaves. He walked forever like that, arms howling their exhaustion, and stumbling from the numbness in his legs. He was just fast enough to stay in front of the seven Deads who tracked him. He was fading, and they’d have a meal soon enough, but not until he had nothing in his body left to give. The breakdown was coming.

  And just as he’d decided it was enough—that he’d given all of himself to save his friend, that all he wanted to do was drop to his knees and wait for the monsters in the shadows to take him screaming to his death, a looming fence appeared through the trees.

  Dead Run River.

  “Open the gates!” he yelled as he rounded the curve.

  Two guards stood ready.

  “Please,” he breathed. “Open the gates.”

  The Deads were catching up as his pace slowed, and he bit his lip and pressed on, sure they’d catch him in an instant.

  The creaking of wood resonated through the clearing, and the doors opened slowly. He slipped through behind the guards, and two Deads followed them right in. Both were knifed before they took two steps beyond the gate.

  Kaegan fell, unable to support his weight or Colten’s for another second. He’d never catch his breath again, and his lungs ached as he tried to drag air into them. It was as if they didn’t recognize oxygen anymore and passed it off as a gaseous poison instead. In desperation, he crawled aimlessly on hands and knees. Rocks dug into his hands, and he stared at the filth covered knife he still clutched.