Taken by an Alien Shifter: A sci-fi alien romance (Scouts of Somtach Book 2)

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, holding it as I approach the horde.

  As I get closer I slow my steps, attempting the same slow shuffle as the zombies.

  My heart is pounding so hard in my chest I’m sure it’s going to explode, and I can’t believe they can’t hear it, too.

  I inch through the group, one arm brushing against the hedge as I squeeze past.

  A zombie bumps into me and I freeze, but it continues it’s shuffle and I let go of the breath I’m holding, and continue my own tentative forward movement.

  I take another step, and another.

  Almost there.

  I brush my hand along the hedge again, but a thorn catches my sleeve, and as I twist my arm free another scrapes the skin on my thumb.

  By instinct I pull my hand back, hard and fast, but the thorn catches and the movement leaves a deep scratch. I don’t need to look at it to know there’s blood welling from the cut.

  Instantly the zombies near me look up.

  I freeze again, putting my thumb in my mouth to suck the wound.

  Maybe if I stay still, they’ll forget about me.

  Their eyes are dull, empty, and for a moment I’m certain they can’t see, but then one turns, it’s shuffle increasing into an ambling sway as it hurries towards me.

  It’s gaze catches mine, it’s eyes bright and clear.

  It’s looking at me. Not past me, not through me, but directly at me, in a way zombies never have before.

  That’s all I need to turn around and start running.

  My heart pounds as I lengthen my stride and pull away from the zombies, but I can hear the thud of the one with the clear eyes as it’s feet pound the street behind me, and I know it’s getting closer.

  Are they mutating?

  There’s a house ahead of me, it’s front door swinging wide, and I race for it, but just as I reach the entrance I’m grabbed around the waist and pulled backwards, a long low moan right in my ear.

  My chest constricts as a scream tears from my throat, but a hand clamps down over it, silencing me, and I have a moment’s realisation that the hand not rotting, and it doesn’t stink, before a voice shushes me.

  A human voice.

  It’s takes me a moment to take in what’s happening.

  A guy has scooped me up. A living, breathing, human, male, has grabbed me, and is running at some incredible pace away from the zombies.

  We dart around a corner and I realise he’s taking me back to the fast food shop, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as he runs through the room with the DVD playing, crashing against the closed door on the other side and up some stairs, slamming yet another door behind him as he races through it.

  He rests me on a couch and kneels beside it.

  “Are you all right?”

  I blink at him.

  He’s the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen. Kind blue eyes peer from under a ginger fringe that flops over one side of his face while the rest of his hair is trimmed short, and he’s clean-shaven, wearing a clean white t-shirt and jeans, and his biceps look almost like he’s been on steroids. Almost.

  One thing I know, he definitely hasn’t been barely surviving a zombie apocalypse.

  That can only mean one thing.

  I‘m dead.

  The zombies got me, and now I’m dead, and this is my version of the after-life.

  It’s not exactly what I imagined the after-life might be. I thought there’d be more nature: trees and waterfalls and lovely flowing streams, and my friends and family and loved ones floating about, being happy with each other, instead of cranky because of all the usual stresses of living.

  Just my luck to be trapped on earth as a ghost.

  He’s peering at me.

  “Are you injured? Do you have any pain?” There’s something strange about his accent, but I can’t place what it is.

  I take a quick inventory of all the feelings in my body. No pain, that I’m aware of.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He starts examing my arms and legs.

  “No bites or scratches? No injuries?”

  I giggle. “Does any of that matter, now?”

  He glances up at me and frowns, then turns away to grab something from a pack on the bench behind him.

  “Possibly delusional,” he mutters.

  At least I think that’s what he mutters. My head seems to be floating several metres above the rest of my body, so I’m not entirely certain I’m actually hearing correctly.

  He turns back, and passes me a small vial.

  “Drink this. It will help you sleep. When you wake up, perhaps we can have a proper conversation about your situation.”

  “Sleep? Do I need to sleep? I thought spirits were just permanently awake, for the rest of eternity.”

  He frowns. “Drink. Please.”

  “Fine.” I sigh, taking the stopper out of the vial and sculling the contents. It’s sweet, which is nice, and it warms my throat as it goes down, and he’s right when he says it will help me sleep. All my muscles relax and I struggle to keep my eyelids open.

  He scoops me up. “I’ll find you somewhere more comfortable.”

  I giggle again, and run a finger down his chest. “Anywhere you like.”

  He frowns, and I laugh, a little hysterically if I’m honest about it. The thought is enough to calm me down, and I clear my throat.

  “Sorry.” I shake my head as I cling to him. “It’s been a long day. A long year, truth be told. And I am tired, actually, and a rest would be great. I just never expected I’d need to sleep when I’m dead.”

  He sets me down on a soft mattress, and kneels beside me once more.

  He brushes my hair back from my face.

  “Is that what you think?” he asks, as I close my eyes and let my body sink into the mattress.

  My breathing evens out, and just before I drift off to sleep he speaks again.

  “You’re a beautiful creature. And you’re not dead.”

  Chapter 5

  I wake to the waft of hot baked beans.

  I blink at my strange surroundings, trying to pull my memories of the day before into focus.

  Where am I, and how exactly did I get here?

  I have vague recollections of scratching my hand, and being chased by zombies, and then being grabbed by a guy who for some reason I thought was a zombie.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force my brain to remember properly, but the image is still there. A zombie with bright eyes chasing after me, grabbing me from behind, and then the healthy arm of a human, and then his very human voice and face.

  It’s the stress. I was in a panic, I never expected to see a human amongst zombies, and so I saw what I expected to see. It’s the only explanation.

  I pull myself up, pressing my hand against the wall as the room sways around me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut until my body feels steady, and then open them, to take in my surroundings.

  The room is small. It has a bunk bed, and a bookcase in one corner loaded with children’s books, next to a toybox overflowing with teddies and dolls. The blind on the window is closed, but I wander over and peer out. The sun is low in the sky, the street below deserted.

  I pull my fingers through my hair. It’s knotty, but not so greasy as it was during those first few weeks without shampoo.

  My pack is underneath the bed, and I grab it. He hasn’t opened it, so far as I can tell. Everything is squashed into the top, just as I did yesterday.

  I find my brush and tidy my hair, then find my hair tie on the bed and pull it back into a ponytail.

  That feels better.

  I wish I could make my appearance better for this guy, whoever he is. He certain didn’t look like he’d been roughing it for months on end.

  I ponder yesterday’s assumption that I’d died and ended up in some sort of afterlife, but it all feels too real, too… alive. And then there’s that waft of baked beans.

  It’s not exactly the most a
ppealing scent, seeing as I’ve eaten a lot of them over this past few months; mostly cold, straight from the can. But still my stomach gurgles at the smell, and I can’t deny I’m hungry. I wonder if the beans will taste better hot.

  I open the door and wander down a narrow hallway to a cramped kitchen.

  The guy, who still looks absolutely gorgeous, and like he’s just had a normal pre-zombie-apocalypse kinda day with his super clean sneakers and sweat pants and t-shirt, is standing at the stove, stirring the beans. There’s pancakes frying in the pan next to him, with some on the two plates on the bench behind.

  “Smells good.” I tuck my hands into the back pockets of my jeans and lean against the door.

  He looks up. “You have woken! I am so glad. I was coming to wake you soon.” He turned back to his beans. “I hope you like baked beans and pancakes. There is not a wide range of other food options in this present time.”

  The way he speaks is a little strange, but I ignore that, for the moment.

  “I’m a bit over cold baked beans, but hey, hot baked beans will be awesome.”

  My stomach gurgles again, and he looks at me and laughs.

  “I am glad to hear it.” He flips over the pancakes in the pan. “My name is Daezoth.”

  “Chayya.”

  “Chayya. Nice name.” He grins again, and there’s just something so sweet about it my stomach gives a little twist.

  “Thanks.” I grin. “I’ve never come across a Daezoth before.”

  He seems amused. “I doubt you would have. I think I would remember if we had met.”

  That’s a weird thing to say. “Did your parents make up your name?”

  “Of course. Didn’t your parents make up yours?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “They got it out of a baby name book.”

  His eyes seem to glaze over for a moment, and then he’s back with me. “Ah, a baby name book. Of course.” He passes me the glass of water, his smile a little too wide.

  Okay, so he’s a little weird. I shouldn’t hold that against him though. Long term social isolation can do strange things to people. I probably seem a little weird myself.

  “Can I get you to continue to stir these beans?” He gestures towards the pot. “The cooker is not easily adjusted, and the beans will burn to the bottom of the pot if they’re abandoned.”

  “Sure.”

  There’s not a lot of space in the kitchen, and I have to stand really close to him. He smells like cinnamon and allspice, and as I inhale I lean over the pot to pretend I’m smelling the beans, and not him. Damn he smells good.

  “This your place?” I ask. There are children’s pictures on the fridge, and a vase of dusty plastic flowers on the bench.

  He glances around. “No. I have been travelling. I am trying to find people.”

  “No luck?” The answer seems obvious, otherwise where are they? Unless there were others and they had a falling out. I really hope there are others Daezoth had a falling out with. I don’t want to be the last female alive on Earth. Or on this island, at least.

  “Not until I saw you, no.”

  My shoulders slump, but then I glance up to see him watching me, his gaze intense, and a thrill travels my spine. I moisten my lips with my tongue.

  “You been here long?”

  “I discovered this building a couple of days ago. I have spent most of my time watching movies. There’s an abandoned DVD store just down the road, and the devices in this building still work, miraculously.”

  “Must have solar panels.”

  “Solar panels. Of course.” His eyes do that blank thing again, which is followed by the too wide smile, and he turns to slide the pancakes onto the plates on the bench. His elbow presses against mine and a tingle travels up my arm.

  Human contact. I used to shy away from touching other people. Who knew I’d miss it so much I now crave it from total strangers.

  “Beans ready?” He turns to peer over my shoulder, so close his body warmth radiates against my skin, and all I want to do is lean into him.

  I don’t.

  It’s been so long since I’ve been this close to another living breathing person, my whole body feels electrified. I desperately want to reach out and touch him, but I don’t want to scare him away either.

  “Seems so.”

  He takes the spoon from my hand and the pot from the stove, and pours the baked beans over the pancakes. It’s not a meal I’ve had before, but right now it looks amazing, and my mouth waters.

  He pours two glasses of water, and passes me one.

  “Enjoy.” He passes me one of the plates and some cutlery, and leads the way to a small dining room, glass sliding doors leading the way out to a balcony overlooking the town. There are glimpses of the river between the buildings, the willows and other trees draping in the water, and rising above the buildings in front.

  “It’s so pretty from here.”

  He stops, his fork halfway to his mouth, and looks out over the scene. “It is. I did not expect such beauty in the place. It makes up for the strange circumstances.”

  I’m not sure I agree, but I turn back to my food, and take a bite. “Baked beans have never tasted so good.” I speak with my mouthful, and swallow before I continue. “Must be the company.” I give him a smile, and he responds in kind.

  “Life has been… uh… topsy turvey for a while, hasn’t it?”

  He seems to be testing out the words.

  “Tell me about it.” I take another bite.

  “No.” He shakes his head, watching me intently. “You tell me. What has your experience been?”

  Such an abrupt way to speak. I push the thought away. Sometimes you have to make more of an effort with people, especially when they’re the first person you’ve seen in months. In between mouthfuls of beans I tell him about Clay, and how we hid away at the first signs of zombies, waiting until the army or the airforce or whoever to come and sort out the problem, and then how everything went so quiet, so fast, the power dropping out so we had no way to contact the outside world except for a tiny battery operated radio that only played static. That’s what pushed us out of our safe and cosy little cocoon.

  And that little cocoon is ultimately what killed Clay, because we had no idea just how dangerous these zombies could be.

  Daezoth listens as I go on, talking about Dirk, and what happened with him, excluding the desperate sex, of course, and then how I’ve been lonely ever since, travelling around the north of the state in an attempt to get to every town in the hope of finding survivors.

  “So you have found no other people?” His shoulders droop.

  “No one.”

  “For a while I thought—” He stops abruptly and glances at me. “Well, never mind that. But things here are not the way I expected them to be.”

  I reach out to cover his hand in mine. “I thought I’d find more survivors in towns, too. I haven’t seen any. I think the towns have been hit hardest because that’s where all the cemeteries are, so there’s more zombies about.”

  Daezoth nods. “You do not know where the zombies came from, then?”

  I hesitate. “Well, we all know they’re the dead, come back to some sort of… life, I suppose. But like I said, Clay and I hid away from the world. If anyone discovered the answer to how they managed to wake up and push their way out of the ground then I never heard about it.” I pause, watching him. “You don’t know either then?”

  I wish I didn’t sound so hopeful, but I’m just as desperate for answers as he seems to be.

  He shakes his head, and my heart sinks.

  “Guess it’s too late to find out now.”

  Chapter 6

  We finish our meal in silence.

  When we’re done Daezoth pulls out half a block of chocolate, which sets my mouth watering all over again.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Do you like it?” He breaks off a row and passes it to me. The chocolate has a bit of bloom, but it’s been so long since I’ve
eaten any I scoff it down anyway.

  “Oh my god. This is so good.”

  He gives me another row, and this time I try to savour it, holding it my mouth until it turns gooey and soft.

  “I found it in the main bedroom, underneath the pillow. I guess the previous inhabitant was saving it, but then they didn’t come back.”

  I close my eyes as I swallow the last of the chocolate.

  “Do you want some more?” He holds the last row out to me.

  I eye it off. “I’d love it, but perhaps we should save it. At least until tomorrow. We’ll probably never find any more.”

  He wraps up the chocolate again, and sits it on the table. “That seems wise.”

  “So.” I rest my chin on my hands and look at him. “Are you responsible for that alarm out there?”

  He tilts his head to one side. “The can on the pole?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “That was already attached when I arrived. I assume the purpose was to attract the zombies to one end of town in order to keep the other end safe for the survivors.” He glances out the window. “It should have worked, too. I don’t understand why there aren’t more people here.”

  I shrug. “Unless they all moved on.”

  He looks back at me. “That is the only explanation that works.”

  “They probably went the opposite direction to where I’ve been travelling. To Launceston, or Hobart. There’d be more survivors, maybe, in an area with a higher population.” I shudder. “Then again, I dread to think how many zombies there are in those cities, with two hundred years worth of graves in the ground.”

  Daeztoh frowns. “Only two hundred years?”

  “You know Australia’s history, right? Two hundred years ago the English came and settled here. I mean, sure, there’s thousands of years of Indigenous lives, but I’m pretty certain they cremated their dead, so that’s not something we have to worry about.” I think of all centuries of buried dead across the rest of the world, and shudder. No wonder the world was destroyed so easily.