Love, Lust, and Zombies

by Mitzi Szereto

  “I can’t even do anything about it, what with those cameras on me all the time. Can you imagine the kinds of experiments Fleming might put me through if he knew I got a hard-on every fucking day?”

  In a snap he was directly in front of her. “You’re the only woman I’ve seen in over a year. You’re it. I can still smell you in here long after you’ve gone.”

  “Robbie, step back.” Her throat had dried up and her words came out as a rasp. They did nothing to get him to back off.

  “You’re as much of a monster as I am. You’re barely human. That’s why you sit with me like you do. That’s why it hurts you when they work on me.”

  “I don’t…”

  As Robbie bent toward her, Deanna tilted her chin and brought her hands up between them. His tongue slipped between his lips. With his gaze on her mouth, she knew what he was going to do, and she had no idea how to stop it.

  Deanna parted her lips to speak, and Robbie closed in.

  Somewhere in the background she heard a buzzing. She knew that Knox wasn’t even going to ask this time before acting.

  When she spoke, it was against Robbie’s mouth. “But you’re not human anymore.”

  He froze.

  Behind her, the heavy door opened. “Robbie, back off.”

  Robbie didn’t move from where he stood. He merely glared at Knox.

  “It’s all right.” Deanna’s fingers shook as she collected her notebook from the table.

  “No, Dr. Greer,” Knox said. He moved slowly into the cell, pistol in hand. “It’s not all right. Robbie, don’t make me tell you again. Go sit on your cot. Right now.“

  “I’m leaving anyway.” She turned and faced Knox. He stood ready to shoot. Though he had strict orders not to aim above the neck, Deanna knew he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet into Robbie to immobilize him if he felt he had to.

  At the door, she glanced over her shoulder. Robbie still hadn’t moved. She passed Knox and waited for him to back over the threshold.

  By the time the second door slammed behind her, she felt like throwing up.

  “Are you going to put that in your report, Doc?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I didn’t think so. Not like it matters. When Fleming sees—”

  “Erase it.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Fleming will want to use this and Robbie’s right. I don’t even want to think of what they’d make him do if they saw what just happened.”

  “Dr. Greer, Deanna—”

  “Say there was a glitch or something.” His mouth hardened and Deanna shook her head. “You know as well as I do that he’d never lay a finger on me.”

  “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  She entered the code to leave the booth. “I’m going to suggest his sleep disruption is causing some of his behavioral problems. An hour ought to be enough. What he chooses to do with it is up to him.”

  It felt good to sound detached and clinical as she headed toward the stairs. It gave her a little shot of control and she carried herself well until she stepped into the stairwell.

  And then she broke down.

  Three nights later, at a quarter to midnight, Deanna sat on the edge of her bed with the little white sleeping pill pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

  She had reported to Fleming and made her recommendation. It had worked. Robbie was going to three hours of semidarkness every night. Fleming had surprised her with how easily he had conceded, but she had made a good argument. Besides, anything that suggested Robbie was becoming more human pleased Fleming.

  There was no mention of the incident. Knox had come through for her, and no one questioned his explanation. Outages and glitches were common at Walker Mountain.

  Robbie refused to say a single word to her since his outburst. When she entered his cell, he sat with his back to her and refused to acknowledge her presence in the slightest. It bothered her. It wasn’t one of his moods. This was different. He was turning on her.

  It had crossed her mind that they would “turn him off” one day. There would soon be other specimens; maybe he wouldn’t be needed any longer.

  At least not to the doctors. To everyone else, Robbie made the difference between giving up and hope. Everyone needed the hope he represented. Some days, it felt to Deanna like she needed it the most.

  He was right. She needed him as much as he needed her. Maybe more.

  She placed the pill on the nightstand and moved through her apartment to dress. Fifteen minutes later, she slipped into the booth and greeted Knox.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” she said quietly.

  “Four hours at a time. Got two hours to go before I can hit the hay.”

  She pulled a can of cold beer from the deep pocket of her hoodie. “Want one?”

  Knox’s brows went up. “Hell yeah. Where’d you get that?”

  “You’d be surprised what they’re hiding around here.” He reached out and she held it over his head. “Go find somewhere to drink it.”

  “Deanna, I can’t.”

  “Don’t stop breaking the rules on me now.”

  He regarded her carefully, his eyes flicking from her face to the beer, and then he got to his feet. “You win. Just keep your distance, all right?”

  “I know.”

  Once he left, Deanna took his seat and peered into the crimson haze. The cell wasn’t black, but blanketed in a sleepy red glow emanating from the backup lights that automatically kicked in. As usual, Robbie slept facing the wall.

  After a moment of just staring at the figure on the cot, she stopped the camera and let herself in.

  He rolled onto his back at her entry. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but she felt the guarded stillness emanate from him as she approached. In the red light, she couldn’t detect the difference in his pallor that set him apart from all other men.

  She pulled another beer from inside her sweater. “Truce?”

  The springs creaked as he swung his legs over the edge of the cot. He took the beer, popped the tab and drank. He kept his eyes on hers. Deanna kept her eyes on his throat as he swallowed.

  After he had finished off every drop, she slid next to him.

  “This is your idea of a truce?”

  “Did it work?”

  “It’s not my brand, but I guess it’s a start.”

  Deanna laughed. “You know what, Robbie? I miss peanut butter cups, too. And I miss cigarettes and soap operas.”

  “Maybe one day...” he began, but Deanna didn’t want to hear the rest. One day didn’t exist any longer.

  She turned toward him and touched his knee.

  Robbie’s gaze followed her hand as it slid along his thigh. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re alive,” she whispered, and leaned in so their faces were as close as they had been the other day. “You may be pumped full of chemicals and have something inside your head that makes you walk and talk, but you’re still alive. You breathe, you eat, and you piss, and you sleep just like the rest of us. Like me.”

  Robbie closed his hand over her wrist. “I don’t want it if it’s only to keep me on my best behavior.”

  “It’s not that. Believe me.”

  She shook free of his grip and pressed her hand against his chest, just above where his heart beat. He didn’t move as she closed the gap between them, until her mouth was almost against his.

  “The cameras are off and Knox took a walk. Live and breathe with me, just for a little while.”

  She touched her tongue to his bottom lip, and Robbie pulled her closer.

  What started as a slow exploration became chaotic. Deanna yanked at his clothes while he struck out at her with impatient hands, shoving her hoodie away, peeling her tank top over her head and shoving her sweatpants down.

  He pushed her crossways over the cot. The red light made his scars stand out, bold and hideous. Hard thighs held hers apart and his hard cock bobbed against her belly.

  Electricity seemed to sp
ark from the ends of her fingertips as she touched him, tracing the map of lines across his chest. His eyelids fluttered shut as her hand moved lower, over his belly, and wrapped around his erection. She never took her eyes off of his face as she positioned the tip at the wet mouth of her cunt.

  Perhaps it was the length of time it had been since she’d been with a man; maybe it was because this was Robbie, who had once thrown a stuffed monkey at her when he was frustrated but couldn’t speak; maybe it was what he was, but the sense of the unknown took her breath away.

  He went deep, his breath coming out as a moan as he buried himself. His second stroke was slow indulgence as the length rubbed against her G-spot.

  An insane bubble of laughter hitched at the back of Deanna’s throat. So many hours spent analyzing his physical capabilities and just how human he could be.

  She shuddered and closed her legs around him.

  Keeping a steady pace, Robbie lowered himself onto his forearms and rested his forehead against hers. “You haven’t been with anyone else since this all started, have you?”

  She shook her head. “Can you tell?”

  “You’re really tight.”

  His skin was warm under her exploring hands. If it wasn’t for those wretched scars rubbing against her, she could have forgotten what he really was and where they were.

  She understood his fierce words now. She had been dehumanized. The end of the world, the drugs, her loneliness and trying to understand it all had robbed her of her humanity.

  Now that he was giving some of it back to her, one hard thrust at a time, Deanna found she was ravenous for it.

  She dug her fingernails into his ass. “Fuck me, Robbie. Harder.”

  He rose up on his hands. A grimace came over his face as he pounded into her. She tipped her head back, releasing energy in a moan as the friction against her slick inner walls spread through her entire body.

  “Can I come inside you?”

  She opened her eyes. The frown he wore clued her in to the question behind the question. Could this infect you?

  “It’s only in the bite,” she said in a pant. “Only in the bite.”

  He shifted, arching his back. He was done giving; now he was taking. The cot squealed as he slammed into her.

  She’d never come first before, ever, but her orgasm hit her like a rocket. The red haze of the room vanished, replaced by splotches of white and gold that burst before her eyes. As her cunt squeezed around his cock, she squeezed her eyes shut and kept on begging.

  Harder. Harder—don’t stop!

  Deanna couldn’t drag her eyes away from his visage as it transformed. Violent need manifested itself in the sneer that pulled his lips up over his teeth.

  She met his final thrust with one of her own, her moan echoing his when his cock throbbed and he emptied inside of her.

  Deanna closed her eyes and sighed as he turned his face into the damp slope of her neck.

  I’m alive again.

  “He’s incredibly cooperative this week.”

  Dr. Fleming said this with a pleased chirp to his voice. She stood next to him before the small rectangular window that overlooked the lab.

  On the floor below them, Robbie ran on a treadmill. Sweat ran down his bare chest as he pumped his legs in an unbreakable pace. His eyes focused forward.

  She wondered where he was in his head. She couldn’t imagine he stayed there as half a dozen doctors milled around the room. Did he visit the life he had led before his death? A fantasy?

  Or was he alone in the dark with her?

  “I told you a few hours of privacy a night would do him good. A few hours in which he doesn’t have to think about being a science experiment.”

  Fleming chuckled. “He’s much more than that.”

  “That’s not how he sees it.”

  The treadmill stopped and Robbie stepped off. He took a deep breath, planted his hands on his narrow hips, and looked up. His gaze found Deanna.

  “There will be others,” Fleming said, “but I think we still have a lot to learn from Robbie. We know so much about the flesh and blood, but we’ve only scratched the surface when it comes to the psychological impact.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You can’t learn much more by turning him off. Start integrating him. He needs what makes us all. That’s what he’s getting.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She held Robbie’s gaze through the window. “He’s getting his humanity back.”

  SMILE

  Laura Huntley

  Nothing feels more eerie than a silent playground: the still swings, the motionless roundabout, the suffocating quiet. Gone are the giddy shrieks and happy laughter of children; they are forgotten echoes. There’s nobody here, except me. I sit on the bench and just look. I used to bring my little sister here. I would stand at the bottom of the slide as she deliberated, high up at the top. She would bite her bottom lip, nervous at first, but with a little encouragement and promises to catch her at the end, she would come flying down, her long blonde hair flailing behind her and joy in her big blue eyes. The memories hurt, all of the memories hurt, but at least when I feel the pain, I know that I am still alive.

  The others don’t understand what that means. We argue a lot about this. They say that the struggle to remain alive is about survival, extreme caution, barricades and only leaving the house if we absolutely have to. That isn’t life, not to me; that’s existing, eking out a few more hours, and then a few more, and then a few more until it has been another day.

  I have to venture out. I would go crazy cooped up in that house all the time, far crazier than the creatures we hide from. I need to feel the air on my skin; I have to watch the rolling clouds and let my ears find noise, a trickling stream in the background, the squawk of a passing bird, anything. Each morning, I say good-bye to their disapproving eyes and pursed lips. Each night, they look surprised to see me, shocked and amazed that I made it again. They check me for bites and grazes, suspicious that I can take care of myself. I’m not stupid, I don’t advertise my presence, and I am methodical. I stay in the shadows mostly, out of sight. There aren’t as many of them as they think and I am faster and more coordinated. Occasionally, if there is a crowd of them, I pretend to be just like they are. I adopt the same slight shuffle and vacant expression and remain undetected, blending into their sorry world.

  I do feel genuine sympathy for them, but I am definitely the only person in the house that does. Of course they are dangerous, but I still view them as people. They once had full lives, families and friends; they loved and were loved in return. To see them wandering so aimlessly and without hope is heartbreaking.

  I think of my little sister again and desolate tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I still can’t say her name, despite all the time that has now passed. She didn’t make it. I fought so hard to keep her safe with me, but it was too difficult to conceal her once she had turned. Our neighbor shot her in the head. She died quickly. I gaze at my hands. They are clean now. But sometimes I think I see her blood. I close my eyes as the harrowing flashback consumes me; the excruciating agony never lets go.

  That’s when I hear it, the snap of a twig beneath a shoe. I stay as still as I can and hold my breath. There it is again, footsteps behind me. I open my eyes and I can feel my heart beating wildly in my chest. As slowly as I dare, I turn around. A man. One of them. He is still some distance away but he is heading in my direction. I have to remind myself to breathe. He stares straight ahead. I gingerly look around me and I see the tree, a few yards away on my right. I contemplate making a dash for it and climbing quickly up the thick branches. I know that I can do it because I have done it before, years ago. My sister’s kite had got tangled and her bottom lip sulked so I went up and retrieved it for her. I know that if I make a run for it, I will be drawing attention to myself and that doesn’t feel like the best idea. Also, he has all the time in the world; I could be stuck up that tree for all eternity.

  I
wonder why he’s alone. Just as with us, over time they tend to congregate. Even they must subconsciously feel the need to stay together. I haven’t seen one out alone for a while. What has he been doing out here in the woods? He’s getting nearer now but I am certain that he hasn’t even noticed me; I can’t understand how that could be. I tell myself that I ought to move but it has become a peculiar experiment. Something is different about him. He’s close. I panic, concerned that my actions are outrageously stupid, yet I am frozen to the spot. He’s in his own world as he walks on by.

  I study his features and I realize that, actually, he is quite beautiful. He has shoulder-length dirty-blond hair and dark-brown eyes. He wears a black leather jacket and other than a small cut to his cheek and some rips to his jeans, he doesn’t appear as though he has had too brutal an experience. He walks to the other side of the playground and sits on a bench, just like me. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. He hasn’t noticed me; I feel invisible. He has such a handsome face. He’s tall, well built and, just for a moment, I forget he is one of them. I concoct a lurid daydream in my head where I strip him naked and drop to my knees. In another lifetime, I would have chased him; he is exactly my type. Arousal races around my body, which comes as a shock; it has been an awfully long time since I thought of such things. My cheeks blush scarlet at the insane notion. I need to compose myself and stay alert.

  He stands again and I watch him as he slowly walks, as they all do, as though putting one foot in front of the other has become a forgotten and challenging task. I admire his cheekbones; he has such a perfectly sculpted face. I admire his ass. I feel like a voyeur; it is surely wrong to be thinking such thoughts but I can’t seem to stop them. What the hell has got into me? He approaches the swings and stops for a moment and hesitates. I am convinced that he’s trying to piece together a memory, but everyone says that they can’t recollect their past, that they don’t feel anymore. The confused and anguished expression in his face makes me doubt everything that I thought I knew.

  He stops by a swing, the one in the middle, and he pushes it. He looks upset but compelled to do it. I suddenly feel like crying and before I know it, salty tears begin to wet my face. I long to dash back and tell the others what I am witnessing but I don’t think they would believe me. He’s weeping and I am so moved that I find my feet plodding toward him. I know that I am risking everything but I cannot stop. I walk as calmly as possible, hoping that he might believe that I am one of them.