by Pippa Jay
"Access granted."
Connor pushed inside, then slammed the door closed behind him and leaned on it, panting like he'd run the whole way home. Crap. All this panic was going to kill him long before a zombie or old age did.
After a few moments, he took a look at his surroundings. The entrance hall to the apartment building wasn't much. The front door, with its lock, and a long window took up the front of the room. Another door set nearby was marked Maintenance, a third marked as Stairs, and directly in front of him the doors to the elevator.
Legs shaking, Connor pushed away from the support of the main door and stumbled toward the elevator. He didn't even know which floor he lived on, which apartment, but entering the elevator and waving his One-Dee at the controls sent him upward, thirty floors to the penthouse suite.
Penthouse? Wow, his family must have had some serious money. Not only did they have the biggest and highest apartment in the building, but the elevator took him straight into it instead of opening onto a landing.
As the doors slid open, Connor held his breath. What would he find? The unperturbed perfection of the hospital and city, or... the bodies of his family? The same automated clean up systems existed everywhere, but would a domestic facility be as thorough as the public utilities? Were they still alive in that vegetative state the Mentor had kept insisting wasn't the same as a zombie?
No one came to meet him. No loving family, but no ravening monsters either. Disappointment warred with relief. He didn't get to die today, but he was still alone.
Still not sure, Connor edged into the place supposed to be his home. Of course, that could be as much of a lie as anything else, other than the very real zombie that had attacked the car. Up until then, he wondered if anything he'd been told or experienced was real. The zombie could have been a fake too, but not the scare it had given him. Wait, maybe it was just someone dressed up?
Connor shook his head. Things were bad enough without making up a load of conspiracy shit and wallowing in paranoia as well as self-pity. At least here he might learn something more about the world he'd lost.
Like the city, the apartment was pristine, not even the normal clutter you'd expect of a place lived in. Perhaps because no one did live in it anymore. The elevator had opened into a small reception room with a couple of chairs, tubular light fittings on the pale cream walls, and various doors leading off, all closed. The ceiling was a pyramid of clear glass and metal struts letting the sunlight flood in, the floor copper and bronze tiles. He clenched his hands, uncertain which door to choose, before heading for the one straight ahead.
As Connor entered, sunlight dazzled him and he raised a hand to shield his eyes. He'd picked the main living room, perhaps by chance, but perhaps something still remained in his memory. Glass windows surrounded three sides of the room, which was far longer than it was wide. The city outside glimmered and sparkled in the bright light, shining towers that still didn't fit with the idea of a dead world. Neither did this room. A huge screen occupied one wall, faced by a semi-circular cream leather couch big enough to seat a family more than twice the size he'd been told his was. A long ledge ran beneath the screen, with digital photos still scrolling through their programmed slide shows. To his right, an extendable black glass table with a dozen matching chairs formed a dining area, with black cabinets lining the walls around them. He recognized a big cabinet on the wall as a food synthesizer, much like the one he'd used in the hospital, but sleeker. A more expensive model, he guessed. At the opposite end, big glass doors took up the whole of the wall, and beyond them a huge balcony set with metal furniture, a massive adjustable sunshade, a swimming pool, and window boxes full of plants overlooked the streets below.
Connor's mouth went dry. None of this was familiar. Nothing sparked anything in his memory other than unease and a deeper sense of loss. It didn't matter that his family had clearly been well off, and he wasn't going to starve or want for much in the way of comfort. What about all the other stuff? Arguments with the family, goofing off with friends, and hanging out together?
And now that he was here, he was hardly going to leave. He couldn't go for a walk, go shopping, or play soccer. Right now he couldn't even face the thought of just going for a drive. What was the point? He'd never feel safe going out the front door to get in another car, and aside from more zombie encounters, nothing else was out there. Connor slumped into the couch and buried his head in his hands. Then he cried until the sunlight faded and nighttime claimed him.
***
Connor stared at the screen. "Channel Ninety-eight."
Blackness.
"Channel Ninety-nine."
A flicker, then black again.
"Channel One hundred." The same.
Connor rubbed his eyes, flinching as the rasp of stubble scraped over the edge of his hands. One hundred channels and nada. Not even automated services or public information broadcasts. No "beware of the zombies" or "stay in your homes". Not one thing.
A permanent sense of futility settled inside him, a tightness in his throat. He swallowed. He'd tried everything. No answers to his phone calls other than automated systems. Not a single damn TV channel operating. Static pages on the internet that hadn't been updated since before the date of the bioweapon. As if the city had just shut off everything about it in the same way that Connor's memory had failed. Maybe the city didn't want to remember the apocalypse any more than he wanted to remember the world he'd lost.
He sighed. "Entertainment, please."
Options filled the screen, the first sign of life in the system since he'd switched it on. Games, movies, books, home photos and videos, instant messaging options and internet. For an instant hope flared in his chest, but the chat-line icon registered zero people available. No better than he'd done with the phone. He sighed again.
"Games."
The orange symbol filled the screen, swamping the others. New icons scattered themselves and he shook his head, eyes aching. "Um, shoot em up."
More options. Something caught his eye. "That one. Ultra Zombie Apocalypse."
The game loaded and the start screen filled with shambling figures shuffling through the ruins of a city. Connor shuddered. It was nothing like his city, and these zombies weren't like the discolored wreck of a man he'd seen from the car, but it set his back pricking with sweat.
He lifted the gun-shaped remote and aimed it at the screen. "Begin." Hell, if I can get hold of a proper gun I can do this for real...
****
More pictures of the girl on his One-Dee decorated his room. Connor had figured out it was his by the size of the clothing in the wardrobe, by the soccer cups and awards, and from comic book character slide show posters constantly changing on his walls. Even so, he'd felt like an intruder. The Connor Innis who had slept, read, and played in this room, and whatever else he might have got up to including the electric guitar hanging on his wall, had died. The day he fell into a coma, the old Connor had ceased to exist. Now he felt like some interloper moving in, uncomfortable among all the stuff that every piece of logic said belonged to him. After a few days, he cleared everything out, aside from his clothing, dumping them into one of his brother's rooms—Darren's as far as he could be sure. Then he stripped the walls too, chucked out the awards and most of the scrolling photographs. But he couldn't quite bring himself to throw out her pictures. Instead he'd lie in bed and watch them changing, hoping he'd remember something about her, about the real Connor who'd lived here. He'd fall asleep still hoping, to dreams of her, of another life that he still couldn't be sure was really his or just imagination based on the evidence. Each morning he'd wake feeling more tired than before he'd gone to sleep, more empty and bitter each time until it became a monster eating him up from inside.
One morning, after another tormented night, he raced out onto the balcony, grabbed the rail, ready to throw himself over. He stopped, hanging there, a chill wind tugging at him and the street below swaying wildly in his vision. What am I doing? Had he been
through it all, the Mentor's torturous program, slept through the end of the world, just to kill himself?
Hard, cold reality hit him like iced water and he stepped back. There had to be something more to life than this. Instead of moping around, he should go out looking. Try calling more numbers. Maybe even venture to the edge of the city and see if people had made it out there. He shook his head. He didn't even know what was outside the city.
He forced himself to let go of the rail that he'd clutched so hard his fingers had locked, then pushed himself away from the balcony, feeling sick and dizzy. What was he going to do with the rest of his life? Play games and watch zombie movies over and over again, hoping to figure out how to fix this? Who was he to put any of this shit right?
He laughed, because the alternative was crying or screaming. He flung his arms wide, facing into the sun, letting it warm his skin and dazzle his eyes.
"I'm king of the world!" he screamed at the city. "King of the universe!"
His voice echoed across the city for a moment, before becoming lost in the sound of the wind. Just as he was lost, nothing but the ghost of a human in a city of the dead.
"To hell with this." He dropped his arms and went to the balcony again. "To hell with everything." He stared down at the street below...and someone stared back. "Whoa."
The surprise came like a punch to his chest. Someone stood there, looking at him. Elation flooded him with white heat, and tears stung his eyes. "Hey! Hey!" He waved madly with both arms. "Hey, who are you?"
No answer came, but as another figure shuffled from a nearby road Connor's heart hit the floor. The second figure limped across to join the first in silent stares.
He dropped to the floor and turned his back on the balcony. His head sank onto his knees and he wrapped his arms around his legs, as he sat and rocked on the cold stone floor. Zombies. Just zombies. He should have thrown himself over and finished it.
****
Connor crawled out of bed. He stank. He hadn't showered or changed in days. The only thing that got him up was the growling in his stomach, and the inability to sleep 24/7. The food replicator wouldn't give him alcohol or any kind of medication. Somehow the whole city conspired to keep him alive.
He shuffled into the kitchen and ordered a triple shot espresso. If he was going to be awake, he might as well do it properly. Cup in hand, he wandered out onto the rooftop and leaned against the balcony.
Then the call sign from the door downstairs buzzed and his heart jumped up his throat. What the hell? Connor held his breath, listening.
Only the wind through the city answered him.
He must have imagined it.
He really was going mad.
Then it buzzed again, unmistakable. He dropped his coffee and staggered toward the elevator, his legs stiff. Someone wanted to come in. Someone else must be alive. He wasn't alone!
The elevator didn't move fast enough. He willed it down with everything he had, tapping his fingers on the wall. What if the zombies got to them first? What if they gave up and left?
Connor barely gave the doors a chance to open before he forced himself through and rushed to the door. At the last instant, he hesitated and peered through the window first.
There was a zombie outside the window, staring in. Every last fragment of hope that he'd had curled up and died. Not a person. Just a zombie at the door, setting off the buzzer probably by pure chance. He might as well have thrown himself off the balcony.
Heart pounding hard enough to make his chest ache, Connor stood very still. He stared into the misted grey orbs of her eyes. She stared right back. Not at him, but through him, as though something infinitely more desirable lay far beyond anything she could see. He read a kind of dull desperation in her blank face. A longing. Even if that longing was just to tear him apart and devour him. Or maybe that was his imagination.
"Hello?" His voice came out as a dry croak and he wet his lips. He had to try something. He couldn't spend the rest of his life in silence and alone. Even this poor shell of a human was better than that. And maybe—just maybe—he could reach her. Maybe even help her find a fragment of her lost humanity. "Can you hear me?"
No sound or movement. No response at all.
Despair squeezed his throat. The hospital Monitor said the victims didn't suffer brain damage. The virus just stopped all the normal responses, isolating higher functions from their basic animal instincts. Even animals could react to a voice.
"Hey!" He banged on the glass, but even that didn't break her hungry stare. Perhaps she couldn't hear him, let alone understand or respond. Losing those higher functions must have included any communication ability.
Connor sighed, then placed his palm flat on the glass. "I wish you understood me. I wish you hadn't all got sick when I didn't." He rested his forehead on the glass and closed his eyes. "I really wish I could help you."
A moment later a dull thud and a vibration in the glass drew his attention. He raised his head.
She hadn't moved from staring. But her hand pressed against his, separated only by the glass.
Connor shivered, heart racing. Okay, it wasn't much. It might be as much as she was ever capable of. But surely it must be some indication a remnant of intelligence or consciousness had prompted her to match his gesture.
Or maybe it was just a coincidence. Her feeble attempt to reach him, to touch the flesh she craved. He sucked in a breath, and deliberately placed his other hand on the window. He waited.
The girl stood with the shallow rise and fall of her chest the only movement other than a breeze stirring the ragged tatters of her hair. Then she slapped her other hand onto the window to match his.
He blew out a breath, half laughter, half despair. Nothing else about her changed—her expression, her stance—but she'd deliberately copied his gestures. Once could be chance. Twice must mean something. Behind those dead eyes, something still survived.
"Hey, zombie girl? Wanna play?" He moved one of his hands farther off to the side. It took her a while, but again she copied. Connor laughed. For a few more minutes he shifted his hands around the window, and each time she duplicated the move. Then just as suddenly, she dropped both her hands and shuffled away.
"Hey!" Disappointment crushed him. It was hardly flirting, but it was the closest thing to human interaction he'd had since awakening. "Hey, come back!"
She disappeared out of sight, and his shoulders dropped. Wow, if he felt this bad being abandoned by a zombie, how would a real life rejection from a real live girl feel?
Connor sighed, waiting for a few moments to see if she'd wander back to play. Nothing. Not even another zombie. Perhaps she'd got tired of what was a pretty sorry excuse for interaction, or maybe she'd just gotten hungry.
An idea flashed into his head. Pickings in the city must be slim now all the humans were either dead or zombified, one reason perhaps they were hanging around his apartment block so much. Connor had the food synthesizer that would make anything he asked for, and since he was all alone, his supplies were unlimited. He could try luring her back.
Excitement putting some energy into his steps, he darted back into the elevator and up to his apartment, racing into the kitchen.
"Steak, rare," he ordered the synthesizer. "Enough to feed, oh, about six adults."
The machine hummed for a while, before delivering the bloody meat. Connor wrinkled his nose at the smell of it, essentially raw flesh sitting in a scarlet puddle. Holding it at arm's length, he went out onto the balcony and scouted around for any sign of his zombie girl.
There she was. Even at this distance, he could still make out the lurid patterns on her dress. Question was, could he get the food down to her without it actually hitting her? Wasn't it dangerous to drop even soft objects from a great height onto people?
Connor stared at the plate. Plus he would have to touch this stuff, with his bare hands. He gulped as his stomach churned. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He put the plate down on the nearby ledge and looked
over, sucking in a breath.
And the zombie girl stared up at him from down below. He froze. Could she see him? Did she know it was him? Or was she just naturally attracted to movement?
Connor had raised his hand to wave before it struck him how dumb an idea that was. He let it fall. But she still stared up at him.
"Oh, what the hell..." He grabbed the plate and moved to the side, before dumping the whole lot over the rail. The meat splattered into the pavement with a disgusting squelching sound, making a huge scarlet splash across the ground. He swallowed again, imagining how his body might have exploded in the same way if he'd thrown himself over.
The moment it hit, the zombie girl looked down, then threw herself into it, scooping handfuls of the splattered mess into her mouth until her arms were streaked in blood.
"Gross." Connor clenched his jaw to beat the rising nausea, yet couldn't help but watch. Toward the end, she had her face to the floor. The way she moved meant she was probably licking the stuff from the pavement.
"That's just..." Connor retched and flew to the bathroom, to heave dryly for several minutes. Stomach aching, he waited until the feeling passed completely, then grabbed himself a glass of cold, clear water before venturing back onto the balcony. A red splatter marked where the meat had met its messy fate, but no sign of any remains...or of his girl.
"Well that's gratitude for you," he muttered. She hadn't even stuck around to say thanks. Yeah, like that would ever happen. You'd be lucky if she didn't have you for dessert. Connor sighed, then shivered. The sun had started to dip below the edge of the towers, and the evening chill was moving in. With a last hopeful look for his zombie girl that came up empty, he headed back inside and shut the glass doors behind him.
****
Zombie Girl was back. Her regular visits had earned her the nickname permanently now, since he couldn't even guess what her real name might have been. After the first couple of days, she'd soon picked up that Connor was willing to feed her whenever she appeared. It had been random to begin with, but now she came every evening, just before the sun started to set, to gaze up with hopeful eyes. At least, he imagined they were hopeful. He couldn't see from this distance, and had no intention of going down to find out.