My Zombie Honeymoon: Love in the Age of Zombies Book One

by Evans, James K.

  “I can’t believe I took Xanax and drank beer! Normally I would have known better, but yesterday I wasn’t thinking straight. I still can’t believe I was stupid enough to get attacked. If not for you, I’d be dead!” she said, “or worse!”

  “So-o-o . . . tell me . . . how much of last night do you remember? After we got inside, I mean.” If she remembered getting tipsy and coming on to me, but pretended not to, it meant she regretted it. If she didn’t remember, all the better.

  “I remember you made us dinner, and I drank a few beers, and you showed me how your plant stuff works,” she said, “things get kind of fuzzy after that. I hope I didn’t do anything stupid!”

  “We made wild, passionate love until the cock crowed,” I lied.

  Her eyes grew wide with mock astonishment. “It crows?! Wow!”

  “As in cock-a-doodle-doo,” I said.

  “Oh, that’s too bad, I’ve never seen a cock crow,” she teased. “You know, where I’m from, once a man has sex with a woman, she’s considered his wife, my dear new hubby!” she said, as she wiped off the counter.

  “Well, isn’t that interesting!” I said, “Up here in Michigan, if a woman willingly has sex with a man she’s not married to, she becomes his slave. Now get me a cup of coffee,” I said, snapping my fingers.

  “Yes, master,” Michelle said demurely, pouring me a cup. “I don’t know how you like it—strong or weak, cream or sugar. I like it on the strong side and black as sin.”

  I took a sip. It was good. It was especially good because I didn’t make it.

  “Seriously,” she said, “I really am fuzzy about last night. Sometimes alcohol lowers my inhibitions, so if I said or did anything that made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” As she said this, her eyes were downcast and there was a beautiful blush of pink on her pretty cheeks. “And I don’t think I ever told you last night how wonderful it felt to take a hot shower. Despite the zombie guts. Ugh. All I’ve had for weeks is cold water. Given the circumstances, I think it really helped me feel human again to wash it all off and start to get re-centered.”

  I still wasn’t sure if she remembered what happened or not, but I decided it didn’t matter. It was a one-time accident. Hell, sometimes male and female friends slip up and have sex when they shouldn’t. It doesn’t have to ruin everything.

  “No problem. The next time I want to make wild, passionate love to you all night I’ll just have to remember to slip you a Xanax and a couple of beers. But I’m kind of insulted you don’t remember how good I was,” I joked. “In the meantime, I’d like your help in the plant room today.”

  “Do you have anything we can eat for breakfast first?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, and handed her a protein bar. “Enjoy it. I could make you some instant eggs, but they’re not very good and I’m trying to save them. Otherwise, you could have dry cereal with instant milk. Or I could make some oatmeal. Unless you want canned vegetables.”

  She looked at the protein bar and sighed. “I guess the days of bacon, eggs sunny-side up and toast are gone.”

  “Like my dad used to say, if we had some bacon, we could have some bacon and eggs, if we had some eggs!”

  “Maybe I’d like these protein bars better if they tasted like bacon and eggs. Or like toast and jelly. But having fake chocolate and caramel for breakfast just doesn’t cut it,” she said. “not that I’m complaining—I’ll take what I can get. Except oatmeal. I never have liked it. But I do miss a hot breakfast. And the stars. I miss lying on my back and staring up at the stars. Seeing an occasional meteor. I miss the night sky.”

  “There’s so much we miss we haven’t even thought of yet,” I said. “You know what I really miss?”

  “Having wild passionate sex all night?” She said, chewing another bite of her protein bar.

  “No, we had that last night, remember?”

  “Damn. No, I don’t remember. I wish I did. I hate to have missed all the fun.”

  “You won’t believe me, but I miss cutting the grass. To spend an hour walking around in circles, pushing a mower. The smell of fresh cut grass mixed with the smell of lawnmower exhaust. I really miss that.

  “All of the mundane things we took for granted but now long for. But I don’t miss shoveling the sidewalk.”

  “I miss laying out in the back yard, topless, a bottle of wine at my side and a good, sexy novel lying next to me as I doze off in the sun.”

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. There’s nothing better than feeling the sun baking your skin a golden brown. And a glass of wine to take the edge off whatever you’re trying not to think about.”

  I sat in silence, trying unsuccessfully to stop focusing on the image she planted in my brain. Of her laying out topless in the sun, her breasts tanning and her areola turning a dun shade of brown right outside my upper bedroom window. She was a girl after my own heart. I forced my thoughts back to the present. “Now that you’ve finished your breakfast buffet, bring your cup of coffee into the growing room and we’ll get started.”

  “Yes, master,” she quipped. Then she asked what we were going to do. I explained how I needed to set up another tray and lights. The germination rate of the kale and lettuce seeds was higher than I expected, and I wanted to get another crop going. I’m not wild about kale, but it’s much higher in nutritional content than lettuce. It has a good amount of zinc, niacin, potassium, protein, and fiber. I placed three twenty gallon reservoirs on the table. “What all do you have to eat?” she asked.

  “Everything we could want short term. Canned meat, tuna, canned vegetables and soups, dried fruits and nuts, crackers, peanut butter, powdered milk, protein powder . . . instant mashed potatoes, spaghetti sauce and noodles, MREs, boxed meals, ramen noodles . . . I even have some yeast if I want to make some bread.”

  “All the comforts of home,” she said, “but what I really miss is a fresh, hot pizza, delivered to my door. A pizza with the works.”

  “With plenty of hot sauce . . .” I added. My mouth was watering.

  I made a few trips for water and started filling the tubs. “I think we should limit our talk of food we miss. It’s only going to make us miss it more. Although I could go for some triple-chocolate ice-cream.”

  “With caramel topping,” she sighed. “Ah well. I’m very grateful for what you have, Kevin. You really planned well. I’m impressed. You’re not as dumb as you look.”

  “I couldn’t be and live,” I added. We both laughed at my lame joke. I finished adding water to the tubs but left the third one empty, as I wouldn’t need it for at least a month. “See those sheets of foam with holes in them? Would you put one each in these tubs?”

  “Yes, master,” she joked as she grabbed the foam sheets. Once the rafts were sitting on top of the water, I arranged the containers of fertilizer and the measuring cups.

  “Now here’s what we do. This first tray gets a quarter cup each of these two bottles. It’s two-stage fertilizer. Then add a tablespoon of this little bottle—it’s root stimulant. We add the airstone, allow it to settle down for a few hours, then we check the pH. Plants like their pH to be just right.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. I don’t always need to know why I’m doing, I just do what I’m told,” she said

  “I noticed that last night,” I joked.

  “Hey! No fair! I can’t defend myself if I don’t know what I did or didn’t do!”

  “You made me promise last night not to talk about it,” I offered.

  “You’re making that up! Besides, I know you’re joking because when I woke up I was still wearing my pajamas. I doubt I’d have them on if we’d gotten wild like you claim.”

  “Ah, but if you look close, you’ll notice you put them on inside out!”

  She looked at me skeptically then took a quick glance at her pajama bottoms. Then she came over and slugged me on the shoulder. ”You jerk! You almost had me believing you,” she said as I laughed hard. She couldn’t help but smile
herself. I attached the hose to the bubbler and airstone and placed it in the tub. It immediately started bubbling with the hissing sound I’ve come to know so well.

  “Let’s finish up putting those sprouts in the neti pots, and put the neti pots in the holes in the raft,” I directed. We spent about a half hour taking care of the plants, and then I showed her how to check the mature plants to make sure there weren’t any dead leaves to trim.

  “You have to keep the dead leaves trimmed, or they can start to rot and spread diseases.” I told her. We checked all the plants, even though I’d just done it yesterday.

  By the time we finished, it was well into the afternoon. I pointed out that she was still in her pajamas. I hadn’t gone out of my way to tell her earlier, as she looked so damn cute and sexy in them. Every opportunity I had, I took a quick glance at her bust and her ass. She caught me looking a few times but didn’t say anything, thank goodness.

  When I pointed out that she was still wearing jammies in the afternoon, she smiled and said, “I thought you’d never notice!” She hurried into the living room and pulled some clothes out of her boxes, then disappeared into the bathroom after asking if she could take a shower. We haven’t had much sun over the past few days, and the batteries are getting low, so I told her of course she could, and she didn’t need to ask, but to make it a short one.

  “Yes, master,” she smirked, “but I prefer long ones.”

  I stood there, a neti pot in my hand, trying unsuccessfully to think of a witty comeback, but failed. She grabbed the lantern and went into the bathroom. I heard her clothes rustle and the water come on, and just stood there, my imagination once again distracting me.

  Double damn this libido.

  When she came out of the bathroom, she’d already changed into jeans and a University of Michigan football shirt. Once again the clean smell of a hot shower wafted through the room.

  She looked and smelled delightful. Sometimes there’s nothing better than a beautiful woman, freshly showered, her skin rosy from the hot water and her hair still wet.

  For the hundredth time, I had to force my eyes to look in her eyes instead of at her breasts.

  “I was thinking—“ I said.

  “I thought I smelled something burning,” she quipped.

  “—that we should take one of the baby monitors upstairs and keep it on. So we can tell if anyone—or any thing—gets into the house.”

  Michelle agreed it was a good plan, so we headed upstairs. It was pretty chilly in the house, and I was once again thankful I’d gotten the gas heater. We quietly prowled around the house, peering out the windows. The zombies were still out there, at least as many as had been there the day before. They appeared to still be agitated, congregating more around my house than any other. Their rasping sounds were disheartening.

  I don’t know whether it’s some kind of residual memory from yesterday or if they somehow actually know we’re in here. Even from behind the window, looking at them in the state of decay—one had an eye hanging out of the socket, many of them had obvious broken bones—I could almost smell them. Michelle took one look and did an about-face—I don’t think she’ll be ready to see a zombie for a while.

  Michele looked around the house. I think she was snooping as much as anything. Looking in all the rooms, checking out my place. “I’m sorry to ask this, but how long ago did you say your wife died?” she asked quietly. We spoke in near whispers the entire time we were upstairs.

  “It was ten years ago this July,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, no offense, but you haven’t updated the house since then, have you?”

  “No, I didn’t see any reason to. This furniture is in good shape, and besides, she did the decorating. It made me feel like she was still here in some way. I didn’t have the heart to change things. We had a great marriage. She wasn’t just my wife—she was my best friend with benefits, my partner in crime, my sister, my mother, my daughter, and my drinking buddy.”

  “Partner in crime?” she whispered. We were standing close together in the upstairs hallway.

  “When she was getting chemotherapy, we treated the nausea with homegrown medical marijuana. That’s how I got interested in hydroponics.”

  “Was it legal back then?” she asked me.

  “No. But I didn’t care. We were very discreet and were only using it for medicinal reasons. Or at least she was. I found it very relaxing and it helped to ease the emotional pain I was going through when I realized she might not make it.”

  “Do you think it should be legal?” she asked. I just stared at her, waiting for her to think through what she just asked. “Oh. Right. I guess it doesn’t matter if it was or wasn’t legal before—there are no laws now. But when your wife smoked it, did it help?”

  “It helped us both. I mean, we think it slowed the rate of cancer, and it helped her tolerate the pain and nausea. It increased her quality of life. I was truly grateful. None of the prescription drugs were nearly as good, and they all had much worse side effects. After she died, I put the rest of the pot in a closet and haven’t touched it since.”

  “What makes you think it slowed the rate of cancer?”

  “She lived longer than most of the other patients at the cancer center. I doubt many of them were smoking. I know it’s only anecdotal, but still . . . Have you ever smoked pot?”

  “I used to smoke when I was in college if someone brought some out at a party. I never bought any myself. Back then it was an urban legend that getting a woman high made her horny, so guys always had some at parties,” she said with a faraway look on her face. “Since then, I’ve heard about all the ways patients use it. I’ve read some fascinating studies about using it medicinally. Seems like it might be good to grow some.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind, but I doubt the seeds I have are still viable. Maybe once the dust settles, we’ll think about it. Does it really make women horny?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  “Maybe one day you’ll find out,” she said conspiratorially, “maybe we’ll mix it with Xanax and alcohol.

  “Okay, fine,” I whispered, watching her grin. “I made it up. We didn’t really have wild sex all night.”

  “As if I didn’t know.”

  “We only had wild sex for a couple of hours. Then you fell asleep, exhausted but happy, after telling me how incredible I was.”

  “Mmm-hmmm. I’m sure I said that. Just like I’m sure you have a ten inch penis.”

  “Ah-hah! So you do remember!” I crowed.

  She rolled her eyes and said, “I surrender.”

  “I love it when a woman says that,” I said dreamily.

  Looking around the kitchen, at my outdated appliances and countertops, she whispered back, “Haven’t heard it much in the past decade, have you?” Ouch. That one hit a bit too close to home, and I had no comeback. I placed the radio on the kitchen counter and turned it on. We headed downstairs, secured the trap door, and Michelle offered to fix us some dinner. While she was doing this, I played some CDs I’d grabbed while I was upstairs. That was probably a bad idea—the music reminded me of Tammy.

  We made small talk while we ate, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Tammy. I was reminiscing, and sadness seeped into me. Michelle apparently sensed this or might have been feeling the same thing, because she kept to herself as well. After dinner, I let her pick out a DVD for us to watch. She picked out a movie she’d brought over, Love Actually, which was very good, but in some ways made me feel worse.

  All in all, especially when compared to the night before, it was a very subdued evening. When the movie was over, I told her I was tired and was going to bed.

  As she said goodnight, I headed for the bedroom. Just before I got there she said, “Oh, and Kevin, just so you know: I was only joking this morning when I said I liked to sunbathe topless. I was getting even with for you claiming we had wild sex all night.” Her voice dropped down to a near whisper. “What I really do is sunbathe completely nude!” S
he then smiled at me and winked.

  I couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. I stared at her for a second then closed the bedroom door.

  I don’t know how late she stayed up—the grow room lights are on a timer, so she didn’t have to turn any lights off. Before I dozed off I heard the sound of the air mattress inflating. I fell asleep, wishing she was Tammy. Wishing I could smell Tammy’s scent just one more time. Wishing I could tell her one more time how much I love her, and how much I miss her.

  I shed a few tears, lying there alone in the dark. It’s been awhile since I’ve cried about Tammy—or anything else.

  Brittle

  brit·tle: adjective. Easily damaged or destroyed; fragile; frail:

  My heart is brittle.

  One errant thought of you

  and I will be undone

  I have to believe

  that part of you still exists

  can you hear my voice?

  can you feel my thoughts?

  has everything that was you

  disappeared?

  “In Flander’s Field the poppies grow”

  those blooms and those words

  are all that is remembered

  of the men who fell that day.

  But there are no poppies for you.

  No words or poems

  to remember you by

  no one to recall unwritten words.

  my recollection of you

  is all that prevents you

  from being unwritten.

  My heart is brittle.

  you are nearly unwritten

  and again

  I am undone

  And again.

  November 26th

  I woke up this morning still feeling blue. I couldn’t recall my dreams, but I felt a strong sense of loss. When I smelled the coffee brewing, I knew Michelle was awake, and somehow my heart was eased. I dressed and went out to see what she was up to.

  Michelle was already out of her pajamas (by that I mean she was wearing jeans and a sweater), sitting on the sofa drinking a cup of coffee. The mattress was deflated and pushed under the sofa.