Page 4 of Zomromcom
Since the First Breach, mail carriers and package delivery drivers hadn’t been permitted to work within the Containment Zone anymore, so all the Zone’s inhabitants were obliged to venture outside the walled area for mail service.
Now that her custom soapmaking business had become relatively successful, she usually drove to the post office two or three times a week.
Which was fine by her, since one of her few real-life friends, Kelvin, worked there, and sometimes he had a couple minutes to chat. Not today, though.
“By the time I got out, the sun was about to set, and I had no food in my refrigerator or time to grocery shop, so I grabbed a burrito before heading home. I was just glad the Zone’s entry door wasn’t malfunctioning again, or else I’d have run even later.
” She frowned, thinking about the sequence of events.
“I didn’t see you when I drove up, and if you’d seen me, you wouldn’t have been parading around in all your sheepskin-thonged glory.
You must have come outside after I locked up the car, while I was gathering the boxes I dropped. ”
He would have assumed she was already home, and between the growing darkness and his headphones, he wouldn’t have seen or heard her squatting beside her car, picking up her errant packages.
Which she’d done, only to drop them again when she spotted the zombie sprinting toward him as he stood on his porch.
“Most likely.” He leaned slightly, ominously closer. “That doesn’t explain, however, why you then chose to intercept a zombie in full flight, kick him, and hit him with a burrito.”
He said burrito the way most people might say plague-ridden sewer rat .
“If I’d had time to grab my knife, I’d have used that instead, obviously.
But I’d forgotten it at home, so I worked with what I had.
” After unzipping her cross-body bag again, she produced the flattened, foil-wrapped item in question with a flourish worthy of a spokesmodel, then placed it on his console table.
“Yes, it’s a burrito, but I thought you would be decapitated within moments. Cut me some slack.”
He thrust his face inches from hers, and the sharp scent of eucalyptus filled her lungs. “I don’t give a fuck about the burrito. Even if you’d had your knife or a godsdamn rocket launcher , you shouldn’t have interceded.”
“I’ve taken plenty of self-defense classes.
I know how to fight.” Now she was the one getting defensive—no pun intended—but why wasn’t he giving her any credit for her attempt to save him?
Where was his gratitude? “Admit it, dude . My kick was a thing of beauty. I stopped a freaking zombie mid-run with one blow, and I didn’t even fall. ”
“And then what?” He spoke the words one at a time. And. Then. What.
“And then what what?”
His voice was a whip crack. “You’re an unenhanced human. You weren’t wearing protective equipment. You had no nearby shelter. You were armed with a stuffed tortilla .”
When he put it that way, her decision to put herself in the zombie’s path did seem somewhat ill-considered, but—
“Explain your endgame. How were you going to stop it from ripping out your throat? How were you going to kill it?”
“Um…” She shifted in place, then fell silent.
His every exhalation washed coolly over her flushed face. “Tell me, Edie. Can you kick hard enough to remove a zombie’s head? A zombie’s heart? Are you strong enough to drag a zombie to the nearest moat and drown it without getting bitten?”
They both knew the answer to that.
“Did you think you’d survive?”
If she leaned forward another inch, she could lick his strong, straight nose. Would that distract him from this lecture? Or at least prompt him to murder her more expeditiously so she wouldn’t be forced to listen to its remainder?
At this point, she’d accept either outcome.
“No. You didn’t.” Straightening, he sort of throttled the air with his broad hands. “Where’s your sense of self-preservation, woman? And why the hells would you sacrifice yourself to save fucking Chad , of all the idiots in the world?”
Chad wasn’t his actual name, then. Not a surprise.
“I don’t want to die.” She wanted that absolutely clear.
The growly sound he made did not indicate agreement.
“I don’t,” she insisted. “But I couldn’t run away and leave you to die. I just…couldn’t.”
As Chad, his eyes had been the color of faded denim, as pretty as they were dull. Somewhere over the course of their conversation, that had changed. The stare scrutinizing her now was as black and sharp as obsidian. It pierced through her, pinning her in place for his pitiless inspection.
She tipped up her chin and waited, unintimidated.
He wouldn’t find falsity. Didn’t matter if he was a telepath or a truthseeker, and he was even now plumbing the depths of her mind. In all their encounters over the past three years, she’d never lied, which was more than he could say for himself.
He lowered his hands to his sides. “Your life means nothing to me.”
For someone unconcerned with her survival, he seemed awfully invested in this conversation. A conversation they were having in his secure compound because he’d overruled her objections and dragged her through that hatch to save her life.
Another lie. Wasn’t he tiring of them?
She directed a meaningful glance at herself, his home, and the nearby tunnel and ladder. Then she raised her brows at him.
He ignored the silent rebuttal. “Don’t die to save me, and don’t die to save anyone else. Not when they’d gladly sacrifice you to save themselves.”
If that was his view of the world and its inhabitants, no wonder his limited array of emotions didn’t include joy or love or even hope .
“And you’d do the same?”
He merely laughed in answer, the sound low and scornful. Fascinated, she watched as his irises softened from black to blue, moment by moment.
“So I shouldn’t save you from harm or death even if I could?” She tipped her head, now studying him in return. “Just to clarify.”
He spoke flatly. “I don’t want your assistance, and I don’t need it.”
“Mmmm,” she said with a nod. Hopefully he took that as agreement, because she wasn’t promising anything.
Not that she foresaw other opportunities to test how either of them would react in an emergency, since the government—
Oh shit.
She checked her phone for alerts. Shushed him when he started to say something.
Nothing. She saw and heard nothing .
She turned to the Neighbor Formerly Known as Chad, grabbed the edges of his open leather hoodie, and clutched tight, her confusion and horror a growing roar in her ears.
His sneer became a frown. “What—”
“Where the fuck are the sirens?” she demanded.