Warm Bodies

‘And you know the craziest part, R?’ she says. ‘Sometimes I barely believe you’re a zombie. Sometimes I think you’re just wearing stage make-up, because when you smile… it’s pretty hard to believe.’

I lie down again and fold my hands behind my head. Embarrassed, I keep my face mirthless until Julie falls asleep. Then I slowly let it creep back, smiling at the ceiling as the stars flicker to life outside.

Early the following afternoon, her soft snoring tapers off. Still lying on the floor, I wait for the sounds of her waking up. The shifting of weight, the tight inhale of breath, the small whimper.

‘R,’ she says groggily.

‘Yeah.’

‘They’re right, you know.’

‘Who?’

‘Those skeletons. I saw the pictures they showed you. They’re right about what’ll probably happen.’

I say nothing.

‘One of our people got away. When your group attacked us, my friend Nora hid under a desk. She saw you… capture me. It might take Security some time to track which hive you took me to, but they’ll figure it out soon, and my dad will come here. He’ll kill you.’

‘Already… dead,’ I reply.

‘No you’re not,’ she says, and sits up in her chair. ‘You’re obviously not.’

I think about what she’s saying for a moment. ‘You want… to go back?’

‘No,’ she says, and then seems startled. ‘I mean, yeah, of course, but…’ She lets out a flustered groan. ‘It doesn’t matter either way, I have to. They’re going to come here and wipe you out. All of you.’

I fall silent again.

‘I don’t want to be responsible for that, okay?’ She seems to be pondering something as she talks. Her voice is tight, conflicted. ‘I’ve always been taught that zombies are just walking corpses to be disposed of, but… look at you. You’re more than that, right? So what if there are others like you?’

My face is stiff.

Julie sighs. ‘R… maybe you’re sappy enough to find martyrdom romantic, but what about the rest of these people? Your kids? What about them?’

She is nudging my mind down streets it’s rarely travelled. For however many months or years I’ve been here, I’ve never thought of these other creatures walking around me as people. Human, yes, but not people. We eat and sleep and shuffle through the fog, walking a marathon with no finish line, no medals, no cheering. None of the airport’s citizens seemed much perturbed when I killed four of us today. We view ourselves the same way we view the Living: as meat. Nameless, faceless, disposable. But Julie’s right. I have thoughts. I have some kind of a soul, shrivelled and impotent as it may be. So maybe the others do, too. Maybe there’s something there worth salvaging.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘You have… to leave.’

She nods silently.

‘But I’m… going with you.’

She laughs. ‘To the Stadium? Tell me that was a lame joke.’

I shake my head.

‘Well, let’s think about that a moment, shall we? You? Are a zombie. As well-preserved and kinda charming as you may be, you are a zombie, and guess what everyone in the Stadium over the age of ten is training seven days a week to do?’

I say nothing.

‘Exactly. To kill zombies. So, if I can make this any clearer — you can’t come with me. Because they will kill you.’

I clench my jaw. ‘So?’

She tilts her head, and her sarcasm dissolves. Her voice becomes tentative. ‘What do you mean “so”? Do you want to be dead? Really dead?’

My reflex is to shrug. The shrug has been my default response for so long. But as I lie there on the floor with her worried eyes looking down at me, I remember the feeling that jolted through me the moment I woke up yesterday, that feeling of No! and Yes! That feeling of anti-shrug.

‘No,’ I say to the ceiling. ‘I don’t want to die.’

As I say it, I realise I’ve just broken my syllable record.

Julie nods. ‘Well, good.’

I take a deep breath and stand up. ‘Need… to think,’ I tell her, avoiding eye contact. ‘Back… soon. Lock… door.’

I leave the plane, and her eyes follow me out.

People are staring at me. I was always a bit of an outsider here in the airport, but now my mystique has thickened like port wine. When I enter a room, everyone stops moving and watches me. But the looks on their faces aren’t entirely grim. There are notes of fascination buried in their reproach.

I find M studying his reflection in a lobby window, sticking his fingers in his mouth and prodding. I think he’s trying to put his face back together.

‘Hi,’ I say, standing a safe distance away.

He glares at me for a moment, then looks back at the window. He gives his upper jaw a firm push, and his cheek-bone pops back into place with a loud snap. He turns to me and smiles. ‘How’s… look?’

I wiggle my hand non-committally. Half of his face looks relatively normal, the other half is still a bit concave.

He sighs and looks back at the window. ‘Bad… news… for the ladies.’

I smile. As deeply different as we are, I have to give M some credit. He is the only zombie I’ve met who’s managed to maintain a dangling scrap of humour. Also worthy of note… four syllables without pause. He has just matched my former record.

‘Sorry,’ I say to him. ‘About… that.’

He doesn’t respond.

‘Talk to you… a minute?’

He hesitates, then shrugs again. He follows me to the nearest set of chairs. We sit down in a dark, defunct Starbucks. Two cups of mouldy espresso sit in front of us, abandoned long ago by two friends, two business partners, two people who just met in the terminal and bonded over a shared interest in brains.

‘Really… sorry,’ I say. ‘Irrit… able. Lately.’

M narrows his brow. ‘What… going on… with you?’

‘Don’t… know.’

‘Brought back… Living girl?’

‘Yes.’

‘You… crazy?’

‘Maybe.’

‘What’s… feel like?’

‘What?’

‘Living… sex.’

I give him a warning look.

‘She’s… hot. I would—’

‘Shut up.’

He chuckles. ‘Fucking… with you.’

‘It’s not… that. Not… like that.’

‘Then… what?’

I hesitate, not sure how to answer. ‘More.’

His face gets eerily serious. ‘What? Love?’

I think about this, and I find no response beyond a simple shrug. So I shrug, trying not to smile.

M throws back his head and does his best impression of laughter. He thumps me on the shoulder. ‘My… boy!