Warm Bodies

branches, and close my eyes. As lightning flickers on the horizon like flashbulbs and thunder rumbles in my bones, I drift into darkness.

I am with Julie on the 747. I realise it’s a dream. A real dream, not just another rerun of Perry Kelvin’s syndicated life. This is coming purely from me. The clarity has improved since the blurry sludge of my brain’s first attempt back in the airport, but there’s still an awkward, shaky quality to everything, like amateur video to Perry’s slick feature films.

Julie and I sit cross-legged, facing each other, floating above the clouds on the plane’s bright white wing. The wind ruffles our hair, but no more than a leisurely ride in a convertible.

‘So you dream now?’ Julie says.

I smile nervously. ‘I guess I do.’

Julie doesn’t smile. Her eyes are cold. ‘Guess you had nothing to dream about till you got some girl problems. You’re like a grade-school kid trying to keep a diary.’

Now we’re on the ground, sitting on a sunny green suburban lawn. A morbidly obese couple barbecues human limbs in the background. I try to keep Julie in focus.

‘I’m changing,’ I tell her.

‘I don’t care,’ she replies. ‘I’m home now. I’m back in the real world, where you don’t exist. Summer camp is over.’

A winged Mercedes rumbles past in the distant sky and vanishes in a muffled sonic boom.

‘I’m gone,’ she says, staring me hard in the eyes. ‘It was fun, but it’s over now. This is how things go.’

I shake my head, avoiding her gaze. ‘I’m not ready.’

‘What did you think was going to happen?’

‘I don’t know. I was just hoping for something. A miracle.’

‘Miracles don’t exist. There is cause and effect, dreams and reality, Living and Dead. Your hope is absurd. Your romanticism, embarrassing.’

I look at her uneasily.

‘It’s time for you to grow up. Julie has gone back to her position, and you will go back to your position, and that is the way it is. Always has been. Always will be.’

She grins, and her teeth are jagged yellow fangs. She kisses me, gnawing through my lips, biting out my teeth, gnashing up towards my brain and screaming like a dying child. I gag on my hot red blood.

My eyes flash open and I stand up, pushing dripping branches out of my face. It’s still night. The rain is still pummelling the earth. I step out of the trees and climb up onto the overpass. I lean against the railing, looking out at the empty freeway and the dark horizon beyond it. One thought pounds in my head like a migraine of rage: You’re wrong. You fucking monsters are wrong. About everything.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse a silhouette on the other side of the overpass. The dark form moves towards me with steady, lumbering steps. I hunch my muscles together, preparing for a fight. After wandering alone for too long, the unincorporated Dead will sometimes lose the ability to distinguish their own kind from the Living. And some are so far gone, so deep into this way of life, they just don’t care either way. They will eat anyone, anything, anywhere, because they can’t fathom any other way to interact. I imagine one of these creatures surprising Julie as she stops the Mercedes to get her bearings, wrapping filthy hands around her face and biting down on her slender neck, and as that image ferments in my head, I prepare to tear this thing in front of me to unrecognisable shreds. The primordial rage that fills me every time I think of someone harming her is frightening. The violence of killing and eating people feels like friendly teasing compared to this consuming bloodlust.

The towering shadow staggers closer. A flash of lightning illuminates its face, and I drop my arms to my sides.

‘M?’

I almost fail to recognise him at first. His face has been torn and clawed, and there are countless small chunks bitten out of his body.

‘Hey,’ he grunts. The rain streaks down his face and pools in his wounds. ‘Let’s… get out of… rain.’ He walks past my leaky trees and climbs down the slope to the freeway below. I follow him to the dry space under the overpass. We huddle there in the dirt, surrounded by old beer cans and syringes.

‘What… doing… he… out… out here?’ I ask him, fighting for the words. I’ve been silent less than a day and I’m already rusty.

‘Take… guess,’ M says, pointing at his wounds. ‘Boneys. Drove me out.’

‘Sorry.’

M grunts. ‘Fuck… it.’ He kicks a sun-faded beer can. ‘But guess… what?’ Something like a smile illuminates his mangled face. ‘Some… came with me.’

He points down the freeway, and I see about nine other figures moving slowly towards us.

I look at M, confused. ‘Came… with? Why?’

He shrugs. ‘Things… crazy… back home. Routines… shook.’ He jabs a finger at me. ‘You.’

‘Me?’

‘You and… her. Something… in air. Movement.’

The nine zombies stop under the overpass and stand there, looking at us blankly.

‘Hi,’ I say.

They sway and groan a little. One of them nods.

‘Where’s… girl?’ M asks me.

‘Her name is Julie.’ This comes off my tongue fluidly, like a swish of warm camomile.

‘Ju… lie,’ M repeats with some effort. ‘Okay. Where’s… she?’

‘Left. Went home.’

M studies my face. He drops a hand onto my shoulder. ‘You… okay?’

I close my eyes and take a slow breath. ‘No.’ I look out at the freeway, towards the city, and something blooms in my head. First a feeling, then a thought, then a choice. ‘I’m going after her.’

Six syllables. I have broken my record again.

‘To… Stadium?’

I nod.

‘Why?’

‘To… save her.’

‘From… what?’

‘Ev… rything.’

M just looks at me for a long time. Among the Dead, a piercing look can last several minutes. I wonder if he can possibly have any idea what I’m talking about, when I’m not even sure I do. Just a gut feeling. The soft pink zygote of a plan.

He gazes up at the sky, and a faraway look comes into his eyes. ‘Had… dream… last night. Real dream. Memories.’

I stare at him.

‘Remembered… when young. Summer. Cocoa… Puffs. A girl.’ His eyes refocus on me. ‘What… is it like?’

‘What?’

‘You’ve… felt. Do you know… what it is?’

‘What are… talking about?’

‘My dream,’ he says, his face full of wonder like a child’s at a telescope. ‘Those things… love?’

A tingle runs up my spine. What is happening? To what distant reaches of space is our planet hurtling? M is dreaming, reclaiming memories, asking astonishing questions. I am breaking my syllable records every day. Nine unknown Dead are with us under this overpass, miles from the airport and the hissing commands of the skeletons, standing here awaiting… something.

A fresh canvas is unfurling in front of us. What do we paint on it? What’s the first hue to splash on this blank field of grey?

‘I’ll… go with,’ M says. ‘Help you… get in. Save her.’ He turns to the waiting Dead. ‘Help us?’ he asks, not raising his voice above its easy rumble. ‘Help save… girl? Save…’ He closes his eyes and concentrates. ‘Ju… lie?’

The Dead quicken at the sound of the name, fingers twitching and eyes darting. M looks pleased. ‘Help find…