“I hadn’t noticed till now,” she says uncertainly. “You think it could be … blood poisoning or something?”
“I don’t think blood poisoning sets in that fast. What did you say she cut you with?”
“A knife.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, it all happened so quickly, I didn’t really get a chance to …”
“What kind of knife? Did you see it?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I didn’t see it, but I felt it. When she attacked me.”
“What did you feel, exactly?”
“Why? Does it matter?” Jennie shakes her head in annoyed confusion. “What’s wrong? Why are you both staring at me like that?”
Dan has joined them, and like Thomas, he looks at his sister with wide, knowing eyes. “I don’t think she had a knife,” he says stiffly. “Why would she use a knife? She’s a zombie. Zombies don’t use weapons.”
It’s so obvious, Thomas should have seen it earlier. But the situation is so surreal he didn’t give it a second thought.
“Tell us what happened, Jennie,” he says, and for the first time in a long time, his voice is soft, almost loving.
Jennie’s lip starts to quiver. “It happened just as we entered the living room. I … I heard her come from behind, so I spun around. She tried stabbing me, but she tripped over something … like, an ottoman, I think. And when she fell down, that’s when the knife cut me.”
“But you didn’t actually see the knife?” Thomas asks.
“No, but …”
“Her fingernails were long,” Dan whispers. “I noticed.”
Jennie looks at the cut on her arm. “All right, maybe it was her nail and not a knife. What difference does that make?”
What difference? Thomas thinks. What difference?
Jennie wasn’t lying; she really hasn’t watched any zombie flicks. If she had, she would have known right away what a cut from a fingernail means.
But Dan knows—Thomas can tell from the look of terror and disbelief on his face, as he turns his head and stares blankly at Thomas. It’s like an unspoken question passes between the boys in that moment. Two small words.
How long?
“What is it?” Jennie asks, audible fear in her voice now. “Why are you just staring at each other? Hello? Talk to me!”
TWO
The temperature in the basement steadily rises, as does the pain in Jennie’s arm—and not a minute passes without her telling them so. The skin on her forearm gradually changes color. It’s starting to take on a greenish tone.
Dan just sits by the wall, staring at nothing. Thomas can see his lips moving, like he’s silently talking to himself.
Thomas glances at Jennie, who keeps checking her phone for a signal. Of course she didn’t believe him when he explained to her how serious the situation is. That the infection will probably become fatal within a few hours. That she will most likely end up like the lady outside the door. Jennie kept stubbornly saying it was only blood poisoning and that she just needed to go to the hospital.
But Thomas knows her too well. He can tell she’s scared.
He hides his face in his sweaty palms. How did they end up here? Less than an hour ago they were in his car, driving down the road, sweating and listening to music.
They’re almost at the end of the route, only four stops left.
Dan is in the backseat next to the box of newspapers.
Jennie has tilted back her seat and put her feet up on the dashboard. “I can’t believe you bought a car without air-conditioning. Honestly! What’s the point in having a car if it doesn’t have air-con? We’re burning up!”
Thomas pretends not to hear her and concentrates on the GPS. They’re a few miles outside town. The house appears at the end of the long, dusty gravel road. He parks in the courtyard.
“It’s your turn, Dan,” Jennie says. “If she doesn’t come to the door, just go inside and put it on the table in the scullery. That’s what I usually do.”
Dan obediently leaves the car and trudges to the front door, a rolled-up newspaper in his hand.
Thomas turns down the radio slightly and looks sideways at Jennie. She’s wearing sunglasses, so he can’t see her eyes. Good. That’ll make it easier. He’s just about to say it. The words are on his lips.
“I don’t think it’s working out between us anymore.”
But he can’t get them out. He just can’t. The moment is not right.
Instead, he says: “Who lives here?”
“Some older lady,” she yawns. “She’s kind of weird. I think she suffers from dementia or something.”
“Does she live alone?”
“Yeah, can you believe it? I mean, who the hell wants to live out here in the middle of nowhere all by themselves?”
At that moment, Dan screams from inside the house.
Thomas and Jennie look at each other for a brief second. Then they each open their doors and jump out. They run to the front door.
As soon as Thomas enters the house, time seems to speed up tenfold. He briefly notices the weird décor: colorful stones and crystals everywhere, faces cut out of wood, a large bamboo flute, dried flowers dangling from strings in the ceiling. He also registers a bad smell. But there’s no time to think before the woman steps out a few feet in front of him.
Thomas has played a lot of Resident Evil and watched every episode of The Walking Dead—he knows what a zombie looks like. Her eyes are pale yet piercing, her mouth contorted into a snarl, the grimace made even more pronounced because of the missing piece of her lower lip. It looks like it might have been torn off, revealing the grey teeth and pink gums. Blood has run down her chin and stained the front of the dress, which once was white but now looks more like a butcher’s apron. Her long, silver hair hangs in a thin, whiplike braid.
She reaches
