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Lifeblood

I thrust myself under the dining table and pulled the cloth down over me, wondering how long it would take for them to find me as they tore through the hotel. Trying to survive a zombie invasion wasn't my idea of a romantic anniversary. My husband was more romanced by a bottle of Jim Beam than me. He ran away at the first sight of them.

"Good luck, Bonnie!" he'd jeered, waving and leaping into the car without me.

I tried to find some comfort in manifesting him becoming zombie food. The splattering of his rainbow bruises on my arms fuelled my angst.

Glass shattered inches away from me as something burst in through a window. I scrunched down into a ball. How did zombies sense the proximity of brains? I fervently hoped it was mainly by sight and touch.

The creature now ransacking the dining room stank of decaying flesh; I buried my nose in my sleeve, trying not to gag. It shuffled, knocking things over. I saw its feet, shod in ragged, filthy sneakers, working around the edges of the table.

After circumnavigating agonizingly slowly, it stopped. A gnarly hand scrabbled under the tablecloth. I held myself as far away as possible. It found my shoe. I kicked at it.

The hand withdrew. It yanked the tablecloth right off, revealing me in full with a gurgling cry,

"Brains!"

It dove under the table before I could roll out the other side, and dragged me out with incredible strength. It appeared to be male, with stringy black hair and nothing but a shredded pair of shorts tied with a rope.

I was no match for him, even though he was shriveled and shrunken. I reached for something on the dining table and grasped a steak knife. I wielded it high in the air. He grabbed my wrist. Our eyes locked.

Time froze solid. He stared at me, his red, bulbous eyeballs popping. His jaw dropped, whether because it was barely hanging on or what, I wasn't sure. But the hands clutching me let go. His arms sank to his sides, and he let out a choked cry, collapsing in a heap of rags on the floor.

"Nooo! Not you!" He moaned. "Can't eat brains!"

I stared blankly at the creature, now heaving and sobbing quite pathetically.

"Wh—Why not?"

"Me—love—you…" he managed to croak out in a raspy, painful voice.

Still holding the knife, I approached and bent down to take a closer look at his face, gulping back a lump of bile at the putrid stench like rotten gym socks in a flooded basement enveloping me.

It seemed impossible to be able to decode a human appearance from the matted hair, yellowed bloodshot eyes, caved-in cheeks, and jaundiced, peeling skin. I tried to remember if I knew a man who loved me enough to refuse my brains if they got zombied. It didn't take long to determine I didn't.

Maybe he was mistaken? Maybe I looked like someone he knew? How cognizant could a zombie be?

"Help—please." He reached up, tugging on my sleeve. "Me so hungry!"

"What's your name?" I couldn't help feeling pity, gazing into those desperately trusting eyes.

"Don't know… me hungry!"

I took a shuddering breath and turned to look at the dining table. A few covered dishes were scattered about from whatever dignified meal had been interrupted. I lifted one and found a bowl of thick, sloppy, repulsively green split-pea soup with lumps of meat floating in it. Yuck…

"Here, eat this."

I stuffed the bowl in his eager hands without further ado. I didn't want his hunger to override whatever misplaced devotion he seemed to have for me. He stuck his whole face in the bowl, slurping and slobbering like a dog.

I wanted to run away while he was distracted. But I lingered, wondering if I'd ever know his name. Besides, one zombie who wouldn't eat me was probably safer than the dozen outside who would.

When his arm turned at a different angle, I saw it. The tattoo was still legible despite being discolored, torn and sagging out of shape: a skull, backed by a knife and gun, with the words "do or die" scrabbled underneath.

That gang tattoo brought visceral memories flooding like a tsunami, so much so I almost fell over, grabbing a chair for balance. The knife slipped from my hand.

Jim! How could I forget those sweet, mischievous green eyes, that sleek Elvis hair?

I knelt beside him, clutching his shoulders.

"Jim! I remember you now. We dated ten years ago. You were a gangster. I couldn't marry someone who would break the law and hurt people and get arrested and killed! I didn't think you loved me!"

I held back my own sobs, stumbling over words I didn't know if he understood.

"I married someone who seemed respectable—a banker. But he's a drunkard from hell. I hate his guts!"

Jim dropped the now-empty bowl and opened his arms for a hug. I never thought I'd hug a zombie, all crumbling skin and brittle bones. My tears stifled his smell.

"What now?" I sniffled.

"Me still hungry," he whispered. "Need brains! But—not Bonnie," he added with a moan.

A sneaky, satisfying thought popped into my head. My manifestation could use a little help. I reached for my phone, texting my husband.

Zombies gone. You coming back?

Within a few minutes, he responded,

Be right over.

Surprised at his willingness to return, I sat down by Jim again and showed him the texts.

"I think you'd enjoy eating his brains. At least, I'd enjoy watching you eat him. After that, though, I don't know what to do. I mean, we can't exactly get married in your condition."

"No…" he coughed, wiping away sludgy tears.

I patted Jim's back like a baby. I couldn't bear to tell him to go away and be a "normal" zombie. He'd end up being felled by a chainsaw, a pitiful fate for my would-be lover. But how could I be with him?

A car stopped outside. I pulled away a curtain to watch my husband climbing out of our jeep with a chainsaw slung over his shoulder. He was quickly surrounded and attacked by three or four zombies.

He wielded it mercilessly, leaving them in a puddle of scraps. My stomach heaved. I wasn't expecting he would be armed. This changed the situation significantly.

"Bonnie!" he yelled, storming into the hotel. "Where are you?"

"Jim! You have to hide!"

I hauled him upright, shoving him behind the curtains. A second later, my husband barrelled into the dining room.

"There you are." He scowled. "You tricked me, you little vixen."

"I—I…"

It was too much. Tears streamed down my face. I wobbled in front of the curtains where I'd stashed away my poor zombie. My husband laughed with a crazed tone.

"No matter—had to come back anyway to make sure you were dead. My plot almost worked." He adjusted the chainsaw on his shoulder with a self-satisfied smirk. "I discovered a fat inheritance from your late grandfather. If you had it, you'd be long gone. There was a zombie warning in effect here. Conveniently, it was our anniversary. How tragic to die by zombies while I, your survivor, collect your money."

"You… you stinking scumbag!" I screamed.

"Since you're not dead yet, I'll have to complete the job. This chainsaw should do. An unfortunate accident…"

He revved it up. I slipped sideways, almost falling over trying to get away. Jim burst out into the open, stumbling forward with a wailing shriek.

"No! Don't touch Bonnie!"

My husband yelled and started battling with Jim, who managed to lead him on a chase around the room.

"Run, Bonnie!" Jim wheezed.

My limbs were paralyzed. I could only watch as they ran circles around me.

On one of my husband's passes, he swiped at me with the chainsaw. I screamed. Jim spun around. He threw himself in front of me, falling right into the growling blade.

With a burst of strength I tore the chainsaw out of Jim's body, out of my husband's hands.

"You killed him!" I screeched wildly. "Now die, monster!"

One swipe sent his head flying into a corner. I threw down the chainsaw and dragged the pieces of Jim's disintegrated body away from the mess, sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Jim! I'm terrible. My stupid scheme backfired. You spared me…"

It was like I'd tricked him into getting killed. Did he understand what I'd done? My poor, sweet Jim! All he knew was to save me from a grisly end, and all I could do was dream up a bungling, dead-end plan to try to feed him. I shook with suffocating tears, sinking helplessly to the floor.

I was dimly aware of a cut on my hand where the chainsaw had clawed me. My blood spilled baptismally over Jim's mangled body. I had no interest in staunching the flow; my senses were numbed down to one single awareness of heartbreak.

His eyes opened in slow motion. They were green—not zombie green, not bloodshot or yellow, but clear and pure, though cloudy with confusion. My own jaw fell open at the transformation. His face filled out, regaining a normal fleshly hue.

Healing worked its way downwards. I stared, awestruck. His chest swelled out to buff proportions and his arms reached out to wrap me in a powerful bear hug as he sat up.

"Bonnie!" He cried, his restored voice aglow with joy. "You're alive!"

"No, you're alive!" I laughed, trembling in shock. "What happened?"

"You're bleeding," he observed with concern, reaching out to tear up the tablecloth. "Here, let me bandage that."

"The blood…" I whispered. "There must be restorative power in the blood of someone who loves you."

"Indeed. That's good to know, isn't it?" He chuckled warmly as he wrapped up my hand.

I saw again the tattoo, now restored to its former glory on his muscular arm.

"Jim… are you still with them?"

"I escaped," he said, grimness slipping into his expression. "I wanted to show you I could be an honest man. But you were already married, and I figured you deserved better than me. They wanted me to rejoin the gang often over the years. I stayed away. I wanted to be good enough for you if you were ever single again."

"If I'd only known you were waiting!" I buried my face in his shoulder.

"If I'd known he was abusive, I would have helped you get out." He squeezed me close. "We can't fret over lost time, Bonnie. We have each other now. That's all that matters."

We held each other on the dining room floor, wrapped in a tangled, bloodstained mess of curtains and tablecloths. I knew I would never let go of my Jim again.

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