Finding Love in Times of the Scourge

“It’s Thursday, your turn to go shopping.” Tom flashed his usual sarcastic smile as he held out a pair of bolt croppers. “There’s a backroom to the store on Harding Street. I spotted it two nights ago. Could be supplies or money in there but it’s padlocked. You’ll need these to get in.”

Reluctantly I took the bolt croppers, swallowed the nauseating anxiety.

“Thanks, very good of you,” I said, “but would you care to come with me? For moral support?”

I should have known my plea would have no effect. Since the apocalypse, compassion was a thing of the past. It was dog eat dog. No one could be fully relied upon to have your back, not even those you ended up living with and trusted.

“On your own, princess. Equality, and all that jazz,” Tom said, his eyebrows flashing. “I’m on sentry duty and those two are sleeping off this mornings’ battle.”

He gestured to the corner of the room where our two other house guests rested - one slumped in a swivel chair like a stringless puppet, the other curled up on a bed crafted from towels and coats - having fended off several scourge-affected creatures who had found their way into the corridors of the former security offices where the four of us resided.

“Useless lightweights,” I quipped, hooking the croppers onto my utility belt before pulling on a jacket, throwing a backpack over my shoulder and picking up one of the crowbars we kept propped against the door. “Wish me luck. And if I’m not back in two hours, consider me eaten.”

I inhaled and exhaled, exaggerating both in my unease, in the vain hope Tom would take pity and go in my place, or at least accompany me. He simply winked then checked the monitors which oversaw activity along the corridors outside our makeshift home.

“Seems clear,” he announced, so I took my position at the door, heart thrashing. Tom picked up a second crowbar, cautiously unlocked the door and slowly pulled it open as far as the safety chains would allow. He looked and listened once again. Only silence ushered in from the immediate vicinity so Tom removed the chains and waved me out.

“Off you go,” he whispered, “and good luck. Bring me back something tasty.”

The door was closed and locked behind me before I could blink. With an exasperated roll of my eyes, I set off down the corridor, staying close to the walls, every whispering footstep accentuated in the silence whilst the mournful dirge of the creatures who wandered the city streets echoed in the distance.

Stepping out of the fire exit into the sickly grey day, I weaved along backstreets and alleyways towards Harding Street, crowbar gripped tight and held aloft, ready to crack the skulls of infected beings whose sole reason for existence since the scourge was to hunt down uncontaminated humans or animals for consumption, or for turning, which we’d learned occurred from a single, skin-puncturing bite. As I made my way to the store, I had no inclination that my own existence was about to be altered, that I too would be turned beyond my wildest imaginations, not into a zombie or whatever the scourge had changed humans into, but by a former human I once knew during my school days.

***

The Harding Street store was deserted. After checking over the shelves, I took ownership of a few consumable goods that had been left by looters, stuffing them into my backpack. Turning my attention to the backroom I found the door still padlocked exactly as Tom had said, and gave a silent cheer as the croppers slid through the industrial grade steel like a spoon through jelly.

The padlock and chain rattled as I removed it, the hinges of the door emitted a high-pitched squeal as I edged it slightly open and for a moment I froze, listening for anyone or anything disturbed by the noise. When nothing came, I slid into the room to find it brimming with stock. Eagerly I loaded cigarettes, matches, energy bars, anything small enough I could ease alongside the other goods already stowed in my bag when, outside the room, I heard the familiar shuffle-drag of shoes, someone sniffing and the forceful chat-chat-chat of teeth. Again, I stiffened, stood motionless, ears cocked to the gap in the door. The noises stopped. I shook my head, half smiling with relief, convinced my highly sensitive hearing had imagined it all when the door flew open so fast it struck the wall behind it with a bang.

Snatching up my crowbar, I turned to see a figure, clearly scourged, blocking the doorway, its lopsided shadow cast across the carpeted floor. First instinct was to check out my exit and, seeing it was completely blocked by the creature, I let out a strangled whimper whilst flailing the crowbar in weak attempt to scare it off. Yet the creature didn’t flinch. He merely stood there, silent, randomly twitching as if an electric current misfired through his body, watching me with his bloodshot eyes through square rimmed spectacles, curiosity on his grey crusty face and seeming in no apparent rush to attack me. I stared back at him, at his mop of black hair, long and wavy, resting on his broad shoulders, the slight buck to his chatting teeth, his angular cheekbones, and as we watched each other, something about him appeared all too familiar. But what? Did I know him? Difficult to tell beneath his dishevelled presentation, until he gave a sudden memorable flick of his hair and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and instantly, from those habits I’d grown to know so well, I knew his identity – a guy by the name of Adrian May, my first unrequited love, and every other schoolgirl’s dreamboat, too.

***

I had just turned fourteen when I met Adrian during a sponsored event. We were raising money for underprivileged kids with sporting talent to attend development training and I fell head over heels with Adrian the moment I saw him in his shorts and Bart Simpson t-shirt, his wavy hair trailing over his shoulders. From then on, I would rush out to the schoolyard every break time to catch a glimpse of him as he appeared from the prefect’s hall. He would always smile, say hello when he spotted me, despite his mates constantly teasing him about his obsessed admirer. Adrian was seventeen, studying entrance exams for university, and although I knew romance was off the table at the time, I dreamed that one day, when I was older, our paths would cross and a flame between us would ignite, never to be extinguished. Unfortunately, so did many other girls at school, much prettier and smarter girls than me, which made the competition fierce.

Now, as he stood before me, fingers twitching, shoulders and head jerking as if he were mid-seizure, the fear causing my poor heart to drumroll changed to gushing excitement, my heart high kicking as if trying to burst into the open to declare its undying affection. As odd as it seems, Adrian’s new look wasn’t entirely unattractive, a little rugged maybe, what with the large open crater on his upper left arm, the unhealthy blue-grey pallor of his skin and the frequent click-click in his throat and, as he eyed me, his long-haired head cocked to the left, his expression seemed to indicate he quite liked the look of me, too.

My mouth opened and I began to speak as if it was the most natural thing to do.

“You’re Adrian, right? We were at the same school several years back, but I don’t think you’d remember me. You were a prefect. I was only year nine.” A pause to give him time to process the information, then, “I sent you Valentine’s cards in February ’97, again in ’98, the year you left. I signed my name, although I know I embarrassed you by doing so.”

My face burned at the mention of the cards and I wondered if a zombie would even know what Valentine’s meant. I shouldn’t have doubted it. Upon hearing the potted history, Adrian’s head briefly righted itself, his back straightened and he high-browed as if his brain cells had been put on alert. And was that a spark of recognition in his bloodshot eyes? It must have been because his mouth hitched up at the corners in a wonky smile, and he held out his hands for me to take. I hesitated. Why would I do any other? After all, I was human, he was monster. His friendliness could have been a ruse to gain my trust before he took a bite of my flesh. But then he said something, slow, purposeful, like a toddler learning to talk in broken syllables, only deep and guttural in its tone.

“Kel…sey?”

A flutter like a thousand butterflies taking flight, elation coursing my veins. He’d remembered me! Without hesitation I took his hands, rough and cold to the touch. I gazed up at his cracked and scabby face, my conscience yelling run whilst my heart whispered,

Kiss him. Like you’ve always wanted to. Go on, kiss him now.

Startled, I pushed the idea away. It resurfaced immediately, and again I tried to flatten it except it wouldn’t rest up. I allowed the thought to float a while. I had, after all, prayed over the years for this moment to happen, and fate had clearly forced us together so did it matter I was human, he was monster? This was Adrian, my first love, my infatuation, albeit in a very different form but when a world and its inhabitants change, as it had done so drastically since the scourge, expectations had to change, too. I decided in that moment there was nothing to lose and tossed all sense to the wayside. I would exist whether in human or zombie form and in the worlds current state, neither one was more favourable than the other.

Taking hold of Adrian’s jacket collar with both hands, I stood on tiptoes, gently pulled him towards me until our noses touched, then caressed his lips with mine. I opened my eyes to see him staring, wide-eyed, unmoving, yet not disturbed by my touch. Soon he had drawn me back to him, his unbearably strong hands cupping, or rather squishing my face whilst his mouth searched mine.

I have to admit it wasn’t quite the knee-jerking, passionate kiss I had often envisaged. Certainly not warm, soft and fleshy, but hard and icy, like kissing a frost covered patio slab. Yet in that moment I loved Adrian as emphatically as I had done in my teens. It mattered not whether his kiss was perfect, what species he was or whether he was dead, alive or half-way between. He was mine at last, as I’d always hoped he would be.

***

It’s been a year since Adrian and I have been together. We returned to the security building that same day we met up again, our journey back taking some time, what with Adrian’s limp-drag walk and the need to stave off other interested zombies on the way. When we arrived at my makeshift home, Tom and the others were ecstatic with the haul I emptied from my backpack, not so ecstatic when I told them about my beau who I’d asked to wait outside whilst I revealed him to my friends.

“That thing is not stepping foot inside this place,” Tom stated, staring at Adrian via the security cameras. “He’ll eat us alive and come to think of it, why hasn’t he eaten you?”

My three housemates looked at me with stern expressions as they waited for an answer.

I shrugged. “I dunno. Probably because he loves me?”

A burst of laughter circled the room.

“He’s a zombie,” Tom said, almost crying with hysterics. “They don’t know love.”

I thought on it a while. All the times I’d watched Adrian in the school yard, in the gym, the cafeteria. Then it popped into my head.

“He’s a vegetarian! That’s the reason he hasn’t bitten me. He used to take the veggie options at school.” I punched the air, face beaming. That golden nugget of information would surely secure their trust in my new love.

“You mean, you know him?” Tom asked, his laughter dissolving.

“Yeah, sort of. He’s someone I knew of.” I stared at the floor to hide my flushing cheeks.

“Oh, so an old boyfriend. No wonder you want him in here.”

“Erm, not exactly a boyfriend…”

“But you wanted him to be. Is that it?” Tom asked.

I couldn’t deny it but couldn’t bring myself to admit it either. Although Tom knew. They all did.

Tom sighed. “Blimey, desperate times call for desperate love, hey?”

I smiled half-heartedly as we all glanced at the cameras, at Adrian who looked totally demented, twitching and jolting as he paced the corridor outside, every so often stopping to headbutt the wall. Unsurprisingly, Adrian was refused entry into our home despite my protests and declaring him an herbivore many times over. I was forced to stand outside with Adrian like an outcast with a nasty habit, until the other’s realised he wasn’t a stereotypical movie theatre zombie who wandered earth tormenting and devouring humans, but a gentler version devoid of that ravenous streak for human flesh. They also grew tired of Adrian hammering on the door and wailing “Kel-sey” every few minutes so eventually, all housemates on guard and with weapons at the ready, the door was opened and Adrian shuffled in.

As bizarre as it sounds, we got off to a great start, all of us living together in that office space. What my housemates couldn’t tolerate long term was the decaying aroma Adrian gave off, his peculiar noises, his unpredictable jerking when he’d knock things over or accidentally strike one of us. So, Adrian and I moved out, ending up in the forest where we built a love den from branches and discarded plastic bags. We’re still there and I must admit, it’s rather beautiful, very peaceful, and much safer, for me anyway. Occasionally Adrian disappears, returns wearing someone’s dress on his head, or a waistcoat back to front; other times with someone’s limb dangling in his hand which he offers me with a crooked smile on his lips as if he’s offering a diamond ring. I politely refuse all limbs, of course, which Adrian will then throw away instead of consuming like his existence depends on it, still preferring to eat the vegetation I forage and cook for us. Which is reassuring, and possibly a sign of his commitment to our relationship.

At night, Adrian stands guard against any creature who may stray into the forest on the scent of my human flesh, whilst I sleep, my head resting upon his solid chest. I cannot hear a regular heartbeat beneath his ribs, more of an occasional thump-judder like a faulty starter motor, yet I feel content and secure in his company. I’ve long since grown accustomed to Adrian’s inability to speak clearly, the stiffness of his gait, the way he holds his twitching head to one side like a dog trying to shake a flea from its ear; the damp, earthy, rotting scent of him, and the fact little bits of him are starting to fall off – fingernails, an ear lobe, a toe – are a worry, and for these reasons our intimacy stops at a kiss and a hug. I don’t want to be responsible for Adrian’s entire being disappearing bit by bit amidst the throws of passion, but in these uncertain and dangerous times, passion is in short supply any way. Besides, Adrian has given no indication that the physical side of love is a need for scourge-affected creatures. Again, rather reassuring.

Compromise has been the key, of course. I once heard my mother say to my father that compromise made for a happy successful relationship. Now I live by this mantra, having made many a compromise so far, freely I might add, and must continue to do so if I’m to remain here with Adrian, a post-apocalyptic creature I have learned to trust and whose quirky personality and oddball habits endear me to him more each day. The alternative in this new world is a lonely, frightening and dishonest existence so compromise has been a small price to pay in comparison. Especially since I have the man of my dreams, the man of every girl’s dream once upon a time. Although I can say with absolute certainty that I doubt those girls would look at Adrian with the same doe-eyed delight today as they did all those years ago at school.