This is called a safe room, yes…I remember them. When the infection first broke up the government installed these things all in any structure that could withstand a horde assault. They're strong enough to weather a mob of the regular monster, but are not match for those big guys….Tanks Lance called them.
He said that they were the strongest things out there, that they were damn near unstoppable. Morgan argued though that someone could survive a Tank punch, but if something like me hits you it's over. Then things got awkward for a little bit because I snapped a crowbar in half. I just wanted to see if I could.
"So what would you call that fat guy that Lance blew up? Other than a dietitian."
"They're Boomers. Really nasty, but you should see the girl ones. Damn near made me vomit!"
"Yah, If I ever turn I'd rather end up like you. Then at least I'd be thin and not have to worry about popping all the time."
"Though you'll have to spend a fortune of nail polish."
"Very funny Lance."
"I thought so." Kind of cocky aren't ya?
But what if I am stuck like this forever? What if there is no cure for my condition and I'm going to be damned to be like this until the day I die? I'll never be able to wear mittens. Or sweaters, my freaky nails will get snagged all the time. What will I have to wear in winter? I suppose it doesn't really matter. I can't really….feel anything. When Morgan and Lance were making dinner on the little electric hotplate I stepped on a knife. I didn't even notice until Morgan gasped and told me I was bleeding.
It scared me, a lot. And in ten minutes the wound had healed up, so I was alright. It was nice that Morgan was concerned for me. It's been three days now since I, since I woke up I guess, and my new friends are warming up to me. For that first night, though I doubt he'll admit it, Lance stayed awake and kept his gun within reach of where he lay. But now they're joking with me…I'm more of a person to them than a beast. And though I'm having trouble dealing with that myself (as I'd imagine anybody would) it's nice to know that I'm not alone….and that I won't be crowned with a shotgun as I sleep.
"Hey Hazel, are you sure you don't want something to eat?" Morgan offered me some canned tuna.
"Nah, I'm not hungry. I haven't actually eaten anything since we met I don't think…weird. You know," I shifted into cross-legged sitting pose and my companions looked at me, "if you had asked me a year ago if I'd like to be stronger than an elephant, not have to eat, and be able to scare people shitless I would have said yes. Or I imagine I would, can't remember a year ago. But now not so much."
"If you had told me a year ago that I'd be eating canned fish in a steel reinforced room with a zombie who has a mind and soul I'd have thought that was awesome! Still do. Ow! Morgan, stop kicking me!"
"That wasn't nice! Calling her a zombie, she's not one of them anymore," she looked me straight in my glowing yellow eyes, "she's one of us."
I don't know if my heart still beats, but I know that Morgan just touched it. I'm so glad that it was these two who found me. This is a nightmare, but Lance and Morgan are making hell a little more bearable. And isn't that what friends are for?