Chapter 3

"Cozy?" Julian asks, about two hours later.

He gazes down at the two girls sitting in his small living room and feels like pinching himself, because one of them is Laura, the girl he was a hundred percent certain would never talk to him again in this life or the next. Or the one after that.

And as he thinks this, he remembers her words. I wouldn't want you if you were the last man on earth. He swallows and looks down. Is that theory going to be tested?

Don't be ridiculous.

"Not bad," Kiden says. "Wish you would let us board up the doors, though. I'd sleep like a baby then."

"I gave you the fireplace poker," he says, unable to help the irritation in his voice. "And seriously—you think boarding the doors would keep out zombies if they were real?"

"At least let me push some furniture up against it," Kiden argues.

"That would mean I was trapped in here with you…so no." Julian looks at Laura again, and swallows. I have a second chance, he thinks. Or a third. Whatever. I can't blow this one. "You guys want something to drink? Music?"

"Music attracts zombies!" Kiden protests.

"For the love of god, Kiden, there are NO. FUCKING. ZOMBIES." Julian covers his eyes with the back of his arm. "Seriously…Laura…can you talk some sense into the Walking Dead fangirl here? Is that even remotely possible?"

Laura feels uneasy. The idea that the Facility may be involved with the situation keeps occurring to her…the terrible thought that there is more to this virus than just illness and death. She sighs. She needs some time to dissect this fear. Why does it keep plaguing her? What evidence does she have that the Facility would create anything more than a biological weapon?

Because they made me, she thinks, then shakes her head. "Kiden…your fear of reanimated corpses is irrational. You should watch less television."

"Hey, TV," Julian says, in a voice of relief. "That's a great idea. Instead of thinking up ways to destroy my house…" he grabs the remote off his oak bookcase and turns his 60" plasma TV on.

"Yes," Laura agrees. "We should watch the news."

"Fuck the news," Julian says. "Just gives zombie-girl here more material to work with. Let's watch, like, a sitcom or something…lighten the mood…" he pauses. "Or I have lots of movies." He gestures to his DVD rack. "Pick your poison. Or hey—either of you guys like video games?"

"Maybe we should play a zombie game," Kiden suggests. "It'd be good practice."

"Right." Julian flips over to the local news channel, and to his relief it's on a commercial break. "See? They wouldn't be playing the stupid Mr. Clean ad if it was the apocalypse. Seriously. So how about those drinks, huh?"

"Well, I guess I wouldn't mind a beer if you've got some," Kiden says. "Might be the last night we can kick up our heels, if you know what I mean."

"Laura?" Julian asks.

She hesitates. "Just one beer, please," she says. He restrains himself from a fist-pump until he gets into his kitchen. If he can get her even tipsy…then maybe she'll at least talk to him. He fetches three beers and a bottle opener, then returns to his living room. He looks at Laura—seated alone on the black leather loveseat—and Kiden, on the matching couch—and sighs. Of course. He distributes the drinks and sits down, leans back and stares at the TV. The news has just come on…and the scrolling headline makes his skin crawl. Epidemic confirmed to spread to Arizona, Utah, Kansas, Texas—

"How fast is it moving?" he asks, in wonder, as he looks away. He doesn't want to see California come up on that list.

"Faster than I estimated," Laura says, her voice even lower than usual. She frowns. "They said the death toll has risen to one and a half million."

"But—" Julian pales. "That's impossible. It was two hundred thousand just three hours ago."

She closes her eyes and says nothing.

"The CDC's working on it, right?" he presses. "Do they have any leads yet? Like…what it is? How to cure it?"

"Cure it?" Kiden snorts. "Puhl-ease. They can't even cure the common cold…and you expect them to cure the zombie plague?"

"Will you stop it with the zombie stuff already?" he says. "I'm already creeped the fuck out as it is. I don't want to think about all these…dead people…getting up again." He pauses, and thinks briefly of his parents—his brother—up in their Hollywood mansion. Or are they somewhere international? They haven't even called to make sure he's okay. He grits his teeth. "Let's just wait it out. Maybe we'll be okay…long as we stay put for a while."

"Maybe we should get more food," Kiden says, worried.

Laura shakes her head. "It's too late. The virus may already have arrived here. We don't know how long the symptoms take to manifest." She looks at Julian. "We will simply need to ration carefully. If the plague moves so quickly—"

"Plague?" he interrupts, his eyes wide. "This is really a plague? You mean—"

"Yes." Her eyebrows arch. "If it moves so quickly…that means it cannot survive for long without a host. Which means the city should be clear of disease within a few days."

Julian feels a thrill of fear. Her calm, logical approach to such a horrible idea has made this so real. Seeing dead people on TV is one thing…but hearing her say 'clear of disease' and knowing she means that devastation will be coming here…he swallows, and looks at the TV. They are showing pictures of the dead again, a panning shot of a row of bodies laid on a floor. He wonders how the camera man isn't already one of them, and then it occurs to him that he very well may be.

"Look…can we do something else for a bit?" he asks. "I'm getting really freaked out and I don't think my panicking is going to do us any favors."

"No, it would not," Laura says. She thinks for a moment. "Perhaps we should fortify the doors. Once the city is clear…there will probably be a lot of burglaries…looting..."

"Sounds great," Julian mumbles. "We can move the chair you're in, Laura…against the back door…and, uh, how about the kitchen bookshelf against the front door?"

"I'm all for that," Kiden says. "Laura?"

"Yes." She gets to her feet, and they set to work. Julian pats himself on the back for having come up with such a neat way to get rid of her solo seating option. He then checks his fridge and sees that it's well stocked, seeing as he'd gone shopping just the other day—the morning before he lost his license, in fact. He pats himself on the back for that wise action too, and for the fact that he'd remembered to buy two other important staples: toilet paper and condoms. Just in case we have to repopulate the earth or something, he thinks, sneaking a glance at Laura, who is applying makeshift barricades to the windows—and then rethinks that statement with a puzzled frown.

"That should do it," Kiden remarks. "Now what?"

"Perhaps we should try to sleep while we can," Laura says softly.

Julian looks at her, and wonders if there's any way he can possibly convince her to sleep with him. Probably not. Unless…he glances at Kiden, and winces at the thought of that gross dyke in his bed. Would it be worth it to sleep beside Laura, the equivalent of an angel? He nods slightly to himself. "I have a king-sized bed," he says. "You girls are welcome to join me."

Laura turns a cold gaze on him. "I will sleep down here."

"Me too," Kiden says. "Who knows what kind of venereal diseases you're carrying, Keller!"

He can't help sounding exasperated—he really can't. "Oh come on," he says. "Really—out of all of us present—I'm going to be the one with some weird disease." He stares pointedly at Kiden. "I'd be more worried about you causing a flea infestation. But I'm still inviting you. You said it yourself, Laura…we might not get quality rest later." He gives her as neutral a look as he can manage.

Laura thinks about this. "Okay. But you sleep down here, on the couch."

"How about hell no," he says. "There's a fucking plague going on. I'm scared out of my wits. I'm not sleeping downstairs alone right now."

"He's got a point," Kiden admits. "How 'bout he's in the room with us, but on the floor?"

"It's my bed," Julian argues. "I sleep in it. Like I said, whoever wants on it is welcome to join me…and no, I don't have some diabolical schemes. Just sleep. Clothes on."

Laura sighs. "Okay," she says, and he feels almost dizzy. "It's upstairs. Come on." He turns and heads up the stairs. After a few moments the girls follow, turning the lights off behind them.

…

At about two AM, Julian wakes up to the sound of the wind bumping tree branches against the window. He shrinks into himself, his eyebrows drawing together as he looks out into the darkness and wonders if death is being carried on that wind. He starts to think of zombies, despite his earlier words to Kiden that it's a ridiculous idea. Swallowing, he wraps his arm tighter around the figure beside him—and freezes. Who is he holding? Is it Kiden…or Laura? If it's Kiden, he'd be apt to push her off the bed and burn his arm. But if it's Laura….it would be a dream come true.

He thinks, hard, about who was where when he fell asleep, but for some reason he can't remember. Then he takes a deep breath—and smells a sweet, gentle, flowery fragrance—and he relaxes. He'd know her scent anywhere. It's definitely Laura. He presses his face gently against her bare neck and sighs. I wouldn't want you if you were the last man on earth, Laura's voice whispers, from his memory.

You'll change your mind, he promises himself. You'll see.

The real Laura sleeps on, and eventually he drifts off again himself, his body now pressed against her behind. Even though the world might be ending outside his house, he's quite happy inside it.

…

"Julian, let go of me!"

He wakes up to a rough shove against his shoulders. Opening his eyes, he sees that Laura is glaring down at him as if he has just offended her. He gives her a sleepy smile. "Morning to you too," he says, his voice thick.

"Damn…you guys should see the news!" Kiden calls, from downstairs. "Death toll is up to eight million now…and there's more. I was right!"

Julian feels his heart sinking. What had seemed to be shaping up to a great morning is quickly turning into the worst one of his life. "Laura, come here," he whispers.

"No, I am going downstairs." She turns away from him.

"Please," he says. "I want to—I want to apologize to you. For being a dick."

Laura stops, her head tilting slightly. He takes that as a sign that she's listening, so he continues. "What I did just before Spring Break…I thought about it all week. It was a knee-jerk reaction because…" he looks down. "You really hurt me with what you said."

"I am—" she begins.

"No, it's not like I haven't given you cause." He stands up from the bed, takes a step toward her. "I'm not used to people like you. People who are real…and blunt…and who don't play games."

Laura looks at him. "You said we play games."

"I didn't mean…games. I meant that we challenge each other." He hesitates. "But I guess none of that matters if you don't…you know. Feel the same."

She lowers her gaze. "I am sorry, but…I do not find you appealing."

He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. "Okay. Just tell me…is there anything I could do to help it?"

Laura shakes her head gently.

He sighs. "Okay." He hesitates. "Can we be friends, at least?"

She also hesitates, and eyes him. "Perhaps. If I can learn to trust you."

"Fair enough." He offers her his hand, and after a moment she takes it and gives it a quick pump of a handshake. "Allies," she says softly, with a hint of a smile.

"Allies," he confirms.

…

It's much later in the afternoon, and Julian watches the scrolling headline on his TV set. His mouth is as dry as if he's eaten a ball of cotton.

California struck—estimated eight million dead, sixteen million infected

Kiden sits up, her eyes round as saucers. "Seriously? There's only thirty-three million people in this state to begin with. That's…almost seventy-three percent of the state population in four hours."

They are silent for a few moments.

"I was right," Laura says, her expression dark. "The virus is mutating from whatever the original strain was. It's becoming more and more adept. The incubation period has gone from a probable 24-hour period to about three and a half hours in the span of one day."

Julian swallows, rubs his face with his hands. "Do you think it's hit LA yet?" he asks finally, his voice seeming to echo in his ears. Last night, it had all seemed so far away. He'd thought everyone was getting worked up about nothing. The whole idea of holing up in his house for a week had seemed like a game he was playing to humor Laura, and that he'd be back in his boring-ass Environmental Policies and Comparing the European Union lectures on Tuesday, since he didn't have a Monday class. He'd thought he'd be picking up his license right about now.

But somehow he doubts the DMV is open today, judging from the images of LA that are now being plastered across his screen. Not only is most of the city down with the virus…but in the absence of the regular population, chaos has set in. Broken windows…fires…riots…looting…

"It's really here," he says in wonder.

"Yes." Laura glances at her phone, on the end table. "I will try my family again later. You should both do the same…maybe say goodbye, just in case."

"Oh my god." He shudders. What if his parents are already dead, and that's why they haven't called? Because they can't? He gets to his feet and heads into the kitchen, not sure what he's trying to do. He settles for leaning against a wall and staring at his fridge.

"Are you alright?" Laura asks, touching his shoulder from behind.

He looks at her. "Do you think we're going to die?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "No. We are prepared." She pauses. "However…it may be a good idea to double-check the house's ventilation. If we filter the air…it may not be necessary, but…"

"I have an air purifier in my closet."

"Good." She smiles slightly. "Perhaps we should have lunch. Can you make it?"

"Yeah." He pauses, shakes his head and blinks a few times. "I bread in the fridge…cheese…some cold cuts. Sandwiches?"

"Okay. One each." She pauses. "Julian…if your parents are careful…they will be fine. I am confident that my family will survive."

"Yeah, well, you don't know mine," he says. "My father…my brother…they're…" he hesitates and closes his eyes. "You told me I was arrogant. Well, if that's true...where do you think I got it?"

She gazes at him, with something akin to sympathy. "But you are also intelligent," she says.

"You didn't say that," he points out.

"You listened to me," she says. "We are well-prepared for this…epidemic."

Julian doesn't feel like telling her that he didn't believe her. Let Laura think he's a genius. It's the only quality he has going in his favor at the moment. He tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace. She squeezes his shoulder gently, then returns to the living room, and after a moment he begins to prepare a meal for them.

…

The local news station stops broadcasting around four o' clock. The screen now displays a stationary, standard message from the CDC to 'Remain inside', and 'Call this number immediately if experiencing any of the following symptoms...' A 1-800 number is listed.

Many of the channels are like this, or are filled with static. FOX news is still going, as is CNN and the BBC, so they alternate between those for sources of information. There have been several outbreaks in Europe already, even though all ports of entry are now shut down. The virus is spreading more slowly there, probably because it is the pre-mutation strain.

Julian has tried his parents three times, and now he's not getting a phone signal anymore. Laura says it's probably because the network is being overloaded with calls. People are saying goodbye is what she means but does not say.

"Did you call Celeste?" Laura asks, at six in the evening.

He realizes—with a start—that he hasn't really thought about Celeste since before Spring Break. He leans his face in his palms, and feels like shit. He'd been so consumed by his incident with Laura in the dining hall that he'd taken off for his vacation without even calling her…and when he'd gotten back, he'd been riding on the fumes of his meaningless Florida hook-up and forgotten that he was in a relationship of sorts. "Oh, god," he says out loud. "The hell is wrong with me?"

"You got some paper?" Kiden asks.

"Shut up." He picks up his phone and looks up Celeste's number in his favorites list. There is a dial tone, and the phone rings, but no one answers it. He feels uneasy. Celeste might not be all that bright, or nice…but he still hopes she's okay. He puts down his cell again and looks at Laura. "Maybe she went to her family," he says hopefully.

"Maybe," Laura says, frowning slightly.

…

At nine o' clock they learn—on the BBC—that the worldwide death toll is now estimated at around fifteen million people, eleven million victims in North America and the rest in Europe. At ten o' clock they hear the sounds of massed voices somewhere nearby, raised in a strange murmur. At eleven o' clock they hear a woman screaming her head off in the distance. And at one o' clock—when they are just about to head for bed again—they hear a strange pop-pop-pop sound, followed by a loud BOOM!

"What the hell was that?" Julian asks, his forehead wrinkled.

"Probably the military," Laura says, moving to the window and peering out down the street. She hesitates for a moment, then leans closer, pressing her fingertips against the glass. "Julian…turn off the lights," she orders in a hushed whisper.

He doesn't question her but does as she asks, then he and Kiden join her on either side and try to determine what she is looking at…but it's too dark. "What are you looking at?" he asks finally.

"There," Laura says.

After a few moments, Julian sees what she is referring to: a pale figure, shuffling slowly down the street.

"What the hell is that?" he asks.

"Zombie," Kiden says.

Laura looks at her uncertainly. Julian feels creeping alarm, because he can see that she is seriously considering her roommate's analysis. "No way," he says.

They watch the figure as it moves closer. The movements are erratic, twitchy and definitely off. He thinks back to the films and games he's played that involved zombies…and he's not really sure if this would fit his description. He can't tell if the figure is dead or alive, to begin with. Only that the person definitely isn't acting normally.

"We should go to sleep," Laura says finally, her voice firm.

"Like I'm going to sleep for a second knowing that thing's out there," he says.

"We don't know if it's aggressive," she says. "The doors and windows are barricaded."

"It's still there." He shudders.

"Julian…for now…it's no more harmful than a coyote, or a raccoon." She places her hand on his shoulder. "Come to bed. We need to sleep as much as we can now, in case tomorrow we need to start posting watches."

After a few moments he nods, and they climb into his bed again. It is big enough that they can spread out without touching, but that is the last concern on their minds right now. Julian stares up at his ceiling and wonders if this house that his parents had bought for their children while they attended school will become his tomb.