Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: I was unaware that there was an organised zombie crawl going on and I didn't realise you were in a costume. I screamed in your face because I truly thought I was facing a zombie invasion, the Herbology Assignment - Task 1: Write about someone who wears a disguise, the Writing Club - Disney Challenge: The Genie - Write about someone feeling trapped, Lyric Alley: It doesn't matter what is out there, the Insane House Challenge: Style - Present Tense, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Style - Present tense.
Word count: 560
underneath
It happens quickly.
One moment everything is normal, and the next Edgar is trapped, surrounded by a hoard of zombies, their wordless groans echoing through the otherwise empty street.
He's not proud of it, but he screams. Loudly.
He tries to run, but no direction is safe — god, how did he miss this? What the heck is going on? Zombies can't be real, he knows that, even if his eyes are currently telling him otherwise.
It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the zombies are just passing him by. It still doesn't explain the phenomenon, but it does mean that he's safe. Or safe-ish.
One of the zombies breaks off from the group to follow him, and Edgar starts walking faster, casting nervous glances over his shoulder to check that he's still being followed.
The man — are zombies called men too, or is there another term? he wonders somewhat hysterically — hurries after him, rags hanging off his thin frame. He has red hair dusted white with some kind of powder and his face is covered with dried dirt.
Edgar keeps walking faster, finally reaching the edge of the group. Ahead, he can see other people — normal people, like him — who are filming everything on their phones.
The zombie-man catches up with him.
"Hey, you okay?" he asks, sounding a little out of breath. "I saw you panic a little back there…" he trails off, cheeks blushing underneath the dirt, and extends his hand. "I'm Fabian, by the way."
"Edgar," Edgar replies, shaking the offered hand reflexively. "And I'm fine. I was just a little…"
"Surprised?" Fabian suggests, mouth quirked up in a smirk.
Edgar huffs out a laugh. "Sure, let's go with that." Terrified doesn't sound nearly as good, after all. "So, err… What's all this?" Edgar asked, gesturing at the advancing hoard.
Fabian stares. "You mean you don't know?" He laughs. "Oh man, I'm sorry, that must have been horrible," he says, wincing. "And to answer your question: basically, we dress up as zombies and wander around. Scare people," he adds with a wink.
"So all this," Edgar starts, pointing at Fabian's face and clothes, "is what? A disguise?"
"Judicious application of makeup," Fabian corrects him with a smile. "The blood's mostly caramel sauce, and this," he says, running a hand through his hair and shaking up dust, "is flour."
"What about the dirt on your face?" Edgar asks, now morbidly curious.
"That's the best part — powdered chocolate." He shrugs and licks his lips. "This was my disguise is both fantastic and delicious."
"Helps with the hunger for brains, I assume?" Edgar replies dryly, arching an eyebrow.
"Exactly!" Fabian retorts delightedly. "See? I knew you'd get it. You seemed… sympathetic." He winks.
"To the zombie cause?" The fear is long gone now, but the adrenaline rush lingers in his veins still, causing him to say things he otherwise wouldn't.
"If that means you'll give me your number, sure."
Edgar's mouth falls open instantly, but he forces himself to take reach for his phone instead. Heart pounding in his chest, he digs it out of his pocket slowly, and, mouth running dry, he asks, "Why don't you give me yours instead?"
Thirty seconds later, Edgar has a new contact named Zombie Boy, and a new love for the not-quite-dead.