AN: Posting this a day early because I'm about to hop on a plane for a holiday. I'm going to still try to get next week's post up on time but depending on how good the wifi is in my hotel, that may not happen. If so, I apologise in advance and I'll make it up to you when I get back, promise!
Chapter Eleven
AUDREY
It has to be close to noon by the time that I finally wake up with a weary yawn. Yesterday was a long day and I had stayed up much later than I usually did. I sit up and stretch before looking around the shop for my temporary roommate. When I don't immediately see him I stand up and wander between the shelves.
"N?" I ask tentatively.
A head appears above the desk where the record player sits - currently playing some big band song - and I am surprised when I feel a tightness relax in my chest at seeing him. Shrugging it away as simply a relief at not being left alone in the middle of the Dead Zone, I walk over to see what he's doing behind the desk.
N is sitting cross legged on the floor with a sparse-looking brush clutched awkwardly in his fist. There is a collection of small paint tins sitting on the floor in front of him, the caps removed, and the white, cracked wall in front of him is streaked with different colours. The paints have blended together because he apparently doesn't wash the brush, and the lines are shaky, but it's clear he's been trying to paint.
"What are you painting?" I ask curiously, surprised by this new development. The swirling, smeared lines are almost childlike and it softens something inside of me with the pure innocence in the action.
"D-dunno," he admits, tipping his head down shyly and rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Colours."
"Looks fun," I say and I sit down beside him, surveying the interweaving swipes of paint interestedly. In response, N pushes a can of paint full of bright yellow toward me and then offers out the brush. "You don't mind?" I ask.
The left corner of N's lips pulls up and he offers the paintbrush more insistently. "Please," he says with a nod.
"Okay," I say and I take the brush. I'm by no means an artist but I know that N won't judge me. Dipping the brush into the yellow paint, I draw a circle on the blank stretch of wall in front of me and then paint several lines coming out of it from every direction. "A sun," I explain in case N doesn't understand the primary school depiction. He makes a funny huffing noise that I think might be an attempted laugh. "Don't make fun of me," I say in mock indignation.
"Pretty," he amends, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
I laugh. "That's better." I dip the brush into the tin again and then go about signing my name underneath the sun. The R ends up looking a bit like an N but it's at least somewhat legible.
"'S'that?" N asks, poking the signature so that a spot of yellow paint comes off on his fingertip.
"My name," I say. "See. A, U, D, R, E, Y. Audrey." N scrutinises his painting and I can see the wheels spinning in his head. Holding out the paintbrush, I ask, "You want to sign your name under yours?"
"Dunno how," he says and looks down at his lap ashamedly.
"I'll show you," I say and take his hand, pressing the paintbrush into his palm. I close his hand into a fist and then wrap my hand around his thin wrist, guiding his hand. We dip the paintbrush into the yellow paint again and then I lead him to the wall. I navigate him through the motions - up, diagonal, up again - and then release his wrist with a smile. "There you go. N."
"N," he echoes, staring at the letter with something akin to awe in his foggy eyes. "Name. M-my name."
"Yeah," I agree with a smile. It's heart-warming seeing the pure wonder that is taking over his face. He looks brighter, fresher - more alive. His blue-gray eyes are wide and raptly focused on the yellow letter, and his cracked lips are twisted up at the corners. I wonder if this is more what he looked like before he turned. I can almost see the man behind the gray skin and dark veins, beneath the bruised eyes and zombie fog. With his prominent cheekbones and strong chin, he was probably pretty damn attractive.
Oh God, did I really just say a Corpse is hot? There is something so wrong with me. I need to get out of here, and soon, before I go completely crazy.
"So why are you hiding your painting back here behind the desk?" I ask, trying to get my brain back on track.
N picks at the paintbrush, his head tipped down again. "Em-mm-barras-sed," he says softly.
It takes all of my willpower not to 'awhhh' at that. "Don't be embarrassed," I say and pat his hand lightly. "C'mon, this building could use a little more colour. What do you say?" I pick up one of the paint tins and grin. "Interior decorating, N and Audrey style?"
He looks up at me, a light in his eyes that I've never seen before, and then lifts the paintbrush with a nod. "N and Audrey."
N
Audrey and I spend several hours using up all of the paint tins that I've collected from the nearby hardware store. There's no patterns or sense to our painting, we just splash colours on the walls. Audrey draws childish pictures on the walls, suns and flowers and stick-figure animals. I can't manage quite such precision with my zombie-fingers so my painting is really nothing more than swirls of colour in between her pictures. Also she took the paintbrush so I've been painting with my hands. We cover the entire front wall of the shop with orange and yellow and blue - and a fair bit of brown that happens when the paints mix.
"I like it," Audrey says, stepping back to examine the wall as a whole. "It looks nice."
"Colourrrful," I agree, wiping my hands on my jeans. I glance sideways at Audrey; she's beaming, a spot of blue paint on her cheek bringing out the colour of her eyes. "Beautiful."
"Not too bad for an afternoon's work," she says with a nod. She sets the paintbrush down and rubs her palms against her jeans. She looks up at me and grins. "You're staring again, N."
"You h-have," I point at my cheek, trying to signal the spot where she's got paint.
"Paint?" she asks and scrubs her palm against the wrong cheek.
"Here." I step forward and swipe my thumb across her cheekbone. I unfortunately forgot that my hands are currently covered in paint, so all I manage to do is swipe a rainbow of blue and orange and yellow across the left side of her face. I frown. "Th-that's worse."
Audrey laughs, rubbing cheek against the sleeve of her jacket. Her skin turns a muddy brown but she gets the majority of the paint off. "It was a nice try anyway," she says and shrugs, continuing to scrub at her face with the heel of her hand. "Thanks."
I gesture at the wall and say, "Thank-ks you."
"Don't worry about it, it was fun," she says. "I'm hungry, but when I'm done you wanna read another book? You've got this really sweet collection of poetry and I've got a soft spot for Whitman. It looked like it's missing a couple pages but it should be okay." I'm tired so I simply nod. I follow her over to her nest where she settles down with a can of more squishy fruit - pale green this time.
"Pears?" she offers after she wedges the lid off. Wrinkling up my nose, I shake my head. "Still recovering from the peaches, huh?" she asks and this time I nod. "I don't blame you. I never liked pears before all this, you know? But the zombie apocalypse kind of makes you appreciate things you always took for granted before. I never thought I'd be grateful for fruit. Although you know what food I'd kill for?"
"P-pizz-zza," I answer.
Audrey giggles through a mouthful of pears. "You remember? I'm impressed."
I pick paint off my fingers. "I try."
"I haven't had a pizza since way back at the beginning of the apocalypse," she says. "Duke and I found some frozen pizzas in a supermarket not long after we met, it was so good."
"D-duke, your fr-riend?" I ask.
"Yeah," she agrees. She heads over to the desk and helps herself to one of the beers from the cooler behind the counter. It's not until she's settled back into her nest that she speaks again. "He saved my life, you know?" Surprised, I tilt my head. "Yeah, that's how we met. I was on my own before that, making my way to the coast. I'd heard that there was a sanctuary for humans there. I was on the shore of Lake Erie when I was ambushed by a bunch of Corpses. They chased me onto the pier and then I fell in. One of them tried to drag me under, and then suddenly there was Duke. He jumped in and pulled me out, brained the monster - Sorry," she adds with a wince. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Fine," I say, waving a hand in an awkward attempt to be dismissive. At the same time that word rings in my head - monster, monster, monster...
"Anyway, he saved me," she continues. "He had been living on his boat in the middle of the lake for a few months. I stayed with him there for a while and then we went for the Compound together. He saved my life more than once, really. Carried me the last few miles after the hunger got to me. I have no idea how we made it without getting eaten." We lapsed into silence for a minute, her swirling the pears around the can and me trying to get the paint off my hands. Oops, that was a piece of skin. Gross. "N, can I ask you something?" I open my mouth and she laughs. "And I know I already did."
"G-go 'head," I say.
"Do you remember how you died?" she asks, glancing up at me through her lashes.
"No," I say. "N-nothing. But-" I hesitate and then pull my sleeve up to my elbow. My left forearm is a misshapen mess, thick knotting scars in the shape of a narrow crescent mangling the skin.
"You were bit?" she asks, her eyebrows shooting up. She reaches out and then pauses. "Can I?" I nod. She takes my wrist and examines my arm interestedly, running her fingertips over the rippling scars. A pleasant chill rolls through me at the touch. "God, it looks painful."
I shrug. "Don't rem-m-mber."
"Ooh, tough guy," she says with a laugh. She traces her fingers along the curve again. "Really though, I hope that's not how you died. That would be a horrible way to go." She brushes her hand over my arm and then lets it go, putting her hands in her lap. "Anyway, that book," she says and she scrambles over to the shelf where I keep all of the books I've found. She pulls out a thick, leather bound book and then sits down, opening it in her lap. "How do you feel about Whitman?"
"Who?" I ask uncertainly.
Audrey beams. "I was hoping you'd say that," she says and turns a page. "Means I get to introduce you to my favourite poet."
And she reads, for hours and hours. Poems of nature and sunshine, of love and romance and sadness and heartache, of adventure and self-discovery, of life and death and eternity. She reads through pages and pages, different authors and times and places. Occasionally she reaches a place where the pages have been ruined, sometimes mid-poem, and she huffs before flipping forward and starting something new without any further comment. Her words are magic and honey, taking the little black scratches on the pages and turning them into images in my mind.
She reads until the sun goes down and it gets too dark inside the house to see the pages any longer. She tries the torch but it only lasts for three short poems before it fades, flickers, and finally dies, casting us both into deep shadows.
"I suppose that's a sign," she says with a dull laugh, dropping the torch onto the floor. "I'm tired anyway." I was aware of that - she's been yawning for over an hour now, getting closer and closer together as time passed.
"Tom-morrow?" I ask tentatively.
Audrey smiles and closes the book. "Sure, we can read some more tomorrow." She pulls her blanket up around her neck and curls down into the pillows. In the faint moonlight I can see her glancing up at me, the light a speck in her eyes. "Night, N."
"Good night, Audrey," I say, proud of myself for getting through the whole sentence without a single stammer or slur. Damn, I almost sounded human.
I lay in my nest and listen to the record player - a soulful record that Audrey informed me is called jazz - while I watch her drift off to sleep. She murmurs in her sleep again but this she is smiling. Happy. I wonder what it must feel like to sleep. To dream. Corpses don't dream.
But we do have the next best thing.
I pat my pocket to check that there's still some gray matter left there and then I stand up and leave the shop. I can't have Audrey catch me eating this, that might scare her away. Make it too real. I can't do that now, not when she's finally beginning to trust me. So I sneak out into the night and walk the winding alley path to where the truck is parked behind the bush. I settle myself in the driver's seat and pull out a handful of the squishy brain matter.
It's not real dreaming, but it's as close as a Corpse like me can get.
...You can feel the adrenaline and nerves bubbling in you even though you work to keep them hidden from everyone else. You're the leader now, you need to be the strong one. You look around the supply closet and then nod. "Alright, everyone, you know how this works," you say. "We load up anything of necessity and leave the rest."
You watch everyone spread out across the room, each of them loading up their specified supplies. Checking the safety on your gun, you walk a circuit around the room to keep surveillance up while the others have their guard down.
"Mm, look guys, Vicodin," Duke says brightly. "Anybody wanna split some with me?" You glare at him, trying to convey all of your annoyance through a single look, and he jumps in before you can tell him to grow up. "Oh relax, Mr. Congeniality, I'm only kidding."
You shake your head and go back to your work, but out of the corner of your eye you watch Audrey. Beautiful, radiant, vibrant Audrey. She's brought so much into your life. She saved you from the darkness when it was threatening to consume you.
She suddenly lifts her head from her work, her forehead creased with concern. "Did anyone else hear that?"
You pause but you can't hear anything. "It's nothing, Audrey," you say, stepping up behind her.
She scowls and pivots on her heel to face you. "We should get out of here."
"We can't just leave," you say firmly, giving her a pointed look. This mission is too important. The sense of duty swells in you. "You know how important these missions are. Haven needs this medicine and it's our job to gather-"
Audrey scoffs and waves a dismissive hand at you, walking around you and heading across the room. Tension is rolling off her in waves. "Yeah, okay Vince," she says drolly.
Trying to ignore the barb, you say, "Flattery doesn't win arguments."
"I didn't mean it as a compliment," she snaps at you, busying herself with going through a box of supplies.
There's a loud crash and you swivel toward the door. "Okay, I definitely heard it that time. Seriously, Brody, I think it's time to split," Duke cuts in suddenly.
"It's nothing," you say but you can tell that you haven't convinced anyone, let alone yourself. You walk over to the door and peer through the glass window. The hall outside is full of furniture that's been knocked over and stray wires, but it's completely devoid of life. "Probably just the wind knocking something over, it's fine."
You turn around, giving Audrey a smug look. She isn't looking at you though; her eyes are fixed on something else. "Chris!"
You see it out of the corner of your eye and react just in time. As the door is thrown open you swing your rifle backwards, catching one of the monsters in the face. Scurrying forward, you pivot around the edge of a counter and aim. The big, dark Corpse lets out a shriek just before you blow the right side of its face off.
Another Corpse is moving past you - a tall, lanky male - and you throw yourself up onto the countertop for a better vantage point. Sighting down the barrel, you squeeze the trigger. Its shoulder jerks backward at the impact and you curse under your breath. Missed. Furious, you narrow your eyes and snarl. "Take this, fucker."
The Corpse lurches at you, growling, just as you pull the trigger. There's a moment of pure, total fear that takes over you as it jumps toward you with its teeth bared. Its foggy eyes are alight with animalistic hunger and this rage and beastial fury is the most alive you've ever seen a Corpse.
It grabs your ankle and a shout of surprise breaks out of your throat as it tugs. A stunning wave of vertigo sends you spinning and it only gets worse when your head clips the countertop on your way down. While your head is still fuzzy, it grabs your arm and you feel its hot breath on your flesh a split second before it bites.
The pain is crippling and you can't stop yourself from screaming. You've never felt anything more painful in your entire life as it gnaws through the muscle. The warmth of blood rushes down your arm and the acrid, copper scent is stifling. Your breath is stolen as the Corpse's hands close around your throat. Your head crashes against the floor once and then you snap your eyes open.
The Corpse's face is a hair's breadth from yours. Its teeth are filled with shredded skin - your skin - and its mouth is stained a deep scarlet with blood - your blood. Its pale skin is gray and sickly and from this close you can see even the faintest veins that are protruding from around the fog-filled eyes. Its breath, filled with the heavy scent of copper blood and decay, is humid and sticky upon your face. You gaze into that face and all you see is death. Your death...
I choke on the brain, something like nausea churning in my core. Gagging, I lean sideways out of the truck and spit the gray matter out onto the asphalt. It takes me several tries to get all of it out of my mouth and when I finally do I wipe my mouth on the back of my wrist.
That was me. The vicious beast that stole that man's life from him. I can't get the image out of my head, the sight of my face contorted in pure carnal rage. Because in that moment, more than any other moment in my life since I died, I am a monster.
I stumble out of the truck and make my way back home. I need to get away from these thoughts, these memories, these truths. I need to feel more like myself and less like that monster. I need Audrey.
Too bad she's gone.