AN: Thanks so much for the reviews...Here comes another chapter...

Chapter 3

For the first time since the infestation, Dave found himself standing less than five feet from a zombie in his own home. Instinctively, he reached for his gun, but his hands were shaking and he hesitated. Dear God... Holy Father in Heaven... It was Erin.

His heart was in his throat and his stomach churned violently as he stared at the pale, bloodless face of the woman that had come to mean so much to him. Her eyes were closed and her lips lacked pigmentation of any kind, but there was no mistaking her for someone else. Her fine, Nordic bone structure and silvery blonde hair was the same as always. For a helpless moment, he wondered if he let strands fall between his fingers, would her hair still feel the same?

"David..."

She took an unsteady step toward him, and he jolted out of his ridiculous reverie. Jesus, what had he been thinking? She was undead, a monster. She—IT—was no longer Erin. The Replicator had made sure of that. She was a corpse. The fact that it was someone he'd known, someone he'd thought about often and had dreamed about, didn't matter.

It was a zombie. Zombies ate human beings.

He was human.

That was what mattered.

Cursing his luck, Dave withdrew his Glock and pointed it straight between her eyes, ready to pull the trigger if she came closer.

He cursed his luck. He hadn't lived the cleanest life. He'd had far too many women, far too many marriages, but he tried to be a decent person. Still, here he was, having to shoot an ex-lover who'd become a zombie who would try to kill him.

God must really have it out for me, he thought bitterly.

But at the same time, things were making him uneasy about this...her...it. His sixth sense was twitching. How could she speak? None of the other monsters said more than the hideous moan that surrounded him day and night, yet here was Erin, speaking as clear as day.

Well, she wasn't as clear as day. She spoke in a low whisper, the word said as a moan, but it was still a word.

His name.

"Erin...can you hear me?" he asked, attempting to question her. It was foolish—she didn't have a functioning brain—but he had to try.

Profiling serial killers was thought to be foolish at one time, too.

She stood in place, swaying drunkenly, like zombies usually did, and her eyes opened.

Dave gasped. Her eyes were blue. Paler than normal, nowhere near her usual brilliant shade, but they were blue nonetheless. Every other zombie had white, lifeless eyes.

Those blue eyes of hers stared straight ahead, and there was a pained expression on her face. She didn't focus on anything, just gazed at nothingness. He needed her to focus. If she focused, maybe there was something there. Maybe...maybe they'd been wrong? Maybe she hadn't died? Maybe...

The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"Erin," he announced, loudly and clearly. "Erin, can you hear me?"

She stumbled, a shuffle step, closer to him, still staring blankly. However, as she moved closer, Dave saw something else in her eyes, something he'd never noticed in the many zombies he'd encountered before.

Sadness.

There as a bone-deep sadness, a grief in Erin's eyes that spoke of pain and heartache like nothing he'd ever experienced. His entire chest ached with pain, and he felt his throat constrict as he watched her. What had caused that pain? Better yet, who had caused that pain?

"David..." she whispered.

She continued to advance on him, and slowly, he lowered his gun. He might be the biggest fool in the world, but he lowered his gun. He'd listened carefully when she'd said his name, and he'd noticed a note of sadness in that moan. It was like she was in pain and she was searching for him to help her, like he was the only one who could.

"Erin. Erin Strauss. Erin," he chanted, trying to gain her focus, to break through to her, to whatever was keeping her alive inside.

She moved within a foot of him, and it took everything in his power not to turn tail and run. He stood his ground and waited. Either he was going to be dead, or he might have the woman he cared deeply for back in his life. It seemed ironic; he hadn't really been alive without her.

"David..." she said with one last step, and then she collapsed against him.

With no other thoughts, Dave scooped her up in his arms and rushed toward his bed. Her eyes were closed; she'd obviously passed out. Dave had never heard of zombies passing out before, but then again, stranger things had happened recently!

Gently, Dave laid her on the bed, and as he did so, he noticed his arm was wet. He touched the dark fabric of his coat...and lifted red-smeared fingers.

Oh, shit... Blood!

Panicking, he ripped open the tattered suit and the thin blouse she was wearing and then rolled her to her side. Sure enough, there was a wound in the right lower quadrant of her back where a bullet had nicked her. It had a lot of congealed blood, but it was still oozing a slow leak. Someone had taken a shot at her.

Just like he'd been about to do.

"Jesus, Erin," he whispered and then opened one of the bags he'd packed with medical supplies. He cleansed the wound, applied antiseptic, and then dressed it, padding it with lots of gauze so it wouldn't hurt if he bumped her.

As he went to remove her shirt, he noticed other markings and lack thereof on her skin. The V-shaped incision from her autopsy was missing. There were burn and scorch marks on her back and chest, and the skin on her wrists was rubbed raw, all which were signs of torture.

His blood ran cold in his body. What in the hell had really happened to her?

He leaned forward and listened to her chest. There was a heartbeat. It was faint, but there was a heartbeat.

She wasn't a zombie.

A rush of relief washed over him, so potent it brought tears to his eyes. But he didn't have time to cry. He was focused on Erin and what she might need. She was so cold, and so pale, he worried he'd lose her again. There were no hospitals open in his area; he had to do what he could right then and there. He brought up his comforter, tucked it around her, and then crawled in next to her to add his body heat.

He held her cocooned body close to his, lay very still, and listened for the very faint sound of her breathing. He reached up and touched a silvery blonde lock of her hair. A tear escaped down his cheek.

Silky and soft...just as he'd remembered.