Logistics of Love in the Zombie Post-Apocalypse
I
They'd both just about given up on finding a safe un-zombie-infested place to rest for the night when they made it over a huge hill that seemed infinite and saw two large hotels so apt they were as if purpose-built for them. Those hotels would have to have some food, and at least one zombie-less suite, between them. Probably several. If they were lucky the suite sans undead might not even be very trashed.
They tried the Hampton Inn first but that place had hordes, plural, inside of it that both of them could see even from a hundred yards away, plus one horde of normal zombies loitering by the main entrance—and with their luck all the other entrances were probably locked.
So they tried the Courtyard. Secretly, Celestina Berengar—usually "Celest," no E—had preferred that one, which she wouldn't have dared say aloud until after they'd checked it. In this new post-zombie-apocalyptic world, things seemed to go wrong even more often—and usually wronger—when you bothered to hope for anything out loud. Because then the cosmos knew. They called this the Hope Law: if something good seems likely to happen, don't mention it out loud, or it'll never happen.
At the Courtyard there were only a few zombies noticeable immediately, outside or inside. While Celest was the smarter of the two of them, Rama Jenk—usually "Rama," also no E—was by far the stealthier: he seemed able to intuit undead things' movements, where they'd look and what they'd hear and see, easily—much better than anyone else she'd been around post-zompoc could, so seemingly without effort Rama led Celest in right past four zombies: no bites, no roars, no scratches. The zeds never even knew they were there.
He decided one Z was too close to the main entrance (too risky) and so dropped it—so quietly Celest couldn't hear it happening as she saw it, and she was only about 15 feet away: Rama snuck up behind it and hammer-fisted his knife into the back of its skull. It fell; he caught it by the armpits and lowered it quietly to the ground, then withdrew the knife and wiped its blade clean on the zombie's largely intact clothing. He made getting his blade out of the zombie's skull seem easy. He'd gotten strong.
Inside they conferred, probably excessively quietly—mouths to ears to stay near-silent—and decided they liked the cut of the place's metaphorical jib, and so they'd clear at least the ground floor's common areas, if they could manage as much silently.
They got lucky, but because of the new Hope Law they didn't express such verbally—there were no special infected in the common areas, and only a few normal zombies, all of which they managed to sneak up on. Admittedly, it took longer than they would've liked. But they 100% agreed that extra time was worth silence, and not drawing in any more undead that they'd have to fight openly. They used to be a much larger group, several of whom were mutual friends of Celest's and Rama's, and most of those people's deaths were ultimately attributable to noise. If you stayed quiet you had to deal with the undead far less than if you were noisy, especially in un-cleared areas, and they hadn't cleared this hotel yet.
There were probably plenty more Z on the first floor (aka ground level), but none that could wander freely; Celest and Rama didn't have to empty the entire place yet. The foyer-lobby area was very open, aesthetically pleasant to both of them . . . and indefensible against the undead because of a large amount of huge panel windows, though the airy open design had a pleasant quality of light and space about it. If they'd spend the night here, it would have to be in one of the place's other three stories.
They quickly learned that the building still somehow had power and running water. Which would certainly not last forever—most places had neither luxury now. They'd sleep on the second floor tonight, they decided, though they'd have to be quiet if they didn't want to clear the entire first and second floors and probably beyond. The first floor was safer in case of fire—you could just jump out any window and not take falling damage—and generally for easy egress in case of zombie or hostile human problems, but—especially with zombies—also much more dangerous, because zombies and hostile humans could also enter from any direction with ease, if not silence: very few of the place's windows were broken, ground level or (less likely) higher—almost all of them were in pre-apocalyptic pristine condition. Zombies commonly roamed, but they seldom climbed things—ledges, walls, stairs or even ramps—unless they were actively chasing a living person. They'd always take the most direct route to a living person, but without that stimulus they wouldn't try to go over, through, or around anything. Zombies hardly ever bothered to go around things; it was unlikely, but it did happen sometimes, like if their simple, individually-mindless behavior scripts determined an obstacle was too big. Celest and Rama thought the much-less-easy egress of this hotel's second floor was worth its tradeoff in increased zombie safety. They didn't even want to try the elevator, though it seemed to work (its doors all opened at ground level, anyway), and there were two staircases leading only up from 1F that they could find, one at either far end of the long structure. Jumping out a window from 2F was technically an option, though not a good one—it would probably hurt; to be avoided, if possible.
Then they wasted about 40 minutes figuring out a way to get into the rooms—suites?—on 2F, which were all electronically locked—except one, which was blocked open with a wheeled fancy-looking office chair toppled over. No Z in that room, but several corpses. They unblocked that door later—it locked automatically—when they returned with some sort of housekeeping digital skeleton key card that worked on every door they tried it with. They got lucky again: they decided on a room facing north, #210, then cleared it: no Z in it at all. In perfect condition, apparently cleaned and restocked, with the bed made by housekeeping since somebody'd last rented it. Then to sleep relatively securely they—staying together—cleared all the other rooms immediately around theirs: 208, 209, 211, 212, 213. One had a zombie in it, but the others were devoid of life and death. One of them was in perfect-and-restocked condition like theirs, but the others were in varying states of disarray. One looked like it had been lived in for a while and then abandoned perhaps a month ago.
A/N: Originally posted from 2 December 2022–7 November 2023 on Archive of Our Own. I don't think it took me that long to write (29 March 2022–21 July 2023; I can't maths right now)—it was mostly all at once (like, within a few weeks), then kind of stayed dormant for a really long time, and I eventually got back into and finished it.