Zoey had been staring at the wall drearily for what had felt like hours, deep in her thoughts. She had not returned to the guest room where she had spent the last several days, nor had she returned to Phyllis's room, with its broken window and shards of glass. She had lost track of the cuts and bruises on her body, but her feet still ached at the memory. Almost as much as the upset it had caused Ellis - even though he'd not only forgiven her for being nosy but also apologised for his reaction.
Her stomach had almost finished healing from the marks the Hunter had inflicted upon her weeks before; the once-maroon slashes silvered under her drying scabs. There had been so many times she had thought she would die the last few weeks that she had lost count. There was barely any skin left on her body that hadn't been scratched, bruised, bitten or worse. Back then, she had naively thought Infected were the worst of their problems and that, if she would meet her end, it would be at their hands. Thinking that, believing that, made her feel stupid now.
No, not stupid. Angry at herself. She should have been prepared for this. She should have been ready. There had been clues from that guy in Riverside, when she'd been with the other three she'd gone to hell and back with, that not everyone out there cared about helping their fellow friendly neighbourhood Uninfecteds -
(Ding dong ding dong psychotic bastard)
All of them could have been killed, or far worse. It was a miracle they escaped –
But we're here. We're breathing.
For now, at least. The continental United States was a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off. And the greatest irony of it all was that it was entirely self-inflicted - through paranoia, incompetence and complete contempt for human life. It was a caricature of a caricature of a war crime and the greatest betrayal all of her fellow countrymen had known. It would be the legacy of their government, who metaphorically burned their prosperity and legacy out of fear of losing their hierarchy in the global pecking order, to very literally be burning –
I can't afford to think like this. Not tonight. Not when I have to find a way to keep going.
Her eyes travelled up and down the walls. She'd known it was Ellis's room, or had been Ellis's room when he had lived here, as soon as she had cracked open the door. It smelled of him: a mixture of light sweat from exertion, Axe antiperspirant and a touch of engine grease. It filled her with a sense of warmth and comfort to feel his presence around her, two things that she desperately needed at that moment. She could hear his voice downstairs when she had been in the hallway; his gentle southern tones as he calmed Nathalie.
She swallowed, the lump in her throat feeling ever larger as she struggled with her thoughts.
Phyllis had kept his room tidy in the absence of her son, but had changed little otherwise, as if she was waiting for him to come back. The walls were the blue of old jeans, covered all over with band posters - The Midnight Riders, Thin Lizzy, ZZ Top, Clutch and one she'd not heard of called Laurie and the Cavemen. She had walked up to it, squinting, and only then had noticed the picture pinned to the corner. Ellis was in it next to his bandmates, mid jam on the most beaten-up bass guitar she'd ever seen, with the band's banner hanging above the stage. She had unpinned it, turning it around to read the back.
Battle of the Bands, 2002.
An old bass case was in there, its felt interior exposed in an empty yawn. She remembered the story that Ellis had told her about his bass and felt a little sad at the sight of it. It had given its life honourably for that of the human whom it had served. Zoey gave the case a goofy salute, smiling in spite of herself.
They had talked about their lives before all of this on the nights they had been in each other's company, but being in this room was different - here, it was like being inside a portrait of Ellis. A whole record of the life he had led, written within four walls. The stories he had told her about himself, the dumb stuff he had gotten up to with Keith, his band, his job as a mechanic, his hobbies. Just being in this room turned his already vivid tales into full colour, like she was living them in his footsteps. The place felt frozen in time; untouched except for the planks in place across the window.
She walked slowly around the room, examining it in detail. She traced her fingers over his sixth-grade little league trophy, the edges of the cardboard frame that held his GED and the ticket stubs from all the rock concerts he'd been to. There was a corkboard next to it, covered in more pinned photos - Ellis on a rollercoaster so rickety it looked like it was falling apart, on a ride on mower drinking a bottle of beer, at a Halloween party dressed as the back half of a horse, getting his (slightly less beaten up) pickup as a birthday present from his father.
On and on it went - memory after memory.
She noticed that the pretty, auburn-haired girl that she'd seen downstairs was in many of them. In a good number of those, her and Ellis had their arms around each other. Even though Zoey felt she had no right to feel the way she did, an uncomfortable twinge of jealousy within her now surfaced as she looked at them together. She unpinned another Polaroid from the corkboard, one of the two of them laughing at a bowling alley, and read the back.
Ellis's 21st, Zeke's Big Bowl, 16th May 2006.
Who was this girl?
Zoey hasn't asked about her when she'd seen her on the downstairs wall. She had figured that maybe Ellis would tell her when he was ready, and she hadn't wanted to push him in any way. But things had changed, for both of them, in a very short span of time, when there was very little time to be had. What had been a combination of flirting and Spiderman syndrome had turned into something much, much more than that for her. She couldn't give her heart away for less than the same in return.
I have to know. I have to know if I'm just a... replacement to him.
She couldn't listen to her heart screaming to her that it wasn't true, and she was being crazy. The logical cogs of her mind were turning - a brain at among one of the most vulnerable points in her life that she had ever been. Seeing Ellis tonight, thinking of what he would say to her -
It could break me. To the point where, apocalypse be damned, I can't stay with him anymore.
Amateur dramatics aside, she knew it was true. He was the only person in this place who had given her hope - real, actual hope. Where she was in her mind right now, she had pushed herself into a corner that was all or nothing. To be vulnerable and open herself to the very real possibility of being hurt, or to close up forever, shut down and be damned with feeling anything again. She had chosen the former, knowing what the consequences were if it backfired. She couldn't be okay around him if she wasn't sure he was in this for the same reasons she was, and was trying her hardest to make peace with exactly that.
Her petty jealousy at the pretty, auburn haired girl wasn't just because of the way in those pictures that she was looking at him. As Zoey slowly drew her eyes over the montage of Ellis's life, she realised in her envy, darkly bubbling in her stomach, that she hated the glorious, beautiful, monotonous, fucking normality of them all. To have gotten to know Ellis slowly, to have gone on regular dates, to have made memories like this, rather, rather -
Than sharing a glass of whiskey before making out after the news that your whole country could be a smouldering crater anytime fucking yesterday.
She was breathing heavily; her eyes pricking with tears. She let them come. It was a relief to be able to cry, to allow herself to grieve at her own life, for once. Granted, she'd have probably never have met Ellis had all of this never happened, and probably would never have seen him as romantic material if she had. Her shallow, slightly snobbish standards - mostly being a mask for her reluctant nerves - would have seen to that the second he opened his mouth. But in that moment, she wanted that life, that fantasy life that they could have lived, more than anything else in the world. And now that she knew him, really knew him -
But is that really true?
She felt it was - at least, in terms of Ellis as a person. It wasn't like he was a closed book with his emotions or intentions - what you saw was what you got. It was, of course, what drew her to him so strongly. But, bar the snippets of their lives that they had shared through their long conversations into the night, she was learning so much more about him that she wished she had known. This whole life, in full colour, that had existed in the time before. The amateur rock star mechanic, with his love of beer, school buddies and -
(His pretty, auburn haired girlfriend)
Come on, Zoey. Get over yourself. Be a damned adult.
She realised that she was still standing in the towel she had put on after her bath. She shivered slightly, as a draft from the loose windowpane of Ellis's room goosepimpled her shoulders. A trail of damp footprints and stray droplets gave away her path around the room: from the bed, over to the dresser and then along the wall where the corkboard was. Listening out for anyone approaching, Zoey opened it, leaning forward to wring the last bit of moisture from her hair. A laundry hamper sat at the foot of the bed, full of clothes that were neatly folded. Not wanting to get back into her trenchcoat - or see it again, for that matter - she knelt down, thumbing through them until she found the largest T-shirt she could.
I hope he doesn't mind too much.
She pulled it over her head, the hem dropping to just above her knees. It was a Falcons jersey from years back, covered in paint stains. Zoey figured Ellis must have been doing work at his mom's the last time they'd been here - helping her fix up the bathroom, maybe. It smelled faintly of laundry soap and turpentine, but there was a hint of Ellis there as well. It calmed her, her pulse slowing from a jitter into a more steady, relaxed rhythm.
She lay back down on the bed, losing herself for a while longer in her thoughts.
Still very much on edge, Ellis pulled his robe around his shoulders, after drying his hair with one of the hand towels. He had flinched, remembering how much his mom hated it when he did that and, out of habit, draped it on the side of the bath. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror as he moved over, taking a good long look when he did. The right side of his face was covered in bruises, that had gone from beet red to a murky purple. Both of his eyes were black, the right more than the left. Ellis drew back his lip (also cut and slightly swollen) with his finger, checking the state of his back teeth. He was relieved that the damage wasn't as bad as he'd thought - one of his molars had cracked, but the rest were more or less intact, save for a few chips. He'd have to pick up some dental cement to stop it being a problem later on, but he could deal with it for now. The inside of his mouth was worse - deep wounds nearly to the other side from where his teeth had about broken through. It had stopped bleeding, thank God, but holy shit, it hurt. He'd rinsed his mouth with some mouthwash to clean them out a little, and nearly blacked out from the pain.
Too bad you didn't hit as hard as you talked, huh?
After checking the many bruises covering the rest of him (over his ribs, like he'd suspected), Ellis closed his robe, breath whistling between his teeth in disdain. His clothes were covered in bloodstains: some his own, some the blood of others. He picked them up, shoving them in the empty hamper after checking his pockets. He put the car keys and spare change had had in there (exactly why he'd kept the change, he had no real idea) as well as the switchblade he'd kept in his boot on the hallway side table as he left, heading to his room across the hall to pick up something to wear that, for once, wasn't entirely ruined.
Opening the door and seeing Zoey in there, Ellis almost jumped out of his skin.
"Oh God, I'm sorry, I -" Ellis stammered frantically, looking around at anything but her. He felt his face immediately growing hot, all the things he'd wanted to say falling out of his brain like the pages of a badly bound book.
What's she doing in here?
She was lying on the bed. She shuffled around slowly to face him, and gave him a gentle smile.
"It's okay, Ellis," she said quietly. "I hope you don't mind - I borrowed your jersey. I didn't really have anything else that wasn't either gore washed - not in vogue these days, I hear - or something I wanted to douse in gasoline and-"
"N-not at all," he said, cutting across her in his nerves before correcting himself. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt ya there - take anythin' at all. Whatever helps - got sweats if you're a lil' on the chilly side."
"I'm not so bad right now."
She sat up, drawing the jersey around her bruised knees; as lovely to him as ever. He looked at the paint stains on the shirt she'd picked out and felt his cheeks prickling with heat.
Of all the things I could have had on the top of the laundry basket, why did it have to be that old rag?
Ellis blinked, then screwed his eyes shut for a moment, trying desperately to collect the thoughts flying frantically through his brain. He'd thought he'd gotten over - well not over, but at least gotten a little better at not being - a gibbering wreck around her. But there were so many things he wanted to ask her, that he wanted to do at least - what did the fancy folks call it - with some vague sense of decorum. Not in the least because he knew that she was going through something really rough, but he also cared so deeply about getting it right.
"How are you feeling?" She asked suddenly before he could speak, looking over to him. Her green eyes -
(Those beautiful fucking eyes)
were wide, full of concern -
(For me)
Ellis looked back at her, dumbstruck, not knowing what to say. He was taken by her words as they sunk in, barely registering the racing of his own heart.
What she's been through, and she's asking how I'm doing?
She moved over to him, gently taking his hand. Ellis was so on edge that his nerves felt electrified, the contact with her skin making the hairs all over his body stand on end. It was a soft and loving touch, delivered with care. It made him, somehow, feel mad at himself all over again for not asking her that question first. He grasped her hand in return, her fingers sliding through the gaps to lock with his.
He wanted to tell her then, so badly, how he felt. It took all of his inner monologues (plural, for Ellis) yelling at him to zip it.
"C'mon," she said playfully, rubbing the space next to her. "Talk. Unlike all the charming company we have outside this place, I don't bite."
Doing his best to pull himself together, Ellis took the seat she offered. He stared at the floor, searching himself for a coherent sentence. As he did so, she looked at him quizzically, trying to read his expression and he felt even more frustrated with himself. How was he feeling right now? Was it weird to feel a combination of both incredible joy and also like reheated shit?
Come on, it doesn't have to be Shakespeare, dumbass.
"If-if I'm real honest with ya Zo," he said finally, relaxing a little through his breathing, "pretty darn terrible. Been real worried about y'all. Real worried about you."
She didn't reply, instead listening for him to continue. He could sense her studying him as he spoke, taking in his facial expressions as much as his words.
"I… just, I don't know," he continued, still looking down at his feet. "It was so fucked up, what happened out there. Been try'na make sense of it in my head, and I jus'… can't. Seen a lot of shit these past few weeks – nothin's even come close."
He trailed off. After a pause, Zoey spoke.
"I know," she said. "I couldn't believe it either. Well, that's… kind of a lie. I could. This –" she gestured broadly with her bad hand, " – well, horror movie that we're all currently living, it was inevitable that there was going to be people like them. The worst of human nature."
She stroked his hand as she talked, each small touch soothing and wonderful. He felt brave enough to finally look at her, turning his head toward her. As he did, it took a lot to resist the urge to just hold her. Guilt was rising in his chest, in nauseating waves.
It's yourself you need to worry about, girl. Not me.
"I'm so sorry, Zo."
"For what?"
"For everythin'. I wish I'd gone alone. Wish I'd never taken you and Nathalie there. It was somethin' I needed to check out, my own peace of mind –"
"Ellis, stop –"
"But it's true. Things that happened – could have happened to you –"
"But they didn't. We're here. So please – just, stop."
She was shaking a little, her breaths shallow. He felt even worse now; his gaze falling again, away from her. His eyes welled with tears, and he took a deep breath.
I'm sorry Zo. I'm gonna say it.
"I could have lost you," he said, voice trembling. "I couldn't protect you. You're the best thing – the best thing – that's ever happened to me, and I fuckin' failed you."
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, fighting to control his sobs. Her hand had gone still, and he could hear the movement of her lips as she softly mouthed his words.
Get a hold of yourself, for the love of God.
She let go of his hand. Ellis's heard sank for a moment when she did, but to his surprise, she embraced him. She held him to her, holding him in her arms, as he let out what he had been holding for the past few, agonising hours. The comfort he felt was entwined by his deep sense of shame, like how he'd felt when his mother had looked at him in the downstairs parlour, but infinitely amplified. He felt goddamned awful; even worse than he had on the drive back, and beyond furious at himself. But despite those feelings, he couldn't stop. It was like a tap had been turned on and the avalanche of his emotions just kept on coming.
"I'm sorry Zo, I'm so sorry – " he choked.
"It's ok. Let it out. You don't have to be sorry. Not for anything. Especially not for this."
He let it out as she held him, still and calm; starkly in contrast to the mess he was. After a while, he stopped crying and just stayed there, regaining his breath in her arms. It felt like he didn't have any feelings left in him, bar the deepening pangs of shame he felt. He had done the opposite of what he wanted to do – making this about him and not her.
"I've not even asked you how you are," he said suddenly, his voice dull. "It was the only thing I wanted to ask you, and I couldn't even manage that –"
"It's a redundant question, anyway," she interrupted, somewhat flatly.
"Redundant?"
"Pointless. I'm pretty awful right now, and I'm going to be for a while. Honestly? I really don't want to talk about it. Don't think I ever want to."
She took a breath, and Ellis felt her fingers squeezing his shoulder.
"But knowing that you're here, with me," she said, more gently now. "It makes it a hell of a lot easier to handle."
Before he could stop himself, Ellis let out a disbelieving laugh at her words. He sat up slightly, shaking his head as he did.
"I ain't done shit but cry on you, girl," he muttered. "You deserve a hell of a lot better than me for company, 'specially righ' now –"
"Maybe I don't want anybody else."
That sentence stopped the next utterance that he'd lined up. His pulse was quickening again, as he repeated her words over in his mind. Her fingers touched his chin and lifted, turning his head towards her so she could look at him. Her eyes were bold, a longing in them that he'd seen on that night where they had shared that kiss that hadn't left his head since it happened. The self-hatred he'd been feeling was still there, but it was neutered; his heart filling, despite his want in that moment to push it away, with undeniable happiness.
It was then, he knew, that he couldn't keep it hidden any more. Timing, circumstances, selfishness be damned – this was it. Here and now was all they had, and if he was going to die tonight, tomorrow or in the days that followed, he was going to be damned sure that this wasn't going to be a regret he would take to his grave.
"I love you, Zo."
Her eyes widened, as a strange sensation came over him. He thought his voice would be much shakier, but it was steady. Certain. And as he spoke his next words, he understood that feeling was the weight of that realisation he'd held for so long coming away from him, finally freed into the open.
"I've been crazy about'cha since the minute I first saw you. Since then, well… it's only gotten worse. I didn't want to pressure you by telling you that much, because I was worried it weren't fair. Hell, it ain't now – 'specially now. But I can't hold onto it anymore, not no longer, because we may not be here tomorrow. I love you, darlin'. With every fibre of my being, do I love you."
Zoey sat for a moment, stunned. Ellis looked back at her almost in disbelief, as if he couldn't believe what he had said either. But after a moment, he smiled warmly at her.
"You don' need to say a thing, not if you don' want," he continued, his voice unwavering and sure. "This was mine, this thing in my heart I held. Ain' your responsibility to do nothin' to fix it, 'specially if you don' feel like I do. Just thanks for hearin' my idiot self out, it just feels good to finally say it –"
"I love you too."
Despite all her internal resistances, despite all the things that she'd wanted to ask him first – the things she'd felt she needed to know – the words escaped her as easily as breathing. All her doubts, all her fears had melted away as she said it, as certainly as he had. It was if she watched the words physically depart from her lips, the sentiment as emotionally raw and natural as anything that made them uniquely human. She couldn't explain why she felt as sure as she did; but it was as she had listened to him, looked at him, she just knew. The before that had mattered so much to her – before he had walked through that door – wasn't important anymore.
His love was for her, and her alone.
As she looked deeply into his eyes, the corners creased as his boyish face broke into the broadest, happiest grin. It was infectious, and whether it was from nerves, ecstasy or both, Zoey began to laugh. They shared the moment, savouring it, their giggles of disbelief permeating the tension in the air.
"How long?" He asked her, stopping for breath at last and running a hand through his sandy hair. "I… jus'… sorry. I din' expect that. Wow. I… should probably stop talking before I ruin the moment –"
"- I don't really know when," she stammered, a little shy. "Something fell into place for me, and I just… knew."
She wondered then when she truly had known. She'd said it in her head initially as she'd soaked herself in the bath in a baptism of diluted blood, as unlike as possible to how she'd ever previously imagined realising she was in love for the first time. Maybe it had been when he'd taught her the guitar, or when he'd made her pancakes, or one of the times he'd made her laugh, or when they'd embraced at the knowledge of the impending doom of their already dying world, or when he'd stood unwaveringly defiant in the face of the threat they'd faced, unwilling to trade his soul –
One of them.
All of them.
"I've never, well… been in love before," she added, still shy. "I'm not exactly the type to normally let people in. More of a watching movies alone, filming buildings rumoured to be haunted kinda girl. You know, normal shit."
She swallowed, thinking again for a moment as her eyes trailed over to the corkboard. Ellis watched her curiously and, to her surprise, got up and wandered over to it, looking over the memories covering it with a fondness in his face. He unpinned one, and brought it over to her. She studied it, recognising it as the one from the bowling alley.
The one where he had his arm around –
"Guess you've got questions," he said, a melancholy tone to his voice. "Couldn't help but notice the trail of footprints. I can't say I blame you if you did."
"We've all got a history," she replied quickly, then backtracked a little. "Well, maybe not me, but… most of us. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."
Ellis sat beside her. She could feel the tension in his body next to her, as he wrung his hands, trying again to find the right words.
"Her name's Polly," he said, finally. "We were together a couple years. Guess you could say she was my first love."
Polly. So that was her name.
"We split up about eighteen months back," he continued, looking at the back of the photo. "She started seein' someone else in college shortly after. Used to be pretty cut up about it – but lookin' back, can't say I blame her. I wasn't exactly the best boyfriend – back then, I weren't no good with change. She had a lot of hard things goin' for her, and despite all that, wen' off to a real good college – an' here I was, livin' the same ol' life she'd left behind, not really understandin' what that meant an' why it weren't enough."
Zoey could see it. Ellis was a lover of the simpler things in life – things that weren't complicated, but real, unkempt and tangible. Peaceful, easy living, in place of intellectual pursuits and career dreams. It was funny, really – those latter things had been so important to her once, but yet, when she'd been in college, hadn't she also done the same thing? Studying slasher flicks in the quiet of her dorm room, living in the moment with what made her feel good? Maybe it was procrastination, but a deeper part of her felt that she had been missing a piece of herself; that deep, subconscious need for an uncomplicated world.
And in a world as complex as the one they were in now, she felt he was exactly what she needed.
"Can –" she asked, a little hesitant.
"Ask anythin' you want, darlin'."
"Can I ask what happened?"
Ellis's breath caught, and she wished she hadn't. He leant back, resting on his palms as he thought for a moment.
"She came back from college the week this all started," he said. "Called me up, asked to see me. To see how I was doin', she said. Shook me up a little – I din' exactly have hard feelins t'ward her, but that weren't easy t'hear all the same. We weren't in love no more, but I cared a lot for her still – knowin' I was one of the few people she felt able to talk to, I figured she just needed a shoulder to cry on."
"And what was it?"
"Never found out," Ellis said solemnly, turning to her. "You ain't from round here, darlin', so guessin' you don't know much about what happened at the Vannah. Hadn't been sat a second at the soda fountain before the screams came, an' the sound'a gunfire after that. Went to pick up Mom, but she went out on her own and we got separated in the chaos. Ran as fast as we could, but there was a wall of folks there – turnin' quickly from people to zombies – hammerin' at the doors until they broke on through. We found a fire escape; climbed on up to get in, but, but –"
He was struggling to speak again; his shoulders starting to shake. Zoey took his hand, stroking it gently.
"Polly slipped," he gasped. "I grabbed her hand, but there were so many, so many –"
He couldn't finish. He didn't need to. Almost every story ended exactly the same: in blood, death and tragedy. She felt a terrible pang of sadness for him, the both of them bedfellows in this nightmare of shared trauma, as all survivors like them were.
"I think I kept goin'," he said after a little while, "by pretendin' it didn't happen. If I thought about it for more than one second, figured I'd end up losin' my mind. So I squished it down, into some box in the back of my head, an' just kept on shootin' and makin' jokes. You know, things I'm half decent at."
They were silent for a minute as his words hung in the air. After a few moments, Zoey was the one to break it.
"Thank you for telling me," she said, quietly. "You didn't have to, but I'm glad that you did. It felt like you've been holding on to that for a while."
"Yeah," he said, his voice still heavy. He looked down again at the photograph, smiling slightly at the sight of it. "Thanks for listenin'. 'Specially as I know you got enough'a your own goin' on. But it's funny – lookin' at this picture now, I ain't as sad as I thought I'd be. If nothin' else, it's nice to remember the good things once in a while, bein' surrounded by all the bad."
"Isn't that the truth."
Ellis got up from her side, pinning the picture up on the board. He took a long look at them all, before turning back to face her. He smiled at her again, his country boy good looks standing out despite the bruises from the beating he'd taken, and Zoey felt her heart beating faster.
"Thanks, Zo. For listenin'. For being you. For well… everythin'."
With that, in his gentle, sweet obliviousness, he turned to leave.
