A is For... 1/4
Title: A is For...
Pairing: USUK
Rating: M
Warnings: Violence and death and zombies
Summary: A might be dead, but his desire to protect Arthur might just be enough to make him remember how to be alive.
(Warm Bodies AU.)
Life is funny in a way in that it leads you on until you die. Well, sometimes. I didn't, and now I just wander around in an airport wondering why I didn't shrivel up, or just get my brains eaten like the rest of humanity. So I spare others this kind of life… or, um, death? Zombie life? Is that a phrase? If not, I'm coining it.
Not like it matters. There aren't a lot of living people left to care, so that means my phrase probably won't get far in this world. Not having a lot of living left kind of sucks, for a lot of reasons, but mainly, well, I think they're good and interesting; good as in tasty. Sorry, I am still a zombie. These thoughts happen.
Still think they're interesting. Whatever isn't dead is interesting to me.
I didn't introduce myself, but then again, I kind of can't. See, I don't remember. Like all of my memories before I died, I've lost it. Sad, I know, but things like needing to know what made me or the others into a zombie aren't important anymore. Nothing really is. If I had a family still and knew about them, I doubt I'd even think of them as important. It's not a sad fact or anything; it's just the way this world is now.
The only thing that is important, well, more essential, is eating. And yet, I'm the weirdo. I like to collect mementos and hoard them in my home. It could be anything from a toy train to a snow globe. They were once precious items to someone that is probably dead, or more likely a zombie. Their feeling of life is still deep in their inanimate objects. I want to know what it is so I can feel the same sort of attachment to all of the things I have.
Recently I've begun to collect comic books. Zombies can't read, but I like the pictures. The characters are so bright and seem so cool. They're so powerful. I'd like to fly or shoot lasers from my eyes, but I'm just dead and constantly thinking. I try to tell myself that I'm immortal, but that's not a great super power. I can't even talk.
Besides, I can die. One good shot to the head and no more me. Or, I just give up hope and become a boney.
No one likes those things. I bet if boneys could still feel, even they'd look at themselves and say, "What the fuck". They're the lingering remains of a human's body that hovers around the rest of us. There are no features left that show what they once looked like. Muscles and sinew and tissue all turned to black, and their thin body's resembled skeletons. Most of the time, they lurk in the shadows, wheezing without breathing, and rot.
Zombies become a boney when they've pretty much had enough of living through death. I've seen a zombie just look at nothing and then peel their face off. Oh, look, there's one now. Dude, that is so gross. Don't pick at it. Ugh.
This is what I get to look forward to. Not at all inspiring, really.
I have a friend, M, that I can kind of talk to. And by talking I mean stare awkwardly at and moan as if we're having a conversation. Most days, M likes to rides escalators. Today, I found him staring at a static television that used to announce arrivals. He turned to regard me with a grunt when I joined him by his side.
Maybe we're related. We look alike. We both have blond hair that probably once shone brightly in the light, but is now dirty and scraggly. M's hair is a little longer than mine. He also has glasses. I had a pair, but lost them awhile back, although, it doesn't matter. My zombie eyes, though dull and grey, have perfect vision. I like to think they were once blue or green, maybe even red, because that's a color eye color. I'll never know.
Thinking about my eyes isn't the only thing I like to wonder about. I look at other zombies and give them back stories, as if they're my own little characters in a story. That guy, with the sunglasses, was probably a rich businessman at one point. He looks like he was all set for a vacation, too. And then he died. Sad. That chick looks tired, well, I mean, we all do, but maybe she was once a single-mother. Did her kids die too? Maybe they're still out there, lamenting her death.
Oh yeah, I'm with M. M is one of the lucky few who can remember something about him; the first initial of his name. It's not much to a living person, but to the rest of us nameless millions, it's something. It's the absolute something that can help us get by some days. Maybe if we had that aspect of our lives back we'd be happy. But who ever heard of a happy zombie?
I think mine started with an A, or maybe that's just the first letter of the alphabet.
Sometimes M cracks a joke that I guess I would laugh at normally, but most days he's really quiet. I like to talk. Well…talk. Today's word of the day is…
"Hmm…Hurn… Hun…gry…"
M's dead eyes roll around in his head almost in thought. Then, he grunts at me. "F…Foooood."
"Mm… Ci…City…"
M nods at me. We set out for the nearby city where we know a small hoard of humans still reside behind a large wall. Along the way, other zombies join us, and we never mind their company. Going in large groups makes sense since everyone is trying to shoot at you. But God do we walk slow. This will take a little while.
This city is the most depressing place. It's humanity's graveyard, almost. I'm not sure who had the balls to do it, but some crazy person actually took the time to graffiti every possible place they could find. Who would see this? It wasn't bad or crude. Some were even beautiful images of a field with the sun setting or of children playing together. But did the artist do this for any reason?
I like them, so I hope that's enough for the anonymous painter.
We saw a few boneys gnawing on some person's leg. Those guys are crazy. They can sense a heartbeat from a distance, and will eat anything that has it. Yeah, even animals. Poor guys. If a boney locks onto you, there's no escape. Kind of like a bad girlfriend.
We tend to stay clear of them, so we shuffled into some alleyway. Then, we came out onto another street. Around us were important buildings with ripped flags and paper streamers hanging out of windows. A bank, or some government building?
That's when we smelled something. It was strong, and pounded in our ears. I know smell can't actually pound in your ears, but it was to us.
Wait, was that…tea?
M brushed into me as he charged up the stairs into a tall, grey building that loomed high in the sky. I glanced at the sign and remembered it from my comics. It was a hospital. I barreled ahead to take charge. Halfway up the stairs to where the scent was the strongest, we heard people. Their voices were harsh and soft, fast, but then slow and hesitant. For all of my limited vocabulary skills, their ability to freely communicate was always pretty awe-inspiring.
I wondered what it was like before all of this when everyone communicated so easily. I see in my comics how they'd talk on cell phones or through the computer, but that was always the boring part. When they would talk, face to face, looking in the other's eyes, and able to be close was when it seemed important.
What is that like?
What's wrong with me? Am I really thinking about that stuff when the overpowering smell of human is so close? I'm seriously weird.
I burst into the room. The butt end of a pistol hit me upside my jaw. I collapse onto the floor nursing it. The man who hit me jumped away as M came from right behind me to attack him. He shouted orders in some strange accent, and then clamored up onto a table where he began to fire. There was an impressive amount of humans this time, and they were all young. If I was still alive I might be their age. Judging by my casual T-shirt and jeans, I'd say I didn't dress to impress very often.
The first guy shouted something, and then I felt a bullet whizz by my head. I looked over with wide eyes. Another man appeared in my sights with a shotgun. He was blond with pale skin, making the blood on his cheeks from dying zombies stand out. But it was his green eyes I saw first. Thick eyebrows furrowed his brow, making them burn with anger. He looked so alive.
Did the other humans ever look like that too? I never noticed before.
I felt something in my chest. It was soft, and fluttered like a bird, but felt heavy.
I made a move towards the blond, when someone shot my shoulder. Looking up, I saw it was the first guy. He had messy, brown hair and freckles littering his face like a blood splatter. I didn't see his eyes. I was too angry.
See, I'm not a violent guy, but when you get shot at, you kind of have to fight back. That's just the way the world is now. And, I mean, what kind of zombie would I be if I didn't?
The man raised his fun to fire again, but my instincts took over. All I thought was kill. Oh, and I noticed he had a really nice watch.
I grabbed the man's legs and pulled them out from under him. He landed hard on the table. Then, I dragged him onto the floor. Grabbing his arm, I then bit into his jugular. As the man struggled, I grabbed his head with one hand, while the other held him down by his chest. But he was growing weak from the blood loss, so he didn't put up that great of a fight. I then slammed his head down into the floor repeatedly until his screams were silenced, replaced by a sickening crack.
I didn't want to kill him, I never do, but if I don't, he'll come back like me. And that's not cool. Plus, okay, I know it's gross, but the brain is the best part. Yeah, it tastes great, but that isn't why we eat them.
For a moment, we see memories.
We feel alive.
There's a boom of fireworks over my head, and children laughing around me, and I am suddenly a young boy watching a nighttime show with my family. But one child screams in fear. I hear a mother soothing him beside me.
"Rhye, help me? Arthur is scared."
"Mom," I whine. "Why me? Scott's the oldest. Shouldn't he do it?"
"Rhye Kirkland." Her voice is stern. I look over quickly. She has long, blonde curls and bright green eyes that reflect the fireworks exploding overhead. In her arms she holds a young child of about three with a mop of blond hair. "Just hold him while I get his green bunny. He'll calm down after that."
I sigh. "Okaaay…" As I take my little brother, I give him a sneer. "Such a pain."
Then, I am fourteen. I see my older brother, Scott, running with a gun in his hand. He has wild, red hair and is certainly much taller than me. Behind him are humans that no longer look right. He's dragging a young boy with him. It's Arthur.
"Hurry!" I yell. I am standing just inside a large wall with soldiers standing beside me, their guns raised and ready to fire.
Scott and Arthur make it inside, and we close the gates. I look at my brother closely.
"We're fine," Scott snaps, brushing me aside. "We didn't get bit."
I turn, and there's Arthur on the ground. He's eight now, but still much smaller than most boys his age. I know he gets picked on a lot for it. "You stupid piece of shit! What were you doing outside?! There are more of them and less of us every day!"
"It's mum's birthday!" Arthur cries. He holds up crumpled daises in his shaking hands.
Scott moves to hit Arthur, and the boy flinches away, but he stops. "You stupid-! Mum died! We are all we have left of each other!"
Suddenly, I am struck in the face by Scott. He is looking at me furiously.
"Dad put me in charge! Yer job is to watch Arthur!" He pushes Arthur away into the arms of a nearby medic, who ushers him off towards our makeshift hospital. "He's a stupid kid, so make sure he doesn't get hurt!"
My nose is bleeding, but my pride hurts worse. I nod stiffly. Scott looks me over in disdain before turning away. He acts so much older than me, and yet I knew he was really only four years my senior. It's sad when you're forced to grow up young.
"As if you could really be much of anything," he mutters under his breath.
It hurt. I knew it did. And yet, I remain quiet.
And then I was back in my own body. I heard someone calling out a name. The poor soul, Rhye, was dead. His blood was on my hands. It was probably warm, but I couldn't tell. All I could think of were those green eyes.
Quickly, I hid behind a table. Most of the humans and zombies were dead by now. M was still feeding in the far corner. That man with the green eyes was out of ammo. I wiped blood off of my lips, but I think it just smeared everywhere. It mingled with the dark, almost black blood staining my skin. Slowly, I approached the man.
I'm not sure why, but… There was something about those eyebrows and those fiery eyes that made me want to hold him close and not each him. Maybe I was that hungry, even though I just ate. Maybe I was delusional from being hit in the jaw by the butt end of a pistol. Maybe it was something else entirely that I couldn't understand anymore because I died God knows how long ago.
I don't know.
I always think something's wrong with me, so maybe this was the final jump I had over the edge to full insanity.
I couldn't help it as I walked slowly towards the man who tried to hide under a table with only a knife as his remaining weapon. He flung it at me, and it hit right under my bottom rib. It didn't hurt. I just pulled it out and kept walking.
The others would start to smell him. They'd find him. I realized that I knew I wouldn't like that.
"Get away from me, you bastard!" he hissed. His accent, like in the memories, was mesmerizing.
"Shhh," I whispered. I held a bloody finger to my lips as I began to crouch down. A name! It came to me from the memories, but how do I say it? It's there, but I don't know how to actually say it. Oh, just do it! "Ar…Art…hur…"
The man's eyes widened. They were such a pretty green. "What…?"
M was done. He lifted his head and began to sniff the air. The few remaining zombies did too. I dropped a hand to my chest where Arthur's knife had penetrated my skin. Some of my black blood had oozed out.
"Shh…," I whispered again. Slowly, to not alarm Arthur, I ran my fingers down his cheek and neck.
He closed his eyes with a grimace on his face. It was enough zombie blood to mask his human scent, for now. Arthur looked just over my shoulder with a panicked look. Under another table was a man with long, blond hair. There was zombie blood on him as well, probably from when he killed the others, so he was safe for the time being. He watched in horror as I took Arthur's hand, and led him out of the room.
We passed his brother's mutilated corpse. I looked away. He saw it. I heard him hiccup through a muffled cry. The other zombies took my lead, and followed us out.
Arthur was smart. He stayed close and kept quiet. I think if I were in this situation, I would have screamed and freaked out. That's a sure fire way of dying.
The blood on Arthur would only fool the zombies. Hopefully the boneys were out for the day, or at least clear of our path as we went home. No one had ever brought a human back to the airport. Then again, no one even knew why we were all shuffling around in an airport in the first place. Maybe we were waiting for something.
I live in a Boeing 747. It's not glamorous, and I only say I live there because that's where I stash my comics and music and trinkets. That is where I took Arthur. It sat on the tarmac of the airport proudly, waiting for us. Arthur looked at it with the same expression he had since leaving the city.
Once inside, he nearly fell into a seat. He stared at me wide-eyed. He totally missed all of my cool stuff. I sat a row across from him. His breathing was heavy and loud in the quiet space. Neither of us talked.
Well, this is a shitty first date. I fixed my limp hair and turned to face Arthur. His expression hadn't changed.
"Look, if you're going to eat me, just do it already!"
Oh yeah, I forgot I was dead. No wonder he was scared shitless. I should probably let him know that wasn't my plan, but that's a lot of words.
"N…nnnnot…eat." A new record; two words! Arthur seemed confused by what I had just mumbled. I pointed at my mouth and made chewing motions, and then shook my head.
"What?" Arthur looked even more lost than before. "Why?"
"K-Keep…sa…safe."
Arthur was silent for a moment. Then, he asked me a question I didn't know the answer to.
"What are you?"
Hoshiko2's cents: This will be a short, four-part series that was brought upon by Akaishinda and enabled by Owyn. They are both terrible people.
I'm incorporating both pieces of the movie and book, and the original story is in NO way mine. Credit goes to the author, Issac Marion. If you haven't read the book and/or seen the movie, I highly suggest you do. It is so much more than a Romeo and Juliet zombie love movie.
Pairing: USUK
Rating: M
Warnings: Violence and death and zombies
Summary: A might be dead, but his desire to protect Arthur might just be enough to make him remember how to be alive.
(Warm Bodies AU.)
Life is funny in a way in that it leads you on until you die. Well, sometimes. I didn't, and now I just wander around in an airport wondering why I didn't shrivel up, or just get my brains eaten like the rest of humanity. So I spare others this kind of life… or, um, death? Zombie life? Is that a phrase? If not, I'm coining it.
Not like it matters. There aren't a lot of living people left to care, so that means my phrase probably won't get far in this world. Not having a lot of living left kind of sucks, for a lot of reasons, but mainly, well, I think they're good and interesting; good as in tasty. Sorry, I am still a zombie. These thoughts happen.
Still think they're interesting. Whatever isn't dead is interesting to me.
I didn't introduce myself, but then again, I kind of can't. See, I don't remember. Like all of my memories before I died, I've lost it. Sad, I know, but things like needing to know what made me or the others into a zombie aren't important anymore. Nothing really is. If I had a family still and knew about them, I doubt I'd even think of them as important. It's not a sad fact or anything; it's just the way this world is now.
The only thing that is important, well, more essential, is eating. And yet, I'm the weirdo. I like to collect mementos and hoard them in my home. It could be anything from a toy train to a snow globe. They were once precious items to someone that is probably dead, or more likely a zombie. Their feeling of life is still deep in their inanimate objects. I want to know what it is so I can feel the same sort of attachment to all of the things I have.
Recently I've begun to collect comic books. Zombies can't read, but I like the pictures. The characters are so bright and seem so cool. They're so powerful. I'd like to fly or shoot lasers from my eyes, but I'm just dead and constantly thinking. I try to tell myself that I'm immortal, but that's not a great super power. I can't even talk.
Besides, I can die. One good shot to the head and no more me. Or, I just give up hope and become a boney.
No one likes those things. I bet if boneys could still feel, even they'd look at themselves and say, "What the fuck". They're the lingering remains of a human's body that hovers around the rest of us. There are no features left that show what they once looked like. Muscles and sinew and tissue all turned to black, and their thin body's resembled skeletons. Most of the time, they lurk in the shadows, wheezing without breathing, and rot.
Zombies become a boney when they've pretty much had enough of living through death. I've seen a zombie just look at nothing and then peel their face off. Oh, look, there's one now. Dude, that is so gross. Don't pick at it. Ugh.
This is what I get to look forward to. Not at all inspiring, really.
I have a friend, M, that I can kind of talk to. And by talking I mean stare awkwardly at and moan as if we're having a conversation. Most days, M likes to rides escalators. Today, I found him staring at a static television that used to announce arrivals. He turned to regard me with a grunt when I joined him by his side.
Maybe we're related. We look alike. We both have blond hair that probably once shone brightly in the light, but is now dirty and scraggly. M's hair is a little longer than mine. He also has glasses. I had a pair, but lost them awhile back, although, it doesn't matter. My zombie eyes, though dull and grey, have perfect vision. I like to think they were once blue or green, maybe even red, because that's a color eye color. I'll never know.
Thinking about my eyes isn't the only thing I like to wonder about. I look at other zombies and give them back stories, as if they're my own little characters in a story. That guy, with the sunglasses, was probably a rich businessman at one point. He looks like he was all set for a vacation, too. And then he died. Sad. That chick looks tired, well, I mean, we all do, but maybe she was once a single-mother. Did her kids die too? Maybe they're still out there, lamenting her death.
Oh yeah, I'm with M. M is one of the lucky few who can remember something about him; the first initial of his name. It's not much to a living person, but to the rest of us nameless millions, it's something. It's the absolute something that can help us get by some days. Maybe if we had that aspect of our lives back we'd be happy. But who ever heard of a happy zombie?
I think mine started with an A, or maybe that's just the first letter of the alphabet.
Sometimes M cracks a joke that I guess I would laugh at normally, but most days he's really quiet. I like to talk. Well…talk. Today's word of the day is…
"Hmm…Hurn… Hun…gry…"
M's dead eyes roll around in his head almost in thought. Then, he grunts at me. "F…Foooood."
"Mm… Ci…City…"
M nods at me. We set out for the nearby city where we know a small hoard of humans still reside behind a large wall. Along the way, other zombies join us, and we never mind their company. Going in large groups makes sense since everyone is trying to shoot at you. But God do we walk slow. This will take a little while.
This city is the most depressing place. It's humanity's graveyard, almost. I'm not sure who had the balls to do it, but some crazy person actually took the time to graffiti every possible place they could find. Who would see this? It wasn't bad or crude. Some were even beautiful images of a field with the sun setting or of children playing together. But did the artist do this for any reason?
I like them, so I hope that's enough for the anonymous painter.
We saw a few boneys gnawing on some person's leg. Those guys are crazy. They can sense a heartbeat from a distance, and will eat anything that has it. Yeah, even animals. Poor guys. If a boney locks onto you, there's no escape. Kind of like a bad girlfriend.
We tend to stay clear of them, so we shuffled into some alleyway. Then, we came out onto another street. Around us were important buildings with ripped flags and paper streamers hanging out of windows. A bank, or some government building?
That's when we smelled something. It was strong, and pounded in our ears. I know smell can't actually pound in your ears, but it was to us.
Wait, was that…tea?
M brushed into me as he charged up the stairs into a tall, grey building that loomed high in the sky. I glanced at the sign and remembered it from my comics. It was a hospital. I barreled ahead to take charge. Halfway up the stairs to where the scent was the strongest, we heard people. Their voices were harsh and soft, fast, but then slow and hesitant. For all of my limited vocabulary skills, their ability to freely communicate was always pretty awe-inspiring.
I wondered what it was like before all of this when everyone communicated so easily. I see in my comics how they'd talk on cell phones or through the computer, but that was always the boring part. When they would talk, face to face, looking in the other's eyes, and able to be close was when it seemed important.
What is that like?
What's wrong with me? Am I really thinking about that stuff when the overpowering smell of human is so close? I'm seriously weird.
I burst into the room. The butt end of a pistol hit me upside my jaw. I collapse onto the floor nursing it. The man who hit me jumped away as M came from right behind me to attack him. He shouted orders in some strange accent, and then clamored up onto a table where he began to fire. There was an impressive amount of humans this time, and they were all young. If I was still alive I might be their age. Judging by my casual T-shirt and jeans, I'd say I didn't dress to impress very often.
The first guy shouted something, and then I felt a bullet whizz by my head. I looked over with wide eyes. Another man appeared in my sights with a shotgun. He was blond with pale skin, making the blood on his cheeks from dying zombies stand out. But it was his green eyes I saw first. Thick eyebrows furrowed his brow, making them burn with anger. He looked so alive.
Did the other humans ever look like that too? I never noticed before.
I felt something in my chest. It was soft, and fluttered like a bird, but felt heavy.
I made a move towards the blond, when someone shot my shoulder. Looking up, I saw it was the first guy. He had messy, brown hair and freckles littering his face like a blood splatter. I didn't see his eyes. I was too angry.
See, I'm not a violent guy, but when you get shot at, you kind of have to fight back. That's just the way the world is now. And, I mean, what kind of zombie would I be if I didn't?
The man raised his fun to fire again, but my instincts took over. All I thought was kill. Oh, and I noticed he had a really nice watch.
I grabbed the man's legs and pulled them out from under him. He landed hard on the table. Then, I dragged him onto the floor. Grabbing his arm, I then bit into his jugular. As the man struggled, I grabbed his head with one hand, while the other held him down by his chest. But he was growing weak from the blood loss, so he didn't put up that great of a fight. I then slammed his head down into the floor repeatedly until his screams were silenced, replaced by a sickening crack.
I didn't want to kill him, I never do, but if I don't, he'll come back like me. And that's not cool. Plus, okay, I know it's gross, but the brain is the best part. Yeah, it tastes great, but that isn't why we eat them.
For a moment, we see memories.
We feel alive.
There's a boom of fireworks over my head, and children laughing around me, and I am suddenly a young boy watching a nighttime show with my family. But one child screams in fear. I hear a mother soothing him beside me.
"Rhye, help me? Arthur is scared."
"Mom," I whine. "Why me? Scott's the oldest. Shouldn't he do it?"
"Rhye Kirkland." Her voice is stern. I look over quickly. She has long, blonde curls and bright green eyes that reflect the fireworks exploding overhead. In her arms she holds a young child of about three with a mop of blond hair. "Just hold him while I get his green bunny. He'll calm down after that."
I sigh. "Okaaay…" As I take my little brother, I give him a sneer. "Such a pain."
Then, I am fourteen. I see my older brother, Scott, running with a gun in his hand. He has wild, red hair and is certainly much taller than me. Behind him are humans that no longer look right. He's dragging a young boy with him. It's Arthur.
"Hurry!" I yell. I am standing just inside a large wall with soldiers standing beside me, their guns raised and ready to fire.
Scott and Arthur make it inside, and we close the gates. I look at my brother closely.
"We're fine," Scott snaps, brushing me aside. "We didn't get bit."
I turn, and there's Arthur on the ground. He's eight now, but still much smaller than most boys his age. I know he gets picked on a lot for it. "You stupid piece of shit! What were you doing outside?! There are more of them and less of us every day!"
"It's mum's birthday!" Arthur cries. He holds up crumpled daises in his shaking hands.
Scott moves to hit Arthur, and the boy flinches away, but he stops. "You stupid-! Mum died! We are all we have left of each other!"
Suddenly, I am struck in the face by Scott. He is looking at me furiously.
"Dad put me in charge! Yer job is to watch Arthur!" He pushes Arthur away into the arms of a nearby medic, who ushers him off towards our makeshift hospital. "He's a stupid kid, so make sure he doesn't get hurt!"
My nose is bleeding, but my pride hurts worse. I nod stiffly. Scott looks me over in disdain before turning away. He acts so much older than me, and yet I knew he was really only four years my senior. It's sad when you're forced to grow up young.
"As if you could really be much of anything," he mutters under his breath.
It hurt. I knew it did. And yet, I remain quiet.
And then I was back in my own body. I heard someone calling out a name. The poor soul, Rhye, was dead. His blood was on my hands. It was probably warm, but I couldn't tell. All I could think of were those green eyes.
Quickly, I hid behind a table. Most of the humans and zombies were dead by now. M was still feeding in the far corner. That man with the green eyes was out of ammo. I wiped blood off of my lips, but I think it just smeared everywhere. It mingled with the dark, almost black blood staining my skin. Slowly, I approached the man.
I'm not sure why, but… There was something about those eyebrows and those fiery eyes that made me want to hold him close and not each him. Maybe I was that hungry, even though I just ate. Maybe I was delusional from being hit in the jaw by the butt end of a pistol. Maybe it was something else entirely that I couldn't understand anymore because I died God knows how long ago.
I don't know.
I always think something's wrong with me, so maybe this was the final jump I had over the edge to full insanity.
I couldn't help it as I walked slowly towards the man who tried to hide under a table with only a knife as his remaining weapon. He flung it at me, and it hit right under my bottom rib. It didn't hurt. I just pulled it out and kept walking.
The others would start to smell him. They'd find him. I realized that I knew I wouldn't like that.
"Get away from me, you bastard!" he hissed. His accent, like in the memories, was mesmerizing.
"Shhh," I whispered. I held a bloody finger to my lips as I began to crouch down. A name! It came to me from the memories, but how do I say it? It's there, but I don't know how to actually say it. Oh, just do it! "Ar…Art…hur…"
The man's eyes widened. They were such a pretty green. "What…?"
M was done. He lifted his head and began to sniff the air. The few remaining zombies did too. I dropped a hand to my chest where Arthur's knife had penetrated my skin. Some of my black blood had oozed out.
"Shh…," I whispered again. Slowly, to not alarm Arthur, I ran my fingers down his cheek and neck.
He closed his eyes with a grimace on his face. It was enough zombie blood to mask his human scent, for now. Arthur looked just over my shoulder with a panicked look. Under another table was a man with long, blond hair. There was zombie blood on him as well, probably from when he killed the others, so he was safe for the time being. He watched in horror as I took Arthur's hand, and led him out of the room.
We passed his brother's mutilated corpse. I looked away. He saw it. I heard him hiccup through a muffled cry. The other zombies took my lead, and followed us out.
Arthur was smart. He stayed close and kept quiet. I think if I were in this situation, I would have screamed and freaked out. That's a sure fire way of dying.
The blood on Arthur would only fool the zombies. Hopefully the boneys were out for the day, or at least clear of our path as we went home. No one had ever brought a human back to the airport. Then again, no one even knew why we were all shuffling around in an airport in the first place. Maybe we were waiting for something.
I live in a Boeing 747. It's not glamorous, and I only say I live there because that's where I stash my comics and music and trinkets. That is where I took Arthur. It sat on the tarmac of the airport proudly, waiting for us. Arthur looked at it with the same expression he had since leaving the city.
Once inside, he nearly fell into a seat. He stared at me wide-eyed. He totally missed all of my cool stuff. I sat a row across from him. His breathing was heavy and loud in the quiet space. Neither of us talked.
Well, this is a shitty first date. I fixed my limp hair and turned to face Arthur. His expression hadn't changed.
"Look, if you're going to eat me, just do it already!"
Oh yeah, I forgot I was dead. No wonder he was scared shitless. I should probably let him know that wasn't my plan, but that's a lot of words.
"N…nnnnot…eat." A new record; two words! Arthur seemed confused by what I had just mumbled. I pointed at my mouth and made chewing motions, and then shook my head.
"What?" Arthur looked even more lost than before. "Why?"
"K-Keep…sa…safe."
Arthur was silent for a moment. Then, he asked me a question I didn't know the answer to.
"What are you?"
Hoshiko2's cents: This will be a short, four-part series that was brought upon by Akaishinda and enabled by Owyn. They are both terrible people.
I'm incorporating both pieces of the movie and book, and the original story is in NO way mine. Credit goes to the author, Issac Marion. If you haven't read the book and/or seen the movie, I highly suggest you do. It is so much more than a Romeo and Juliet zombie love movie.