INFECtIOUS by Elizabeth Forkey Page B

disappointed to see him go. I hope he'll choose us over
Matt. It's not at all safe out there for a kid like him. I've even heard rumors
of the Living turning back into a zombie when they leave the community for too
long. He did leave Matt without a goodbye. Maybe I'll feel sorry for Matt if he
came here just to be turned away.

 
    Nah.

 
    I hear voices
outside my window and I'm immediately afraid again. Creeping out of my bed and
over to the window, I peek through the slatted blinds without moving them more
than I have to—just in case someone is looking at my window. I don't want
whoever it is to know that I'm watching. Just outside the barred window of my
room, I see Aunty holding a flashlight and talking to several men I know. Why
did I assume it would be zombies?

 
    Shame replaces
fear as I realize the men are standing guard over us tonight. Aunty isn't
endangering us at all. She is, as always, taking good care of me. Wise and discerning, her gifts. One of the men follows her
back inside while the others branch out around the house. As I climb back into
bed, I hear the floor boards creak in the room above mine. Matt is in a room on
the other side of the house, so it can't be him. Aunty must've given the men
outside a room to sleep in while they take turns keeping watch. Now I have two
rooms to clean tomorrow. Two toilets to scrub.  

 
    I am so ashamed
of myself. Why am I so focused on me? Who promised me that I would never have
to face any of this? What am I mad about? I know why we are here, on the other
end of the stick, and it has nothing to do with what I deserve. I need to get a
hold of myself. Be the tough girl I normally am. Maybe I have Post Traumatic
Stress Syndrome. Maybe I'm a fear-filled hypochondriac. I am thinking about
praying when I drift off to sleep.

 
    In
my dream... It's happening again in slow motion. I'm running to the car in
high heels and wearing the way-too-short sequined mini skirt that I saw in the
Rue 21 window. I look ridiculous. And a bit slutty. Wow, my hair looks great. Wait—I can't find Aunty anywhere. I'm really scared!
Someone is after me! But who? I'm crying and shouting
for Aunty. Where did she go? Why has she left me here? Then I see her and Aunty
Betty, clear as day, struggling with a strange man on the sidewalk, but they
get farther away with each passing second. As though time and
space are pulling them down a tunnel away from me. I don't know what to
do, so I chicken out and keep running. When I reach the car, Tim Markowitz
throws the door open for me and pulls me inside.

 
    Tim looks
terrified and his thick, nerdy glasses are smashed and crooked. His brown hair
is disheveled like he just woke up with bed hair. He gives me a reproving
stare, obviously not impressed with my new outfit. I feel embarrassed and
ashamed of myself under his judgmental gaze. He is yelling at me to look in the
back seat but I don't want to. The car smells like chocolate pudding. He keeps
begging me to look and when I finally peer behind the seat I already know what
I'll find. A zombie in a plain black mask grabs me around my neck and chokes
me. The attack is violent, I can't breathe, and I am sure that I'm going to
die. As I'm fading, I know one thing for sure. I know this zombie hates me with
every fiber of his being.

 
    Tim lunges
towards the black masked fiend with a gun, but I think I should stop him. We
shouldn't kill a zombie. I'm sure of that, but I can't remember why. I struggle
against the strong hands around my neck and, in slow motion, I see his mask fall off. I'm staring into Matt's cold, green eyes. The zombie
is Matt. With breathtaking abruptness, I'm not scared anymore. I feel sad. But not for myself or my predicament, sad for this deformed
creature who is killing me. I'm shouting at Tim not to shoot when Matt
pulls me in front of his body as a shield. I should be frightened but I'm lost
in a sea of deep sadness. I hear the gun go off, but I don't feel the bullet.