Grief for a Stranger

There's a dead body in the kitchen area. Its skin is deformed and slightly green so it must have been a zombie before it became a corpse. I was going to start screaming when I first saw it; then I noticed how still it was and the knife through its forehead.

Zombies are able to be killed by destroying the brain: check.

I take a closer look at it and immediately wish I hadn't. I recognise the woman it was before it was a zombie. She was the waitress who served our food. The wide open bloodshot eyes and mouth full of abnormally sharp and bloody teeth are a stark contrast to the pleasant customer service smile.

I want to puke. I go to one of the kitchen sinks and do just that. The part of my mind not occupied with that notes down her teeth.

I wipe my mouth with a random dishcloth and swish some water around in my mouth to get rid of the taste. My throat is a little sore, but it's not like I'll be giving any lengthy speeches anytime soon.

I look back at the body and nearly puke again. It's just so unsettling to see the corpse of a person you were thanking for the meal not even an hour ago. She was kind of pretty when she was alive, but now...

Let's just say zombification will never become popular, unless the standards of beauty change drastically.

I can't just leave her – it, it makes it easier to think of them as 'it's – in here. One, it'll start to smell, and two, I just really don't want to spend more time than necessary in the company of a corpse.

A pair of still soapy rubber gloves lie beside a sink full of dirty dishes and I put them on before touching the body. I poke it first, to make sure it's really dead and not pulling some kind of possum bullshit. It is absolutely, definitely dead.

I could just carry it out, but I'm wearing these gloves for a reason. Dragging it out will ensure that only my protected hands will be in contact with it.

I grab its arms and begin to drag it out. The nails on the hands are far longer and more raggedy than they were before. Probably tougher too, I conclude when I experimentally tap them against the wall.

They look like claws.

I file that away in the same space I put the sharp teeth.

I leave the body in the main space of the cafe and allow myself a brief moment of acute grief for this stranger. The least I can do is close her eyelids, and while I'm at it I rearrange the body so that it would just look like a sleeping human, if not for, y'know, the obvious zombieness.

I've never really believed in the existence of a higher power, but in this moment, in this absurd situation, I could really use some divine intervention. Perhaps that's why I close my eyes, clasp my hands, and pray for her soul, if it exists, to be delivered safely to wherever souls go.

Nothing changes. There is still a dead body in front of me and my bitten arm still aches dully. But somehow, I feel just a little lighter.

So this is why so many people turn to religion in times of death, I think.

The tables have vases of flowers, and I take a few to put underneath the hands clasped over her stomach.

I feel like I should say a few words, but I don't even know her name. She has a nametag, but I can't read it.

I kneel there, suddenly wishing I'd tried harder to learn Chinese, and it is only the distant growl of a zombie that brings me back to reality.

Right.

I need to set up base. Back to the kitchen we go.

First thing on my list is to disinfect my arm. Even if the zombie germs don't get me, others might. I've heard nasty things about infections in untreated wounds, and mine is about as untreated as you can get.

I find a first aid kit after washing my arm with water. The dishcloth I used to dry my arm is all bloody and my arm started bleeding right after anyway.

I don't actually know how to treat a wound as bad as this one, but since I'm literally the only one here, I'll have to make do with guessing and common sense. I take out gauze, bandages, and what I really hope is a bottle of antiseptic, since I'm Jared, 19, and never fucking learned how to read*.

I pause with the bottle of antiseptic held over my arm.

I really, really don't want to do this. Alcohol wipes hurt bad enough when they're on tiny scrapes, so an open wound like this...

It's going to be agonising.

Surely infection wouldn't be so bad...? We don't even know for sure that it's going to get infected. I could be doing it wrong and actually making it worse.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I tip the bottle.

The pain is... yep, it's agonising alright. Good thing I had the foresight to stuff a spare piece of clothing (I knew they'd come in handy) in my mouth so any screams have to go through the cloth and the door to reach the ears of the zombies.

There's actually sweat on my brow when it's over. I slump over, exhausted from that trial.

I am admittedly a sheltered child; that was literally the worst pain I've ever experienced.

The gauze and bandages are wrapped messily around my arm, but at least they're wrapped.

Next thing on the list: food. I'm super hungry after all that vomiting and grieving. Fortunately, I just so happen to be in a kitchen.

The waitress's zombification must have happened right when she was carrying a plate out because there's a smashed plate of food on the ground which I'm too tired to clean up right now.

I quickly put together a sloppy sandwich and eat it just as fast. There's orange juice in the fridge and I opt for that instead of any fizzy drinks. I make another sandwich, this one with three slices of bread, and eat that too.

It's tempting to just go straight to sleep after sating my hunger, but I'd read somewhere sleeping right after eating is bad for you, so I pull out my phone. The first thing I see is the mysterious app.

Perfect time to check it out.

I tap on the icon, and it brings me to a screen which just looks like an enlarged version of the icon. Purple magic circle on a black background.

A picture of a thumb appears on the screen and taps it. Am I supposed to follow its lead...?

I obligingly tap it.

Nothing happens for a moment, then my phone starts vibrating and vibrates straight up into the air.

I scramble back, eyes wide and heart in my throat. My phone hovers in the air and vibrates like it's the end of the world (which I guess it is).

It vibrates so violently I start to fear an explosion.

And it does. Explode, that is. Not into fiery debris like I was expecting, but into a sudden cloud of violet tinged smoke. Strangely, the scent reminds me of snow. I cough and wave it away.

The smoke clears by itself and the first thing I see is my phone. It is not longer floating in the air. It is being held in a hand with long and slender fingers. I follow that hand to an arm, a shoulder, a neck, and finally a face.

A human face.

In front of me, where there had most definitely been no one before, stands a man.

I stare. I open my mouth. I say,

"What the fuck?"