Chapter Three

I died in my sleep, so I couldn't recount anything about it. I can say waking up afterward is the most horrible thing I've ever experienced. Everything hurt. My mouth was ash dry and I felt so damn thirsty.

It hit me I was conscious of being thirsty. Then I experienced a horrible moment of thinking zombies were conscious of all their actions and I was now going to witness myself doing horrendous things like killing and eating people to satiate my thirst. It made me internally panic and my panic only worsened when I realized my heart wasn't pounding away from an adrenaline overload.

I pressed my hand against my chest to feel if I had a heartbeat. The small movement made me realize I somehow still had control of myself. And it took a minute of slow, careful probing, but I felt my heart beat—once. My pulse rate had slowed dramatically and was no longer linked to my emotional state, but I was willing to take it for a win. It was a miracle it was still beating at all.

Climbing out from under my bunk was an exercise in self-punishment. Everything hurt like I'd been stuffed in a box too small to hold me. My muscles locked up or cramped each time I tried to use them. My joints creaked when I moved. The side of my body I'd been laying on was numb, the upright side felt frozen solid. My skin prickled as all my tiny movements sent blood rushing back through me.

I understood exactly why zombies moaned. The side of my face had been glued to the floor with dried blood. Pulling it free sucked. And my ear, where I'd been bitten? That had me coughing out cusswords as the wound ripped open again.

Somehow, despite all the pain I was in, I managed to get my upper body out from under the bunk and sit up. I took a moment to rest with my head laying against the low mattress and I sent a silent 'thank you' to the heavens I was still breathing. Of course, that's when I noticed I wasn't breathing in a normal fashion. I could inhale and exhale—it was instinctive prior to speaking and I'd already proven I could cuss—but I knew myself. I also knew the rise and fall of my chest was too slow and too shallow. I should have been panting with exertion. Yet, much like my heartbeat, my lungs weren't acting like they were a necessary part of my physiology anymore.

It might have been stupid, but I tested my theory by intentionally holding my breath. It was something I usually sucked at. I always lost at the kid's game of trying to see who could stay underwater the longest in the pool. Apparently I'd now win, because absolutely nothing happened. I didn't have a watch and the instructors had taken our cell phones, so I couldn't actually time myself. The best I could do was mentally count.

I silently freaked out when I reached four hundred without feeling strained. I felt like I could have held my breath forever without a problem, which was a huge problem for me. It was yet another checkbox ticked off on the 'so you think you might be a zombie' questionnaire. I forced myself to take in several deep lungfuls of air whether I needed it or not.

As my mind tried to digest everything, the door to the cabin creaked opened, flooding the room with sunlight. It was bright enough it burned my eyes, but I didn't feel the need to look away. If anything, I stopped blinking, because my vision was so sharp I could pick out individual dust motes dancing in the light.

"Are you alive in there?" Hanson called as his shadow blocked the light. He didn't actually step inside. Maybe he thought I was fully dead and didn't want to see me rotting away, which only made it weirder when he said, "It's been two days since you were bitten, so I know something is going on with you. Zombies don't take this long to get back up."

I said nothing. I even held my breath again, although I couldn't say why. It would have made more sense to let him know I was still alive.

Hanson waited a minute, then exhaled a soft sigh of disappointment. "Okay, man. Rest up some more. I'll be here when you wake up. I have lots of news for you. Max—Mr. Jacobs—gave me the WiFi password and showed me how to turn on the generators before he bugged out with Coombs, Tellman, and the rest of the survivors who were left behind. They're still broadcasting on the West Coast, so I've been keeping up to date. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff happening."

Hanson cleared his throat. "It'd be really nice if you would wake up soon. There's not a lot of food left, so I can't stay here too much longer. Maybe a week tops if I keep rationing. After that, I'll have to leave to start scavenging. Evacuating West isn't an option for me, just like it won't be for you. We've both been bitten, which makes us carriers. I'm pretty sure I'm immune to whatever this virus is. I never got a fever or got sick. My leg is healing up, too.

Max took a blood sample before he left. He's going to try to get it in the hands of doctors so maybe they can use it to create a vaccine or a cure. We don't really know what's going on with you. Max thought the virus killed you outright, but I know your heart is still beating. At least, it was yesterday when I checked. I'm kind of too scared to check it again. If you're really dead, then I'm alone and being alone is... It's..."

"It sucks," I finished for him, my voice coming out as a wheeze.

Hanson sucked in a gasp and rushed through the door. When our eyes met, he froze with a dumb expression of disbelief on his sunburned face. "Bryant?" he whispered.

"In the flesh—I think," I replied, my throat protesting each word. "Got any water?"

He didn't immediately react, staring at me like I was a ghost. Then he blurted out, "Yeah," and fumbled his canteen out of the cargo pocket of his mock BDU pants. The pants, much like the rest of his camouflage uniform, had been standard issue for all cadets. It went with the whole theme of this being a military school in the woods.

Hanson unscrewed the lid off his canteen and handed it over. My hands were shaking as I accepted it and I barely had the energy to lift it to my lips for a cautious sip. I felt completely drained, which I suppose was normal for anyone recovering from an illness.

"How do you feel?" Hanson asked. I shot him a glare that told him it was a stupid question, but he clarified. "Do you have any cravings I should know about? Is the water helping or are you thirsty for something else?"

I choked on a sip of water and hacked it out. "No!" I barked at him. I paused as I realized it was a serious question and something I needed to consider. Did I have any zombie cravings?

"I don't think so," I said in a calmer tone. The water had done wonders for my throat. I could talk without feeling like I needed to cough up a hairball. As for my stomach, nothing about it shouted at me. "I don't really feel hungry at all. That's weird. Right? You said I've been down two days? I should be starving."

"Yeah," he replied softly. He fell silent, staring at me with an indescribable expression as I took a few more cautious sips of water. My stomach didn't seem to react to it at all. I might as well have been drinking air. "You feel up to moving? I'm set up in the Faculty cabin. You can take a shower there and the water heater runs on gas, so we won't have to crank the generator. I scavenged a bunch of clean uniforms, too. One of them should fit you."

I nodded and shakily returned his canteen. "Sounds good, but you're going to have to help me up."

Hanson's lips quirked up in a lopsided smile. "And here I thought you didn't need help with anything."

"Fuck off," I grumbled, although I knew I deserved the shot. I hadn't gone out of my way to make friends since I hadn't planned to stick around after I turned eighteen. In my defense, I hadn't gone out of my way to be an asshole, either.

Working in tandem, we managed to get me on my feet and shuffle out the door.