Zombodie to Love

ZOMBODIE TO LOVE Copyright © 2023 by Brooke Daniel. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book was printed in the United States of America. Chapter 1 Olivia- A Glimpse at the Future I’d rather be dead than trapped in this gas station for another day. I would sell my soul for a working washing machine right about now. Running water hasn’t been available for days. The bottled water I have is too precious to waste on washing clothes. Over time, my water usage has been whittled down to sponge bathing and drinking water. I’m thirty minutes from home, but I’m in the center of bustling Old Colorado City. It’s a small area with a population of roughly five thousand and a wealth of niche small businesses. You would have been hard-pressed to find a street empty of roaming pedestrians at any time of day. Now the streets are filled with stripped clean bones and red and brown shoe prints impressed deeply into the snow. The occasional seemingly possessed person stumbles by, seeking sustenance in the form of other humans. I stare off in the direction of my destroyed car buried in the endless snowfall. All this combined makes that an untravelable distance. I’ll lay here in this gas station and die a quiet death. It would be more dignified than having my body ripped apart by whatever the hell is outside. I’ve been calling them zombies in my head. I don’t know if that’s the most fitting way to describe the creatures that torment me. Instead of pallid, they look… flushed? I suppose power walking 24/7 will do that to you. Their red, painful-looking eyes bug wide as they stare, unseeing. Jaws hang slack dripping drool. Unfocused, I stare out the glass front of the store. The beings practically bounce off the outer walls in various stages of undress. As far as I can tell, there is no pursuit. They walk until they reach a living creature or vegetation to rip apart and eat. There’s no particular victim in mind. I watch the creatures as they course-correct and take off in another direction. The unseeing eyes make me feel so alone. The dripping saliva makes me nauseous. A pang of longing hits me while I finger comb some of the knots out of my hair. I miss human interaction, but I miss Dad the most. His face invades my thoughts at the most inconvenient times. The memory makes my heart race and my eyes well with tears. Even now, I see his last expression and attempt to physically shake the picture from my head. Olivia- Present time My father’s car pulls into the tiny parking lot, and I draw my hoodie over my tank top. I turn to wave goodbye to my artist, Brendan. He gives me a sympathetic smile while returning my wave. He must have noticed my wince of pain while lifting my arms over my head. I walk through the waiting area on stiff legs and try not to look like my back is immobile. The cheery receptionist gives me a bright smile and I reflexively return it. She calls out, “Have a great rest of your day, hun. He doesn’t have much on the books so give us a call when you want to schedule the next round.” I say, “Thank you, I hope you have a good day too. The new desk decor looks great.” Embarrassment and regret sing through me when I remember I still don’t know her name. Pushing the front door open, a cold wind slaps me in the face and I sprint to the car. I made the mistake of laying in the same position for six hours. The one break we took was barely long enough for me to use the bathroom and reposition myself on the table. I should have taken Brendan up on a second break to stretch my legs but at that point, I was too ready for the session to be over. The clear sticker covering the entirety of my back pulls at the skin around my neck. When I slide into the passenger seat, I can’t lean all the way back. Even though I’m twenty-four, there is no way I would drive myself with how dazed I get from the endorphins after being tattooed. Plus, Dad’s a good sport. He turns to me and smiles while I plug my phone in and set my purse on the car floor and says, “So, how was it? What’d you end up getting?” I say, “It’s a back piece of a ‘string of hearts’ plant. I used a picture of the purple and green one in your greenhouse. He was able to do the linework and minor shading today.” The car is in motion again, turning around in the limited space between two run-down brick buildings, and crawling back out onto the road. This city is filled to the brim with historic structures, and it gives me the feeling that we’re in an old western movie. An old western movie with fifty dispensaries. Trees lining the sidewalks are starting to take on orange hues and the evenings have been transitioning from pleasantly warm to crisp and windy. He must have taken a shower after the gym. His thin blonde hair stands up like fuzz on his head, barely concealing the scalp underneath. Upon further inspection, I see he switched clothes between dropping me off and picking me up. His cotton t-shirt seems inappropriate for this weather. He’s always been blissfully unaware of