Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Caleb wasn’t just surviving the zombie apocalypse. He was thriving in it.
“Come on. You know you want to,” he said as I climbed into his giant ten-person tent that was his movie room.
The floor was padded with at least fifteen blankets, and there were more pillows inside than I used to see on the shelves of big box stores.
It was tempting.
Way, way too tempting.
“I should be getting home.”
“I have rom-coms!” he announced, giving me a big smile.
“Why would you assume I like rom-coms?”
“Because the dark and grumbly chicks always love rom-coms,” he declared. “Luckily, I do too. How about we watch two people fall in love over email?” he asked as he popped a new DVD into the player. “Remember those days?”
“Actually, that is one of the things I don’t miss about the before-times,” I admitted. “Work emails and school emails and endless spam emails…”
“It sounds like you’re just a bit bitter that Tom Hanks didn’t send you mail,” Caleb said. “It’s okay. I’m a little salty that Meg Ryan didn’t send me any either.”
Caleb was a… loud movie-watcher.
Which didn’t surprise me in the least seeing as his whole personality seemed loud.
“Remember parties?” he asked, shaking his head at the screen as they argued over caviar.
“Not really. I wasn’t much of a party person,” I admitted. “Which, I guess, made this transition to solitary life easier. You must have struggled,” I said.
“I think the key is to find ways to not lose your mind in the solitude,” he said, shrugging.
“Hence the indoor slip-and-slide. And the redecorating. And the silent rave in the graveyard.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “Gotta keep things interesting. And once the power went out, it killed the fun I had at the local carnival.”
“You did not. Didn’t you see that movie? With the guys and the zombies at the carnival?”
“I did. It sounded fun,” Caleb said, making me shake my head.
“I think our ideas of fun are very different.”
“I think maybe you didn’t know how to have fun even before the brain-eaters made the clubs risky.”
“Ouch,” I said, grimacing. But because of how right he was.
“But now you have me,” Caleb insisted. “To show you the lighter side of life.”
I shouldn’t have wanted that.
To have a friend in the apocalypse.
Friends were risky.
They made you care.
They made it so you weren’t only ever focused on yourself and your survival, because you cared about them and theirs as well.
It was how you got bitten and became a brain-eater as well.
“Come onnnn,” Caleb said. “You know you wanna.”
“You know, I was warned incessantly about peer pressure growing up. Somehow, no one ever told me that it would come from a stranger I met in a graveyard after the end of the world.”
“I mean, if you want that kind of peer pressure, I have mushrooms,” he said, making a laugh bubble up and burst out.
“You do not.”
“I do. I tripped balls for a few weeks at the beginning when shit was too ugly to wander out into,” he said. And for just a brief moment, there was a hauntedness in his gaze, a piece of who was truly underneath all that lightheartedness. “How’d you stay sane through that?” he asked, seeming to genuinely want an answer.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I think I kept myself busy, focusing on the next step in my plan not to die. And, I mean, the wine helped,” I admitted.
“Yeah, I bet it did. I don’t think anyone could have made it through those first few weeks stone-cold sober. Not with their sanity intact anyway.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Did you… were you with your family or friends when it all happened?” I asked.
“I was with some buddies,” he told me, and again, his eyes went dark, lost in the trauma for a moment. “You?”
“No. I was by myself. And, I guess, that was for the best. I probably would have tried to save my loved ones.”
“Except that cheating ex of yours,” Caleb said, smirking.
“Yeah, well, him… I mean… I wouldn’t have pushed him in front of a zombie or anything, but I don’t know if I’d have opened the door to save him from one either.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed. “So, what now? Are you crashing here? Do you want to slip all that super slick armor back on and have me walk you home? What’s the protocol for sleepovers in the apocalypse?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a sleepover,” I admitted. “I mean, not with, you know, friends,” I clarified.
“Me either. I think we need to put on fluffy robes and paint our nails, right? Maybe have a pillow fight? Tell scary stories. But maybe since the world is scary enough, we can tell stories about the coolest shit we’ve seen? For example, I once saw a duck wearing a cowboy outfit.”
“No way.”
“Way. I have pictures of it on my phone,” he told me. “I will charge it up and show you. What?”