ZM

There was a puff of smoke in the distance, the hazy cloud eclipsing the smoker in gradual moments. He lightly banged his head against the brick wall his back was to, dust particles falling and landing in his coal black hair. With the cigarette held loosely between two fingers, he scratched at his stubbly chin and sighed.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, eyelids drooping with fatigue. The pain in his joints, the insane grumbling of his stomach, and the level of dehydration in his body was being amplified at the moment, and it drove him insane. He wanted to die, wanted to walk out into the street and let his enemies devour him, but he couldn’t do that; he didn’t have the courage to leave behind those he was protecting. Especially not in these times, not when there were virus-infected cannibals running amuck. Bits of hell, those things were—sent shivers down his aching spine.

“That’s your third smoke, Zayn.”

The feminine voice broke through the night’s silence, piercing the darkness with the innocence of a five year old, but he knew better. She was irritated.

“Sorry, Pear,” he whispered, begrudgingly smothering the tip on the ground. Pity. That was his last one.

“You didn’t have to put it out.” she whispered, stirring slightly. He rolled his eyes and tried to light it back up with a flimsy lighter.

“You’re not supposed to light it back up.” She hissed and he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Make up your fucking mind, Perrie.” he shot at her, flicking the stick halfway across the alley. It landed with a gentle touch to the ground that seemed to echo throughout the lonesome city.

“Fucking sorry.” She retaliated, her anger now evident. She sat up next to him, legs sprawled out like his. “Maybe next time I shouldn’t care what the fuck you’re bringing into your lungs. When we’re running for our lives, don’t expect me to drag you along, you wanker.”

Zayn didn’t respond. Instead, silence enveloped them both until a chuckle vibrated from his chest. In the black light, he felt her turn her head toward him in confusion.

“What?” She snapped.

“Nothing, just…” he stopped, letting his chuckles morph into a smile on his lips, “Didn’t know you cared so much still.”

It was her turn to laugh. She playfully nudged into him and he chuckled again.

“Idiot,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” he agreed, but his mind was now slowly easing away from their little exchange. There was a noise to his right, somewhere far off at the mouth of the alley. He stiffened, his hands searching the floor for his nearby gun. He could sense Perrie growing aware too by the way her breaths became shallow. He felt her reach for her own weapon, and he sent a half hearted prayer to whomever was listening to allow them more time to live, even if it was life in hell.

Perrie brought her legs in as quietly as she could, and he followed, both of them shrinking themselves as much as they could.

Clang!

There was definitely something there. Something clumsy, chaotic almost. With barely there moonlight, Zayn searched for his target, and he found it.

It was small. He was small. It was a boy, no older than seven when hit with the virus, and it was stumbling toward them, eyes bloody sockets, skin a pale gray with numerous scratches oozing black liquid. Zayn felt a tug at his heart when he raised his Model 870 against his right shoulder and targeted the dead child’s head. His eyes stung as he pumped the bullet into place. A tear slipped as he pulled the trigger.

Twenty-seven months of the apocalypse, and he still couldn’t get over killing the damn dead. Perrie’s grip loosened on his arm when the body fell to the ground. In a moment of desperation, Zayn lunged forward unto his hands and knees, his hands frantically searching the floor for the cigarette he threw away. He needed a puff, a large inhale of nicotine right now.

“Zayn, babe.”

He was lost in the sad search for his cig, but was brought back to the world when Perrie’s hand settled onto his shoulder. Zayn froze, and she pulled him into an embrace, allowing him to crumple in her small form.

“Fucking shit,” he whispered brokenly into her hair.

“Yeah.” she agreed, her voice shaking a bit too.

Notes

*Um. I like zombies and One Direction. So I thought I’d put them together. If you read this, could I have your feedback please? (: