Warm Bodies: Awakening

Old Haunts

"This is going to be so weird," Julie said, as they stood at the door of his old home.

"It already is," R smirked, his hand resting on the door lever. He stared down at handle, making no effort to move it, and not really understanding why.

Julie squeezed his arm gently and smiled at him. "Come on," she said, reaching down. She rested her hand on his, and with him, slid the lever across.

The door to the 747 slowly opened, and out came a not so nice smell.

"Gyah," R said, his face twisting in disgust. "Why's it smell so bad?"

Julie raised an eyebrow at him, "Why's it smell so bad? This is exactly how it smelled the last time."

R looked back at her as he stepped inside, "Seriously? Why didn't you say something?"

Her eyes got wide and she slapped him on the arm, "Why didn't I say something?! You were dead! What were you going to do? Clean?" Julie laughed, then shrugged. "I got used to it after a while anyway."

"Barf," he said, and ducked away as she tried to slap him again.

It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, and when they did, it was jarring. Uncomfortable. He found himself standing even straighter, holding his head higher, wanting to be as far from the stooped, shuffling version of himself that had last been here weeks ago. Agitated and nervous, he started flicking the rubber bands on his wrist.

Julie enclosed his hand with her own, understanding. R sighed deeply and let the bands go.

They were one of the carry overs of his old, perennial ensemble. After wearing the same red hoodie and jeans for eight years he found the transition to a casual button down and khakis incredibly easy. In fact, he was pretty sure he would have jumped into a full suit and tie if he'd been able to find one, desperate as he was to shed his old skin. It wouldn't have stuck though, as he'd quickly ditched the new khakis for jeans. Sometimes you couldn't argue with comfort.

He sighed again. Here he was, surrounded by the artifacts of a half-life. A strange collection of incredibly ordinary treasures. Objects he used to marvel at, literally stare at for days as his fractured mind tried to discern their deeper meaning.

Frustratingly, his mind was still a little fractured. He had memories of his family, of most of his life before his death, but they were sometimes out of order or skipped strangely, like his old records. Voices were unclear, garbled, though he could still bring up the sound of his mom's laugh whenever his mind turned that way. Worst of all, he couldn't remember names. He had faces, memories of his family and people he knew were friends smiling, frowning, sometimes yelling and laughing, but no names. Not even his own. It was incredibly aggravating. Even M had remembered his name was Marcus, and he wasn't even fully alive yet.

Probably because he couldn't get a date.

He picked up a wooden shoe stretcher from a nearby pile and turned it over in his hands before putting it back down. He remembered being fascinated by the thing, spending at least an hour or two, twisting it in his grey hands, turning the knobs and watching in wonder as the thing split apart then came together again.

Shaking his head at his old self, he wandered further into the plane. God, he really was a hoarder. This was almost embarrassing. He felt himself blush as Julie followed him, picking through the piles herself, letting out the occasional 'aww' and giggle.

There was a reason they were here, outside of revisiting the past. They'd both been on the road for a couple of weeks now, ever since getting out of the hospital. Working with M, and the Colonel to locate outlying bands of the dead in the city and outer suburbs, and guide them to the stadium.

They'd had a full convoy at first, with multiple armed vehicles, and every group of dead they encountered sent the whole operation into a manic frenzy. But, something was very different now. Most of the dead didn't react to them like zombies. Most seemed confused, almost all of them acting as if they were searching for something, but it wasn't for human flesh.

Brains were no longer on the menu.

Julie greatly enjoyed bringing this up with her dad, any chance she got. The word 'vegan' got bandied about a lot, and the exchanges always ended with the Colonel rolling his eyes and getting very quiet.

They'd even run into a couple of dug-in survivors, eking out an isolated living in the occasional suburban house, barricaded with other houses in a makeshift armored enclave. They were the ones they really had to worry about. Most ascribed to the shoot first, shoot later method of neighborhood watch. These people wanted nothing to do with the Colonel's plan, and the best approach was to take a wide berth. Those weren't the best days.

The path they'd taken went right past the old shelter he'd stayed at with his dad and brother before they'd headed out to the airport. He'd been shocked to see it in such a mess. The barricade had been torn down in a number of places, and it looked as if some of the soldiers they'd left behind never actually made it out - dessicated skeletons lay around an armored vehicle lying on its side just within the gate. It was sobering. They'd made it out just in time. Just in time for him to die, and lose his family, but still.

He'd run inside, before anyone actually gave him permission to do so, and made his way to their room, and their old lockers.

They were broken, open and empty. Someone had taken everything. Bizarrely, his brother's discarded towel still lay on the bed. Julie eventually came in and found him sitting there, staring down at the towel in his hand. She sat next to him and just rested her head on his shoulder, until he was ready to go. The towel came too.

He'd gone in to find his real treasures, and they were gone. There was really only one piece left, and that's why he was back at the airplane. It was a piece of his old life that had stayed with him ever since the change. Something he'd stared at for eight years, and not understood, but couldn't let go of. Something he'd always known was important, but couldn't express why.

The photo of his family.

The other stuff was mostly junk, though there were a few pieces they were going to bring back with them on this trip. His record player and rather impressive zombie record collection for one. A little bobble-headed dog he'd found in an abandoned car that he'd tapped almost every day for three years, a ritual he'd started to feel just a little more human. The old stereographs he and Julie had shared one afternoon. And finally, the piece that Julie had just picked up.

"You remember this?" she asked, turning it over in her hands and giving it a little shake.

He walked over and wrapped his arms around her. "I do," he said, and rested his head against hers. They both watched as the little flakes drifted slowly down over the couple in the snowglobe, meeting over a bridge holding hands.

Julie put it down gently, then turned in his arms, lacing her fingers over the back of his neck. Smiling up at him, she started to sway in his arms, and though they had no music playing, he joined her, lightly dancing around the cabin of the plane. Their smiles turned to grins, then laughter, and ended with a tender kiss that turned hungry.

Julie pulled away with a smile, her throat flushed, and pressed her hand against R's chest. "We have to get back, remember?"

He nodded down at her, his heart pulsing swiftly, his senses saturated with the feel and smell of her skin. Still nodding, he leaned in and kissed her again. It lingered and deepened quickly until they were both flushed and their breaths mingled in heavy, hot gasps.

As he traced a line of kisses down her neck, she groaned. "Dad'll send the army after us if we're not back soon..." she whispered, then gently nipped his ear lobe.

With a low moan, he sucked in the soft skin of her neck and bit her softly, and she arched against him, tangling her fingers in his hair.

They fell to the floor.

And into each other.