Love is Dead

Gated Grounds

        Logan and I walked side by side through the cracked streets the next morning, my senses on high alert as I glanced around, half-expecting danger to leap from the shadows at any moment. I eyed Logan every so often nervously.

"N-Not far now..," Logan muttered, his voice deep, almost soothing, despite the gravelly rasp. His uneven gait was more fluid than I expected for a zombie, but the occasional stumble served as a reminder that his body was still rotting, decaying, the process of death slower in some than others.

I tried to keep my distance, but the silence between us was more unsettling than anything else. His presence was a strange mix of danger and comfort. His skin might be deteriorating, but his sharp, almost human-like expressions kept me from completely categorizing him as just another walking 'corpse'. I couldn't stop myself from glancing over at him, wondering what set him apart.

"So... tell me again," I broke the silence, trying to push away the unease crawling up my spine. "What makes you so different from the others? The ones who are... all gnashing teeth and mindless hunger for humans?"

Logan didn't immediately answer. He seemed to shift uncomfortably and avoided my eyes, pulling at the loose, faded sweater that hung off his thin grey frame. I noticed a patch of fungus growing at his neck just near the collar of his sweater, and a trail mushrooms clinging to his wild white hair. It was hard to look away from him, yet harder still to ask.

"I guess I should explain..," he replied finally, his voice gravely as ever, but with a hint of something else buried deep in the rasp. "I'm not..li-like them. I wasn't bitten. I wasn't turned by the usual infection, or whatever the hell it is that makes people go full-on brainless. N-No... this was... something else."

I slowed my pace, curiosity taking over. I batted my brown eyes at him. "Something else?"

Logan glanced at me, his mismatched eyes gleaming faintly in the fading light. The brown one looked almost too human, the blue one too alien. "Yeah, it's complicated," he said. "I was a... test subject. Some lab experiment gone wrong. They were trying to create something else. Something better. But, as you can see, it didn't exactly go according to plan."

A test subject.

The words hung in the air like an echo. Was he talking about the same group of people who'd experimented on survivors? People who had turned others into grotesque monsters in the name of science?

"You were experimented on?" I asked cautiously. "By the government? Or some other group?"

Logan grinned, though the expression was twisted by the ravages of decay. "Yeah, government. Well, part of it, anyway. You're not the first to ask."

The mention of the government only deepened my suspicions. I had heard rumors about the government's involvement in the outbreak, that they had been conducting research on the undead for their own purposes. Was Logan a casualty of that?

"And now you're... just out and about?" I asked, my voice incredulous. "After everything they did to you?"

He shrugged, a surprisingly casual gesture considering his condition. "What else is there to do? It's not like I'm gonna get revenge on anyone. I'm not some walking, vengeful angel. I'm just a honorary zombie who wants to make it through the day, same as you." His voice dropped to a deep chuckle. "Except I won't eat you."

I eyed him skeptically. "You keep saying that. But how can I trust you? You're still a zombie. You could turn at any moment."

Logan's eyes softened, his head tilting to one side as if considering my words. "I don't feel it anymore. The hunger. Not for people anyway. What I feel is... well, it's different. It's not like what you're used to seeing."

I didn't know whether to believe him or not, but before I could respond, something caught my attention. A flicker in the distance. A shadow moving through the trees. My instincts flared—something wasn't right.

I grabbed Logan's arm and pulled him to a stop. "Did you see that?"

He didn't answer right away, his colorful gaze shifting toward the tree line. His eyes narrowed, muscles tensing beneath the thin fabric of his sweater. "Someone's watching us," he murmured. "We're not alone."

Panic flooded me. My grip tightened on the rusty pole in my hand. "Who's out there?"

"Could be other survivors," Logan said, his voice low. "Could also be those... other things. The ones who aren't like me."

I glanced around. The woods were thick with twilight, shadows stretching long and dark, hiding who or what lurked within. A chill ran through me. We had no idea if the people watching us were friends or enemies, and the last thing I wanted was to find out the hard way.

"We need to move. Now." My voice was firm, though it wavered with an undercurrent of fear. The greenhouse Logan had mentioned—our potential refuge—was close, but not close enough if we were being tracked.

I didn't wait for Logan to respond. I took a few steps toward the fenced perimeter of the greenhouse, scanning the shadows as I went. The feeling of being watched intensified, prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. The faint sound of footsteps—too light to be a zombie's shuffle—came from behind us.

Logan caught up with me quickly, his long, bony legs carrying him with surprising speed. "They're closing in," he whispered. "We don't have much time."

I spotted the heavy iron gates of the greenhouse up ahead, a welcome sight in a world gone to hell. The gates were tall, thick, and topped with jagged metal spikes, offering a semblance of safety. But that safety was only temporary. I knew that as soon as we made it inside, we'd have to figure out what to do next—and if we could trust each other long enough to survive whatever lay ahead.

"Get to the gates," Logan urged, moving ahead of me. His voice was strained now, as if he, too, could sense the growing danger.

We broke into a sprint, feet pounding against the cracked pavement. The air was thick with the scent of decaying leaves and dust, and I felt a knot in my stomach tighten. The rusted fence loomed ahead, and I could almost taste the freedom that might await on the other side.

But as we neared the gates, I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps gaining on us—too many, too fast. My heart skipped a beat as Logan's pace quickened, the distance between us and the shadows closing rapidly. The sounds of gunshots fired near us.

We weren't just being watched anymore. We were being hunted.