Boy Meets Beast

✧ 54 ✧

The bathroom was cold, sharp as a blade against Billy's skin. He knelt on the tiles, clutching Ilya's lifeless body in a desperate embrace. Blood smeared the floor. Each slow drip from the faucet sounded like a funeral bell. Billy held on anyway, whispering broken goodbyes, refusing to let go of the boy who'd made this monstrous world feel almost human.

Then, against the hush of the cold room, came a sudden, jagged gasp.

Billy jerked, eyes wide, as Ilya's chest suddenly lurched under his hands. Air tore back into the boy's lungs in a long, rattling drag—like life clawing its way out of the grave.

"Hhhaaaa."

He startled awake. Wide awake. Eyes blown open, gaping crazily.

Billy yelped and stumbled back, shocked by the boy's resurrection. Just seconds ago, Ilya was dead. Not breathing. Yet somehow, his heart must've still been fighting under all that ruin.

"Who's Ned?"

When Billy heard that name—coming from those lips, in that ragged voice—he teared up. His macho pride refused to show weakness, so he wiped his eyes fast and cleared his throat. Even though his heart was thundering, hidden behind ribs and muscle, his face shifted from raw panic to a trembling smile.

The leech treatment worked.

He helped the kid sit upright, pressing down on the wound. Carefully, he wrapped a towel around Ilya's shivering, drenched frame.

"Never mind that." There was a slight tremor in his deep, manly voice. "The important thing is—how are you feeling right now?"

A surge of energy. Ilya didn't feel tired anymore. It was like the woman had sucked every drop of sickness from his withering body. He swiped a wet strand of hair off his face. The fever was gone, along with the searing infection that had been eating at his shoulder.

"Better."

But thirsty. God, he wished he'd finished that last juice box instead of letting it go to waste.

A towel was wrapped around him as big hands propped him against the wall, steadying his battered body. Ilya stopped shivering just in time for another drink to be shoved into his hand. He sucked it down in one go, like a starving baby, even as his eyes locked on something sprawled across the floor.

The woman's headless body. Missing an arm too, but that felt almost trivial next to the absence of a head. Blood oozed from the empty places where flesh should've been, turning the white tiles into a grotesque sea of red.

Ilya tucked his knees to his chest, pulling away from the mess that used to be a vampire.

Her mouth was still stained with blood—his blood—but it wasn't red. It was purple.

"W-what's happening to me?"

Tears spilled down, catching on his thick lashes. He knew this wasn't normal. Blood was supposed to be red—at least, human blood was. Did this mean he wasn't human anymore? He'd already survived more torture than most people. He'd been infected with the zombie virus. Had he actually survived it? Or was he turning into something far worse than just a diabetic kid trying to stay alive?