Not Dead Yet

Hey, Honey! I'm Home!

Early morning sun filters in through the shuttered windows, creating golden beams atop the white sheets. Next to her, Francis grumbles and rolls over toward her. She braces herself for the now familiar weight of his arm across her chest as he swings the tattooed appendage her way. She smiles and snuggles in closer to him. She'll miss mornings like this, being nearly overwhelmed by his large mass but feeling so protected that it doesn't matter. She looks at his face, the normally hard lines softer in sleep. She wants to reach out and trace his brow but she knows he'll wake up, and she doesn't want to disturb him on his last morning on the island. She looks toward the windows. Out there is a world that is cruel and dangerous, and they were willingly about to jump right back into it. Were they crazy? Was she crazy? What if they go back out there and something bad happens? What if Francis gets hurt trying to save her? He always had her back before and now ... She bites her lower lip, swinging her gaze back to his face. She smiles when she sees him looking at her.

"Stop worrying, would ya?" he grumbles, giving her a squeeze.

"I'm not worrying."

"Are too," he argues, nuzzling her neck. "You were worrying so loud you woke me up."

She laughs. "Sorry."

He pulls away, giving her a quick peck on the mouth. The bristly hairs of his goatee prick her chin. He starts to pull away but she whimpers a protest.

"Zo, doll, I gotta take a leak."

"No, you don't," she protests. "Stay."

He scowls but complies. She lays her cheek against his chest and idly plays with the springy hair there. Beneath her head, she can hear his strong heartbeat. 

"Francis?"

"Mmm?"

"I think I might be a little scared."

He chuckles. "Not possible."

She looks up at him. "No, really. Promise me you won't do anything stupid like get yourself killed."

He raises his eyebrows in mock indignation. "Me? Do something stupid? Never."

"Seriously!"

She pushes back to look at him better, to show that she's serious. He heaves an exasperated sigh.

"Zoey, I can't make you promises I can't keep. No one can guarantee they won't die. Dying is a part of living."

She sighs, too. "I know that. It's just ... can you at least promise to be careful?"

He kisses her forehead. "I promise to be careful. I've always been careful. I don't want to die, believe it or not." He reaches out and touches her hair. "Truth be told, I'm worried about you, too."

"I'll be careful," she pledges. "I don't want to die, either."

He leers at her. "Well, you know, we're not dead yet so ... how about we make the most of being alive and ..."

He pulls her close, claiming her mouth hungrily, saying without words how they should take advantage of being alive.

_______________________________________

Later, after taking their baths and eating a quick breakfast, they go back to their room to get dressed for the trip back. Killing zombies in a bikini wasn't really practical. Francis lamented this point but agreed. 

They had done their best to wash their old clothing. It had never crossed Zoey's mind to just throw her ratty jeans and stained jacket away. Maybe she had always known in the back of her mind that she'd be going back. She pulls on her jeans, wrinkling her nose at the faint smell of decay. I'll get used to that again, unfortunately. She starts to pull her red hoodie over her white t-shirt, but stops when Francis touches her shoulder. He has already dressed. He wears his precious leather vest, but this time, instead of a white tank underneath, he has on a black t-shirt. He said it didn't show guts and blood like the white one. He had a point.