Bite

It's Just a Joke

I tucked my trembling hands into my armpits, and tried to be quiet. I knew I should wake someone up, and ask for help, but what could they do? I was too tired and too stupidly half-asleep to realize that Rayford probably had first-aid gauze that he could wrap it with.

After all, everyone deserved their sleep. I didn't want to wake them. I just kept thinking that, over and over. Don't wake them. Don't wake them. My problem. My stupidity. My clumsiness. My problem.

The pain dulled, and it felt almost manageable. I was whimpering, quietly.

Suddenly, Hailey—sleeping closest to me—turned over, whispered an annoyed Shhhhh and drifted off again. Ungrateful, disgusting little wretch, I thought angrily, I'm crying and all you can do is shush me? I hope you get bitten. I hope you do.

This was an awful thought, and I couldn't believe I thought it.

Okay—God—maybe not bitten. You can't be a zombie. I was whispering to myself, out loud. It made it easier to deal with the pain rocking my ankle. 

"You can't be a zombie," I whispered to Hailey's sleeping form. "You're annoying enough as a human." 

But I couldn't shake my first judgment, hoping she'd get bitten—then we could kick her out of the group. 

"It'd be easier that way," I hissed. "She'd probably be our downfall in the long run, stupid enough to run out when we were hiding—or hide when she should be running. But you're not hiding now," I said, suddenly very aware of her lying so close to me. "Why aren't you running? You don't even have to get bitten by a zombie..." 

Suddenly, an idea dawned on me. "What if I bit you? A harmless bite," then I chuckled to myself, imagining how scared she'd be, waking up with my mouth on her shoulder. "It'd be a sick joke, I admit, but funny to me. She wakes up and I'm biting her—she'd scream so loudly! The others would probably tell me I was being immature—but so what?" 

I kept chuckling. "We need a little laughter in this disaster. Okay..." I shifted in my blanket, my new found purpose to prank the most annoying tween in the world completely distracting me from my ankle, dragging uselessly on the floor. I snickered and bit the back of my own hand, trying to quiet myself. 

"Just one bite, and then I'll pretend to go to sleep again—when she wakes up and screams—we can just blame her for seeking attention."