Change of Heart

Once there was a zombie. It used to be a man but it wasn’t anymore. Now its mouth couldn’t form words and its skin was rotting and so was its brain. It knew it had once been human but it couldn’t remember exactly what that meant, would only get flashes of pictures in its head like lightning — there one second but gone the next. It remembered a heart-shaped locket, a swing creaking on a sunny day. It remembered green lawns and tinkling laughter and something it thought was called a snowy ball fight.

It remembered someone walking toward it in a crowded room dressed in white and it felt its chest expand, filling with something to the point that it thought its chest might burst. That happened to zombies sometimes, the bursting, but somehow it knew this was different, knew that its chest only felt like it was going to explode because of the memory of the person in white.

It liked that feeling, liked when it felt like it was expanding rather than contracting. Most of the time it only felt an aching hunger. All zombies felt this, it knew — that emptiness inside them that never went away, no matter how much they ate. It was a void and they tried to fill it as best they could, but it was never enough. And so, they ate.

They ate animals and humans, alive or already dead, and sometimes they ate other zombies because a zombie couldn’t be too particular. Eating made the empty ache recede for a bit, but not for long. Never for long. And so, they ate and they looked for things to eat and this is how it always was and always would be.

It walked slowly down the wooded path with feet stuttering along the uneven ground. It was hard to walk when you were slowly decomposing, harder still when it felt like roots and rocks sprang underfoot to purposefully throw you off balance. But it continued walking because that’s what zombies do.

Up ahead it heard noises: a high-pitched keening, a hushed whisper, and another pair of stuttering footfalls. It knew the footfalls were another zombie but couldn’t place the other sounds. It became curious and altered its steps and walked toward the noise.

The keening stopped, as did the whispers. It continued walking toward the sound of the other zombie and almost forgot the curious sounds that had peaked its interest. Almost.

And then the sounds changed.

The sound of the other zombie’s steps in the distance became harsher. Guttural grunts joined in, as did high-pitched screams and the sounds of scrabbling movements. It rounded a bend and came across a scene of utter chaos.

There was a section of wooden fence lying haphazardly on the ground as if it had been thrown and the other zombie was moving erratically, trying to catch the two small, screaming figures who were backed into a tangle of trees. They were trapped but the other zombie hadn’t yet figured out how to make its body bend and stoop to reach them.

There was a flash of sudden memory, of turning over rocks and finding insects scurrying about searching for the safety and anonymity of the darkness beneath another rock. It realized that was what the other zombie had done, turned over a fence and unearthed children.

Because that’s what they were: children. The word sprang to its mind but it couldn’t recall the last time it had remembered that children existed. Yet here two were, cowering not far away and making terrified sounds that made its ears ring.

There were two of them, both dirty and streaked with mud. One was larger with long, dark hair. A girl. The other was smaller with short hair. A boy. The girl was trying to control her screams but couldn’t control the boy’s. It was only a matter of time before every zombie within hearing distance came to investigate.

It was fascinated and continued studying the children. The boy wore a brown jacket over a blue shirt, both too big for his frame. The girl had on a large grey shirt buttoned up the front but some of the buttons had come loose and something glinted underneath in the pale light of the day. Something familiar.

A locket. A gold heart-shaped locket.

It felt a jolt as the memory came searing back and blinded him for a moment. A gold heart-shaped locket shining in the sunlight, a swing creaking on a sunny day, blonde hair on a small head, and a voice demanding, “Higher!” with tinkling laughter.

He was moving before he realized it, feet gaining a surety they hadn’t had in a very, very long time. He reached the zombie just as it remembered how to crouch. He grasped its arm and tore it away from the children.

The zombie attacked him but seemed to have forgotten its original targets. Food was food, after all, and a zombie couldn’t be too particular. But while the other zombie fought for food, for something to fill that aching maw inside itself, he fought for something else. He felt no hunger, didn’t feel that constant pain of emptiness. It was like that hollowed-out part of himself had been filled with something else, with a need he couldn’t understand but it felt fierce and hot and insistent. This feeling of purpose made him stronger.

He fought the zombie and forced it away from the children but the zombie was hungry and wasn’t going to stop unless it got food or was killed. And so, he reached forward and bit down on the zombie’s neck. It made more guttural sounds but he continued to bite and release, bite and release, until the guttural sounds stopped and the zombie fell to the ground.

He stared at the body, transfixed, and waited for the hunger to take over as it always had before. But it didn’t come, didn’t replace that fullness inside him that had pushed him to protect the children.

How strange.

He turned back to the whimpering children still cowering in their tangle of trees but now staring at him with wide eyes. Perhaps they were scared of all zombies, or perhaps ripping out one’s throat with your teeth made a bad first impression. Regardless, he had to show them he wasn’t going to hurt them. But how to do that when he couldn’t speak?

He looked around and saw a metal shovel on the ground with one side sharpened — a weapon. He walked slowly over to it since his legs seemed to have lost the grace they’d had moments before, picked up the shovel, and turned to the children. Their eyes had gone wider and their faces pale white with fear. He slowly walked toward them, placed the shovel nearby, then backed away and stopped and waited.

The children looked at him, looked at the shovel, looked back at him. The girl hadn’t moved and he wanted her to reach for it, to protect herself and the boy. “A…aren’t you going to…eat us?” the girl asked.

He tried to remember how to tell them he wasn’t without using words then realized his head was already roughly shaking in answer, No. No, he was not going to eat them. The girl continued to stare.

“Daddy left and didn’t come back,” came a small voice. The boy. His eyes were now steady while the girl’s were still shocked — the boy had accepted that he meant them no harm. “He left to get food but didn’t come back.” The boy said this as if it explained everything, and it did. They were alone, scared, hungry, and so they’d left their home to search for what they needed. He understood that completely.

He needed to get them moving. They weren’t safe. The noise they’d made would bring other zombies. He grunted and moved his arm, trying to show them he wanted them to move. The boy understood and got to his feet.

The girl grabbed the boy’s arm. “What are you doing?” she asked sharply, fear and uncertainty making her words harsh and brittle.

“He wants us to move,” the boy said simply, and it was a simple thing.

“He’s a zombie!” the girl replied, moving her gaze to stare at him once more.

“He protected us,” the boy said, as if that explained everything.

“We can’t trust him!” The girl’s voice was firmer but still tinged with panic.

He heard something and his head moved in that direction. It wasn’t close, but he could hear it — the sound of stuttering footsteps. More zombies were coming. They had to leave.

He turned back to the children and saw their faces. They’d heard it too, realized that danger lurked in the forest and knew where they were.

The girl’s gaze caught his own and they stared at each other. He tried to tell her without words that he wouldn’t hurt them, that the hunger he’d felt for as long as he could remember had been replaced by something hot and writhing inside him that wanted only to protect them.

She must have seen something, or perhaps she felt she had no choice, because she nodded once. The girl grabbed the shovel and the three of them set off into the woods surrounded by the sound of stuttering footfalls. As the sun glinting off the heart-shaped locket the girl wore around her neck caught his eye he felt his resolve harden with a single thought — keep them safe.