Heart to Heart

Every day is the same. We wake, we eat what we can, and we run. The world outside is twisted and changed. Our family is gone. Our friends are gone. In their place are hundreds of leering, rotting faces that yap and bite, desperate for a taste. Nowhere stays safe for long. Each night when we finally find somewhere to rest, I feel my wearer’s heartbeat jump and stutter at every noise outside. Her body strains underneath me to hear whether it is just noise, or the tell-tale footsteps of an approaching monster. It takes longer and longer each night for her heart rate to subside, and the rise and fall of her chest settles into a steady, soothing rhythm.

It’s at times like this that I pretend nothing has changed.

We’ve been together for almost as long as I can remember. At first there was darkness, and a fuzzy, sterile bed. Then suddenly, light, blindingly bright, and her face. She was overjoyed to see me, and ran to hug her parents before putting me on. I learned then that she was called “Taylor”. She was still a child then. Through the years, her body has grown and I’ve stayed the same, but we’ve remained inseparable. Each night she would lie in bed and hold me in her hands, cupped in the gentle valley of her fingers. Sometimes she would open me and stare at what was inside with a look so tender that I couldn’t help but love her. I used to wonder what was inside me. It seems meaningless now.

Taylor tries her best, but she was never cut out for survival like this. She cries a lot, much more than she used to. I do what I can, but I fear my comforting weight on her breastbone cannot heal the heartache that surrounds her. The nightmares that plagued her childhood have returned. Whenever this happens she grabs me in her hand and holds me as she cries herself back to sleep.

I’m glad she’s not alone, though. Taylor found some companions a few days in, bumping into them while scavenging for food in an abandoned grocery store. She calls them Rich and Cindy. They seem nice, they share food with her, and most importantly they’re fighters. Taylor often apologises for not being brave like them, but they just smile and clap her on the shoulder. Cindy gives her lots of hugs. I like Cindy. She reminds me of Taylor’s mom.

The four of us are squatting in a richly-furnished house in a suburb of the city. We’ve been on the move for a few weeks now, moving away from downtown. This is the nicest place we’ve found in days.

Taylor’s been dreaming again. Her hand has relaxed around me, so I can see a little of the dark room we’re in. Rich and Cindy are sharing the bed, comfortably back-to-back and fully-clothed, while Taylor and I are curled up on a squishy futon we found in another room. We always sleep in the same room now.

There’s a noise from downstairs. It’s muffled to me but it could be glass breaking. Rich and Cindy wake first. They grab their weapons - a nail-studded cricket bat for Rich and a crowbar for Cindy - and creep to the bedroom door. The door creaks as they open it and tiptoe out onto the landing, out of view. The plush carpet masks their footsteps.

Taylor wakes at the first scream. I am violently thrown upwards from the crook between her neck and shoulder. Downstairs has exploded into a cacophony of scuffling and grunting. Taylor grabs her dented golf club and clutches it in shaking hands. From the floor below comes another horrendous scream and she drops the club. I can feel her heartbeat thundering through my chain, and her panicked breaths made me jump and judder. Something heavy thuds below us, and the movement stops.

For a while we stand frozen, motionless aside from the internal thunderstorm of her heart. I want her to move, want her to run, spurred on by the fearful pace of her heartbeat, but I can’t force her to do anything.

After a time she takes a few stilted, heavy steps forward, out of the safety of the bedroom and onto the landing. It’s dark inside the house. We sway forward as Taylor strains to hear what’s going on. Now we’re moving, a persistent vibration ripples through me. I realise Taylor is shaking. I cannot stop her as she tiptoes down the stairs, pulled by some awful curiosity. We turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs and I feel Taylor’s throat constrict in terror.

There is so much blood. Rich and Cindy are barely recognisable, barely intact. And above them, crouched like some horrid gremlin, is another figure. Its head is bent over Cindy’s stomach. Something crunches. A wet ripping noise. Taylor moans in horror and it immediately jolts upright. For a moment I get a good look at something once-human, covered in gore and still chewing a sinewy length of intestine.

The not-human takes one step towards us and Taylor immediately bolts. She was never very coordinated, but still manages to take the stairs two at a time and stumbles back into the bedroom. She slams the door shut behind her and immediately runs to the bookcase in the corner. I can feel the stickiness of panicked sweat on her skin as she tries to move the bookcase alone. Most of the books thunder to the floor. In immediate response, the door rattles in its frame as the monster tries to barge its way through. Taylor freezes again for a moment as I swing wildly from her neck, silently willing her to keep moving. She takes up her flimsy club once more and tries to keep the door shut with her own body weight. I’m helpless as the monster slams bodily through the door, sending us both flying.

It’s on us in seconds. I’m flung behind Taylor’s neck and cannot see what is going on. She shrieks and twists above me and I can do nothing as I am dragged to and fro across the carpet. The monster on top of her roars. We shift violently and Taylor screams. I’m flipped over and over and suddenly we’re upright. Taylor sprints from the room and down the stairs, slipping on the blood in the hallway. She fumbles with the lock on the front door. I’m still dangling down her back so I get a clear look at the monster charging down the stairs towards us. She wrenches the door open with a cry and slams it shut in the monster’s face. I get one last glimpse of bloody teeth and a slavering tongue.

Now we’re running. I bounce against her back, feeling the difference between the hard bumps of her spine and the sweat-slicked skin between her shoulder blades. It must be close to morning; I can see weak sunlight filtering through the trees and the air is full of moisture. Her feet slap against the pavement and I realise with dismay that Taylor’s barefoot.

Eventually we slow to a walk. Taylor’s breath heaves in her chest and I can feel her lungs wheezing. Dappled shadows fall over us as we arrive in a grassy area hemmed with tall trees. I don’t recognize this place, but then again I haven’t recognized a place in weeks.

Taylor takes a moment to check her surroundings before collapsing on the grass. She pulls me back around to my rightful place on her chest in a practiced motion and I can see what she sees once more.

“No,” she whispers.

Her fingers tremble as she examines the wound on her arm. It looks like a bite mark. The tooth marks are deep and bloody, curving in a smooth half-moon shape just above her wrist.

“No,” she repeats hollowly, over and over again. Eventually she devolves into tears, pausing only to re-examine the wound and touch with shaking fingers. I don’t know much about injuries but it looks nasty. It seems to be turning green at the edges and a scaly rash is already spreading from her wrist over her hand and past the crook of her elbow.

I dangle from her neck as she cries, bouncing with every hitching breath. After a time the crying subsides and she cups me gently in her hands and stares at me. If it wasn’t for the incessant trembling of her fingers I could pretend everything was back to normal.

Taylor’s face sets in grim determination. She rises to her feet and makes her way out of this green place and back into the grey buildings of the city.

We walk for what feels like hours. Taylor doesn’t stop for anything. The sun is mostly obscured by clouds and a slight drizzle dampens the streets, but Taylor’s skin is warm to the touch. Uncomfortably warm. She keeps picking at the rash on her arm. I wish she would stop but it must be itchy; she keeps scratching it despite the way it bleeds. She avoids the clusters of monsters that linger in the streets easily, and only really seems to panic when she sees humans. As she bolts in the other direction at the sight of them, I wonder what she’s thinking.

Her skin keeps getting warmer despite the cooling rain. Her breathing is ragged despite the slow, sluggish way she now walks. And her heart is pounding underneath me despite the emptiness of the streets around us.

Suddenly Taylor’s knees give and we fall. I clink against the tarmac as her head cracks heavily against it. She doesn’t make a sound. Her hand closes around me and I’m smothered with a hot, encompassing darkness.

The sweat from her hand beads on my surface. Her heart is racing now, faster than I’ve ever felt it before - faster than during P.E. class, or the night her parents were killed. I can feel her hand twitching around me, gripping and relaxing in spasms.

Suddenly, the darkness crushes me. Her finger bones crack and pop. I feel my surface dent with the strength of her grasp. Does she know she’s doing this to me? I wonder if this is it. Perhaps I’ve stopped being useful to her. I thought she loved me.

It feels like an age, but eventually her grip relaxes and silence falls.

Terrifying silence.

I can’t feel her heartbeat anymore.

I mourn her in the darkness. I mourn the years we spent together and the last few horrid weeks we’ve endured. I mourn how much she’s suffered and wish I could have helped her, at least once.

Suddenly, impossibly, we move. She’s alive! I’m filled with joy as her hand releases me and falls away. She stands unsteadily and keeps shuffling down the street. As I settle on her chest I strain to hear her heartbeat. There must be one if she’s moving.

Still, silence.

I don’t understand what is going on. I can’t do anything. The feeling of helplessness rushes back, only this time there’s fear, too.

I understand what’s happened when we see another human. They’re hiding in a smashed-up storefront, staring at the wasteland outside. We enter through a broken window and begin to shuffle towards them. Their back is to us. I scream silently from my chain as I bump against her clammy chest, willing them to turn around.

When they do, it’s too late. The flesh underneath me rumbles in an inhuman growl. Taylor’s hands shoot forward and grab the poor person. Their scream of terror is cut short as she sinks her teeth into their neck, splattering me with hot blood. The body falls to the floor and she begins to tear it apart, eagerly stuffing flesh and gristle into her mouth.

And there’s nothing I can do but watch.