Silver Collar

The burning crimson of sunset spread above me; the regal cloak of some long forgotten sky-father. Electric blue sands lay below, shimmering in the dying light of the day. They stretched far away to the horizon, seeming like long, lost oceans of forgotten memory, brooding with hidden strength, gently devouring the sinking sun.

I felt weightless. I stared into the sun and then watched the ground streak as I sped towards that golden warmth. It was maddening speed, but my perception slowed. Grains of the desert shone out as individual motes, capturing moments of the source’s purity before disappearing back into obscurity.

I began to notice heat, an anxiety beginning to needle at the edges of my mind. The light, so familiar and comforting seconds ago, grew stark and oppressive.

My father’s voice, sounding vast yet distant, echoed through me.

“Daughter? Come back! Where are you going?”

“Dad?” I tried to cry out but my voice felt alien and weak. “Daddy?” Barely a whimper.

“All things pass, child. Change is coming. Watch your shadow.”

I writhed in confusion and frustration, but could barely feel my body. The light filled my world until I could almost hear it, as a pressure building relentlessly against my thoughts. I tried to shut my eyes but nothing could stop it. I screamed as it flared, brighter than I could believe, until it all went away and I sank backwards into welcoming darkness.

“The locket is your slave collar...”

* * *

I awoke in my rundown cabin, staring up at the stained, patched roof. It was dark outside; the midsummer dawn still an hour or so off. My eyes still felt heavy, my head fuzzy, but the dream seared into my memory like a brand.

An inquisitive squeak came from below my chin. Tweak, my grey rat companion, reared up from my collarbone, holding out his tiny paws in greeting, before scurrying forward to nestle into the blonde curls at the nape of my neck.

“Alright, pest!” I couldn’t help but smile, though the morning pains were sparking at my nerves.

I dragged myself upright, grunting at the insistence of the pain. Tweak scampered down to my lap. Reaching for my pack I pulled out a stash of sweet, nutty, energy bars, shakily tearing off the wrapper from one and handing it to Tweak. He took it happily and dragged it back to his canvas canteen pack that served as his home. He chattered excitedly while I pulled out two fresh candles and lit them on the floor to my side.

I reached for the locket at my neck and tugged firmly to release the clasp. The silver heart had tarnished and dulled over time, but I still felt comforted by the feel of it in my hand. I fought with my fingers to open the catch and folded it open. Sweat had begun to spring out on my skin, sending chills along my back. Tears streamed from my eyes.

I pulled one of the tiny vials from inside, revealing the face of my father, staring reassuringly out from the picture that was the first occupant of my silver heart. A fresh tear welled up and ran down my cheek.

“That one was just for you.”

Shuddering now, I began to function by ritual, loading the hypodermic, strapping on the tourniquet, and gently encouraging a vein to surface. I resisted the urge to rush, despite my discomfort. Tweak emerged from his pack and looked up at me, his head cocked on one side, questioningly.

“I’m sure you disapprove, cutie, but, as well you know, you wouldn’t like me as an actual zombie!”

I finished my hit and let the wave of relief seep through me, my symptoms whispering away, to be replaced by that familiar disconnect numbness.

Tweak accepted my excuse and turned a couple of circles before curling up against my stomach. I scooped him up and set him on my shoulder where he drew my hair around him and resumed dozing.

I slowly stood up, false, opiate warmth insulating me from the early chill. I padded to the window and looked out, my gaze drawn down the long slope to the perimeter wall. I seated half my ass on the window-sill, lit a cigarette and let my thoughts wander. It was a cloudy sky but a washed-out half-light picked out the sentries patrolling, watching for any undead threat.

Still sounds daft: undead threat! Over a year since this craziness started and it still seems unreal; that is until they’re trying to wrench your head from your shoulders, and rip your flesh from your bones.

The worst thing is: I should be one of them!

I guess that’s partly why it’s weird; I’m here, and alive, and still human ‘cause I’m a fucking liar. That’s Karma. My punishment. Torment. Every morning, when the heroin’s wearing off and I can feel it all for a moment, I open my silver heart and look into those steely blue, deep, trusting, nurturing, protecting, loving eyes. He saved me when the zombies first came. He sacrificed himself to save his only daughter. He died being a father to me, his beloved daughter, of whom he was so proud when she beat her heroin problem. Daddy’s little girl returned to him from the darkness of addiction.

But I wasn’t. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to. But I couldn’t tell him that. And so I smiled, and laughed, and told him what I thought he wanted to hear.

I’d tell him the truth now; God, if I had the chance, I’d tell him now.

It hurts. I stare out over the dying wreck of our world, pulled down in a matter of days by the ravages of a cruel infection. Fatal to a human within a day and the corpse reanimates an hour after death. And, man, are they pissed. Remember 28 Days Later? Now imagine them on the rag. And the contagion spreads through the air.

It’s everywhere. Everyone’s been exposed. Even I’m a carrier. But opiates seem to completely stop it in its tracks. So the healthy became flesh-eating monsters; a few became symptomless carriers, or, perhaps more precisely, targets... and junkies inherit the earth.

Zombies surrounded by zombies.

Fate sure loves her irony.

We the zombies, for the zombies...

What am I even taking about!?

I miss you, Dad...

Tweak stirred from his contentment, drawing me back from my daze. I felt him tense up. The window was slightly ajar. He got up and looked out, his little head bobbing slightly, his nose twitching as he scented something on the air. He started to pace, out to my shoulder and back to my neck, clearly agitated.

“You’re worried, babe? Don’t be. I won’t let anything happen to you.” I tried to reassure him, stroking a finger along his shoulders.

But I felt nervous, too.

Suddenly, a great crash echoed up to us and a van horn blared. Voices were shouting, screaming. And there... there it was; the unmistakable sickly snarl of the undead.

Our compound was improvised around a large hospital, perched atop a high hill, outside London. Seven of us had made our way there when we figured out our strange immunity. Since then, thirty survivors had made this place a home. The hospital was our sanctuary. We still had a decent supply of medication, emergency power from generators, vehicles, tools, stashes of weapons. As our numbers grew, we began to use the land around us to serve our needs. We sent out scavenging parties in ambulances to keep our supplies topped up.

Marcus, a grizzled old man who’d survived on the streets for years; became our tribal wise man. Thom, from Poland and Emmy, his other half were in charge of security. Emmy has looked after me since the world spiralled out of control and thrust us together. She has a kind heart, but needs to be restrained if someone sets her off. They had been out on a late night resupply. But something must have gone wrong.

Dawn was taking hold, and in the growing light I saw Marcus was running up the track towards the accommodation cabins. His eyes, wide and wild, found mine. He raised an arm and tried to call out but his words were lost as an explosion erupted behind him, hurling him to the ground.

Panic gripped me. I saw the flames and the blackened twisted metal of Thom and Emmy’s ambulance and... figures, almost silhouettes, rushing and ruining up the hill. We were breached. They were here.

No time, no time. I realised I still wasn’t even dressed. What did it matter? Tweak was quivering with terror and I snatched him from my shoulder, his claws scratching my skin. I lunged for his carry pack and bundled him inside, pausing for just a second to look at him, miserably one last time. Even then, his face made me smile, just slightly. I pulled the cover over but didn’t fasten it, then made for the long cupboard at the end of the cabin. The horrid noise of the undead came closer. I pulled off the loose skirting under the cupboard and secreted Tweak inside.

“Tweak, I’m so sorry! You’re gonna have to hide. Don’t come out. Please, just stay in there. I love you, little buddy, but this is the end, and I’m gonna have to leave you here.” I pulled the board back across and turned away. “Goodbye,” I sobbed, unable to stop my voice breaking. The guilt, and fear and anger were all piercing my heart, but there was nothing I could do, their chilling growls so close now.

I returned to my bed and looked again into my locket. At least I could escape in spirit. At least I wouldn’t have to endure them tearing me apart. At least I wouldn’t end up like them. Dad stared back at me, compassionate and without judgement.

“Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

My hands worked automatically, preparing a lethal dose as the first fists battered at my flimsy door. My fingers found a vein and slid the needle in, pushing the plunger home as they burst in.

They rushed at me... then rushed back again and everything was white.

I blinked. I swallowed. Then I felt two familiar hands unbuckle the chain from around my neck.

“Dad...”