The Undead Situation by Eloise J. Knapp

Author:Eloise J. Knapp [Knapp, Eloise J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Zombies, Fiction, apocalypse, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, living dead, walking dead, permuted press, world war z, max brooks, sociopath, romero, psycho, hannibal lecter
ISBN: 9781934861585
Google: tmxXYgEACAAJ
Amazon: 1934861588
Barnesnoble: 1934861588
Goodreads: 7435194
Publisher: Permuted Press
Published: 2009-12-02T05:00:00+00:00

“Arson.” I winced in pain as she scrubbed a particularly deep gash.

“I was unsatisfied with life.”

I chuckled. “Where were you when I was in high school? You’d have been my soul mate.”

“Is that so? Take your vest off.”

While I unzipped my tactical vest, I stole a quick look at her. She tossed the bloodied cloths on the floor and got some new ones from her pack, followed by a dark glass bottle. It looked like iodine. I hoped it wasn’t.

It was unnecessary, but I had the urge to impress the indifferent woman by my side. I pulled my stained undershirt off and turned my bad shoulder to her. She scanned my body in a single, calculated glance.

If she liked the way I looked, she wasn’t going to say so. Naturally I was a bit hurt. I wasn’t a flabby couch potato. In fact, my time alone in the apartment was so full of sit-ups and push-ups my body was, as the kids say, ‘smokin.’ I thought so, at least. Unfazed, she tugged off the old bandage and tossed it with the soiled rags. I knew what came next.

“Don’t want this to get infected.” She uncapped the iodine and saturated a clean cloth with it. “You could lose your arm. Wouldn’t want that. This already looks bad.”

She pressed the cloth to the cut on my shoulder, and I hissed in pain. Iodine, pure iodine. It hurt more than the wound. Blackness crept into the fringes of my vision.

“Man up.”

How would she like it if I aggressively applied iodine to her?

After she was done, she slapped on a new bandage from her endless supply of medical materials, then unlaced her boots. I did the same, eager to free myself from their unforgiving constraint. Plus it gave me something else to focus on, besides the brutal agony in my shoulder.

Frank showed up in the doorway, a pot in one hand. He beamed a gap-toothed grin at us.

“I made soup. Ya’ll come eat, now.”

I forced myself to get up, put a shirt on, and found that Frank had pulled bowls out and everything. He poured a heavy serving of Chef Boyardee pasta into our bowls then shoved them toward us. Eating hot canned goods was even more bizarre than living in a random house, but I wasn’t complaining. I liked Chef Boyardee, and downtime was good, too.

We ate on the sofa, since the dining room was close to a sliding glass door that didn’t have blinds. If one zombie saw us, hundreds more would follow his lead and try to break in to eat us.

The meat-stuffed ravioli in tomato sauce tasted better than anything I’d had in quite a while. It used to be a quintessential staple in my apartment before I noticed how fat I was getting from it. Eating it reminded me of better times, and a little bell of sadness rang in my heart.

Despite everything, with my clean wounds and filled belly, I felt like a million bucks. After we ate, we decided to sleep, since the stars were aligned in regard to our safety.

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