Home sweet home. At least, that was the plan until I stepped inside and was hit by a blast of heat. So hot. The AC was broken, and I was still in my school uniform, which was sticking to me like glue. But I didn't care. I had one goal: the bag of sour candies on the table. They were calling my name.
I grabbed the bag, ready to tear it open. But the stupid thing wouldn't budge. I pulled at the top. Nothing. I tried again, harder. Still nothing.
"Come on!" I growled, shaking the bag. "Why won't you open?!" I stood up and yanked it with all my strength. The plastic stretched… and then snapped back, shooting one candy across the room. It rolled under the couch.
I glared at it. "Really? One candy? That's all I get?!"
THUD.
A noise outside made me stop. I looked out the window. Nothing. Just the quiet street.
"Probably a trash can or something," I muttered, going back to the bag.
CRASH.
Louder this time. I sighed and walked to the window again. Still nothing. But the sky looked… weird. Kind of pink. Not a nice pink. A creepy pink.
"Whatever," I said, turning back to the candy. "I have bigger problems."
I grabbed a pair of scissors and tried to cut the bag open. But the plastic was too tough. The scissors slipped, almost stabbing my hand.
"Are you kidding me?!" I yelled. "Who makes a bag this hard to open?!"
SCREECH.
The noise this time was awful. Like nails on a chalkboard mixed with a scream.
I froze. "Nope. Not my problem," I said, trying to focus on the candy.
But then the wailing started. It wasn't human. It wasn't animal. It was just… wrong.
"Fine!" I threw the scissors down and marched to the door. "This better be good," I muttered, yanking it open.
The street was covered in red. Not paint. Blood. It was everywhere—on the road, the sidewalks, the cars. It looked like someone had spilled a giant bucket of red paint.
"What… the… heck?" I whispered.
The smell hit me next. Metallic. Gross. My stomach turned.
Another wail came from down the street. This one sounded closer.
I stepped back inside and slammed the door. "Nope. Nope. Nope. I'm out. I'm taking a bath. I'm done with today."
I locked the door. Then I pushed the couch in front of it, just to be safe.
The candy bag was still on the table, unopened. I glared at it. "This is your fault."
Outside, something screamed again.
I grabbed the scissors. "Bring it on, Tuesday."
****
The candy bag was still mocking me from the table, but the screams outside were getting louder. I peeked out the window again, and this time, I saw them.
Zombies.
Actual, shuffling, groaning, missing-a-few-limbs zombies.
Oh good. Just what my Tuesday was missing.
One of them was wearing a pizza delivery uniform, which was both horrifying and weirdly hilarious. Another was dragging itself along the sidewalk, one leg bent at a very wrong angle. And then there was the one in the prom dress. Seriously, a prom dress. Who gets turned into a zombie while wearing a prom dress?
Was she at prom when it happened? Did she just really love that dress? Who dies looking that fancy?
I slammed the curtains shut and leaned against the wall, my heart pounding. "Okay, Mira. Deep breaths. This is fine. Totally fine. Zombies are just really committed Halloween enthusiasts. Yeah. That is it."
It is either that or I have officially lost my mind. Both seem equally possible right now.
But then the wailing started again, and it was definitely not fine.
I grabbed my phone and texted Elliot. Because, let's be real, if anyone was going to survive a zombie apocalypse, it was him. He was the kind of guy who probably had a zombie survival kit in his backpack just in case.
Me: Elliot. Zombies. Outside. Help.
Elliot: ???
Me: I am not joking. There is a zombie in a prom dress eating Mrs. Henderson's roses.
Elliot: Send pics.
Me: NOT HELPING.
Elliot: On my way. Do not die.
Oh wow. What a helpful piece of advice. "Do not die." Genius.
I groaned and looked back at the candy bag. If I was going to die, I was at least going to die with sour candy in my mouth. I grabbed the scissors again and finally managed to tear the bag open. I shoved a handful of candy into my mouth just as something slammed against the door.
"Okay, Tuesday," I muttered, chewing furiously. "You win. This is officially the worst day ever."
And that includes the time I tripped on air and spilled my lunch all over myself in front of the entire cafeteria.
The door rattled again, and I realized the couch was not going to hold it for long. I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find, a broom, and stood in the middle of the room, ready to fight.
Wow. A broom. Excellent choice. Maybe I can sweep the zombies to death.
The door burst open, and in walked Elliot.
Of course.
He looked perfectly calm, like he had not just walked through a zombie-infested neighborhood. He even had a baseball bat slung over his shoulder.
Because of course he has a baseball bat. He is probably the kind of person who has a detailed evacuation plan and a map of all the best hiding spots in town.
"Nice barricade," he said, nodding at the couch. "Very creative."
"Shut up," I said, lowering the broom. "Did you see them? The zombies?"
"Yeah," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Prom dress zombie has got style. I will give her that."
See? Even he gets it. That zombie is serving looks.
I groaned. "This is not funny, Elliot. We are going to die."
"Not if I can help it," he said, tossing me the bat. "Here. You are going to need this."
I caught it awkwardly, nearly dropping it. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Hit zombies," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Aim for the head. It is not rocket science."
Oh sure. Let me just turn into a battle-hardened warrior in the next five seconds.
"Easy for you to say," I muttered. "You are not the one who cannot even open a bag of candy without almost stabbing yourself."
He smirked. "Yeah, well, lucky for you, I am here to save your clumsy butt."
I rolled my eyes, but secretly, I was relieved. If anyone could get us out of this mess, it was Elliot.
We spent the next hour fortifying the house, boarding up windows and moving furniture to block the doors. Elliot was annoyingly good at it, like he had been preparing for this his whole life.
I bet he has a bunker somewhere. Probably stocked with protein bars and survival books.
"Okay," he said finally, wiping his hands on his jeans. "We should be safe for now.(spoiler:we forgot the glass backdoor) But we need a plan."
"A plan?" I asked, sitting down on the floor. "What kind of plan?"
He sat down next to me, his shoulder brushing mine. "A plan to survive. To find other people. To, I do not know, figure out what is going on."
I sighed and leaned my head against the wall. "This is so messed up. One minute I am trying to open a bag of candy, and the next, I am fighting for my life."
And I still did not get to eat enough of that candy.
Elliot laughed softly. "Yeah, well, welcome to the apocalypse. It is not all bad, though."
I raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"
He shrugged. "At least you are not alone."
I looked at him, and for the first time, I noticed how close we were sitting. His eyes were warm, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
Oh no. No no no. Brain, do not even think about making this a "moment." There are zombies outside. No time for butterflies.
"Thanks," I said quietly. "For coming. I mean, you did not have to."
He grinned. "What, and miss out on all this excitement? Not a chance."
I rolled my eyes, but I could not help smiling. Maybe the apocalypse was not so bad after all.
And then the power went out.
"Great," I muttered. "Just great."
Elliot stood up and held out his hand. "Come on. Let us go find some candles or something. And maybe more candy."
I took his hand, and for the first time that day, I felt a little less scared. His grip was firm but not too tight, like he was trying to be reassuring without making it weird. And for a second, it worked. My heart slowed down, and I thought, Okay, maybe this whole zombie apocalypse thing won't be so bad if I'm not alone.
But then my brain caught up.
Wait. Wait. His hand. Was holding. My hand.
Cue internal panic mode.
Oh no. Oh no no no. This is bad. This is very bad. Why is his hand so warm? Is that normal? Are hands supposed to be this warm? Or is he secretly a zombie and I just don't know it yet? No, no, zombies are cold, right? Or are they? I can't remember. Focus, Mira. Focus. His hand is holding yours. HIS HAND IS HOLDING YOURS. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? DOES IT MEAN ANYTHING? DOES HE LIKE ME? DO I LIKE HIM? WHY IS MY PALM SWEATING? IS HE GOING TO NOTICE MY PALM IS SWEATING? OH NO, HE'S DEFINITELY GOING TO NOTICE. ABORT. ABORT. ABORT—
"You okay?" Elliot's voice cut through my mental spiral like a lifeline. He was looking at me with that stupid smirk of his, like he knew exactly what was going on in my head. Which, of course, he didn't. Because if he did, he'd probably let go of my hand and run in the opposite direction.
"Yeah," I squeaked, my voice about two octaves higher than usual. "Totally fine. Just, you know, mentally preparing for the zombie horde. Normal stuff."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he didn't let go of my hand. If anything, his grip tightened just a little, like he was making sure I didn't bolt. Which, honestly, was a real possibility at this point.
Okay, deep breaths, Mira. You can do this. You're holding a boy's hand. Big deal. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything. Oh wait, it is the end of the world.
Great. Just great.
Now I'm going to die with sweaty palms and a racing heart, and Elliot's going to tell everyone at school—if there even is a school after this—that I was a total weirdo who couldn't even hold hands without freaking out.
But then, as we kept walking, something weird happened. The panic started to fade. Not completely, because let's be real, my brain doesn't know how to shut off, but enough that I could actually think straight. And the thought that popped into my head was: This isn't so bad.
Because if I was going to survive the zombie apocalypse, at least I was not doing it alone.
And who knows, maybe my romance life starts now. Hopefully, I will not be brainwashed by hormones into acting like I am madly in love.
...But if I am, at least I will die knowing I got to hold a boy's hand before the zombies got me.
Elliot glanced at me again, his smirk softening into something that almost looked like a real smile. "You're doing great," he said, like he was coaching me through some kind of hand-holding marathon.
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips. "Thanks. I've been practicing in my spare time."
He laughed, and the sound made my chest feel weirdly warm. Again. Ugh, stupid hormones.
But as we kept walking, hand in hand, I realized something. Maybe this whole zombie apocalypse thing wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Because if it meant I got to hold Elliot's hand a little longer, maybe it was worth it.
...Okay, yeah, I'm definitely brainwashed. But hey, at least I'm not alone.