Through the Zombie Glass

I closed my eyes and counted.

By the time he returned, I’d reached 1,532. I wondered what Kat and Reeve were doing in the lobby.

He gathered the necessary supplies and sat beside me.

“Still want to do this?” he asked. “Because once I start, there will be no backing out.”

“Absolutely.”

He used a piece of paper to transfer the first image onto my wrist. I saw big ears standing tall, a fat body and a bushy tail, just like the rabbits Emma had created in the sky time and time again to warn me of coming zombie attacks.

“Perfect,” I said, a bit surprised.

“I only do perfect work.” He sounded offended.

“Prove it.”

My snark clearly surprised him, and he shook his head. “You know this will hurt, right?”

“I’ve known hurt. This will be nothing.”

He snorted. “Sure, princess. Whatever you say.”

Leaning over me, gun in hand, he got to work. And okay, it hurt more than I’d anticipated, stinging and throbbing, but a part of me welcomed the pain. I liked that I was feeling something other than anger and panic.

Panic. The word got stuck in my mind, echoing.

I’d panicked earlier.

I’d panicked big-time.

Mr. Ankh had been right, hadn’t he? The episodes were panic attacks, triggered by...what? Emotion? Maybe. I was living with the guilt of knowing Emma’s life would be forever unfulfilled. The ache of forging a new one for myself as the old one burned behind me. The uncertainty of navigating a spiritual world I’d been unprepared for. The fear of the unknown.

But emotions couldn’t be the full story. Otherwise I’d never have moments of calm. I thought back. Lying in my bed, after Cole had walked out on me, I’d lamented about the new direction of my life. Then, boom, the panic had come. Then, later on, Kat had mentioned the newness of my appearance and boom, panic again.

New things.

Change, I realized. The thought of change had to be the trigger.

And okay. All right. Now that I knew, I could deal. But...

That wasn’t the full story, either. It couldn’t be. Panic failed to explain the double heartbeats...the hunger...and the fact that I’d wanted to bite Reeve. And what if I’d been wrong about the smudges? What if they weren’t part of my imagination, but this...whatever this was?

That would mean...what?

I didn’t know, but one thing was certain. More changes loomed on the horizon.

Just like that, perspiration beaded on my brow and upper lip, and an invisible elephant sat down on my chest. The pressure... I struggled to breath, barely even able to wheeze.

“Hey, are you okay?” the guy asked me.

“Fine,” I managed to huff. “Just hurry.”

“You don’t rush quality. And I told you it would hurt.”

My sister was my calming force, so I drew her image to the front of my mind, concentrating on her. I saw a mass of straight, dark hair. Sun-kissed skin. A mischievous gleam in her dark eyes.

“You’re the prettiest girl in the whole world, Alice,” she said, beaming up at me.

“No, brat, that would be you,” I replied, gently tapping the tip of her nose.

“No way. A boy at my school told me he heard his dad say only blondes are worth doing.”

“First, I never want to hear you say the words worth doing again. Do you even know what that means? Second, that boy’s dad is an idiot. And a pig!”

So hungry... Must eat...

The whispery voice intruded on the memory, and I frowned at Artist Guy. “Did you say something?”

He didn’t glance up, even as he moved to my other wrist. “Nope.”

Hungry. Hungry! HUNGRY!

I shook my head, as if my mind had somehow locked on a different radio frequency and a little motion would change the channel back. But it didn’t, and I found I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the vulnerability of Artist Guy’s now-glowing neck.

“Be still,” he commanded.

“I’m sorry. I just... Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That voice. That whisper.”

He paused long enough to dab at a bead of blood with a cotton ball. “Great. The pretty princess is one of the crazies. I should have known.”

Bite him. Feed on him.

“Emma,” I said.

“You want me to add a name?” he asked.

“No.”

My sister appeared a few seconds later. “You’re getting tattoos?” she squealed. Then she saw my face, and the excitement was replaced by concern. “Alice?”

“Something’s wrong with me,” I told her.

“I know.” Artist Guy sighed. “That’s what I just said.”