“I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels to be free again after all these years.”
The voice is the first thing that comes to me. Next is the pungent smell of flowers and decay, like a zombie doused in perfume. The sparkling sensation of magic in the air follows, making my skin tingle.
The twisted, naked trees pierce the sky, dead grass creating halos at their roots. Behind me is the city, and before me is a sparse forest. Everywhere else mimics death, barren and cracked as rusty structures covered in dehydrated vines and spray paint showing disdain for humans jut from the mistreated earth.
The Wastelands.
“I suppose you deserve your reward, Bleeder King.”
A puff of smoke rolls out from behind the largest tree before me, manifesting rotten skin and a long black dress that looks like it’s made from tulle and spiderwebs covered in ichor.
Vyrka, the self-proclaimed goddess of zombies.
I suck in a breath as she walks toward me, golden mushrooms appearing around her feet. As they grow, they take on more of a rounded top, resembling an apple. Could that be what I think it is?
“Is that Ambrosia?” I ask, eyeing both the woman and the fungus.
She smiles proudly. “It is. I thought maybe you should have a taste of its power.”
My mouth dries at the offer as my mom’s warnings replay in my mind. “Why?”
She curls a rotten finger, and a mostly boney hand rises from the dirt. A whole man clambers out, his singular eye white and murky as his jaw hangs slack. The zombie crawls forward, reaching for the mushroom-apple and plucking it. There’s a moment’s hesitation, like he wants to devour it himself, but Vykra makes a clucking sound to catch his attention. He barely registers her as he lifts his arm and offers her the ambrosia.
Gingerly, she takes it, kisses her palm, and pats the zombie’s head. An expression of bliss falls over his features as something shines within him, and he rises. He rests his full weight on his torso, his lower half missing.
Vykra stops within three feet of me. “Bleeders are capable of many things. You and your counterpart have only scratched the surface.” She regards the ambrosia. “This will help you reach your full potential.”
I cock an eyebrow. “And what’s my full potential?”
Her dark lips curve, amused. “Because of this fungus, zombies don’t have blood. Because of this fungus, they can reproduce. They can live longer than two years without becoming nothing but a pile of bones.” There’s a flash in her eyes. “Have you ever seen a zombie heart?”
Without waiting for my answer, she plunges her fingers deep into the chest cavity of the newly risen zombie. He doesn’t flinch as his ribcage collapses under the force, and I don’t miss the way all life leave his eyes when she removes her hand. In it is a throbbing heart, but instead of its organy-red hue, it’s bright gold, and covered in black ichor.
“Notice the similarities?” she asks. As she does, the gold coloration fades into gray. “You can thank ambrosia for that.”
She drops the heart, and it makes a sickening thump on the ground.
“I don’t see what that has to do with me,” I manage after the strange revelation. Whatever her point is, my patience is wearing thin. “I’m not a zombie anymore.”
“I’m sure you’ve figured out by now Bleeders are hybrid mutants. So, in a way, of course you’re still zombie. But you and your counterpart are different than any other Bleeder out there. You not only have the same ichor coexisting with blood in your veins,” she grabs my wrist faster than I can catch, and pain ripples across my skin, “but ambrosia.”
The flesh beneath her fingers peels away, rotting at an accelerated rate, blood pouring out of the wound. The difference is the way it congeals and… moves. It’s slower to drip, as if honey has made its way into my blood flow.
There’s a flash of light around us suddenly, and the clotting deep red color shifts. Tendrils of gold flecks shimmer, and my blood looks somewhat transparent.
“Your accelerated healing, your enhanced abilities, that’s where it stems from. Your heart has transformed, and you need to feed it.” She holds my gaze as she releases my arm.
The rot spot heals and I rub it absently as I jut my chin toward the mushroom. “How often?”
“Once every year, at least.”
I purse my lips. “That stuff’s pretty rare, though. Where would I get it?” And it’s addictive, according to my mom.
“I could bring it to you.”
Warning sounds flare within me. If it’s truly addicting, that means I’d do anything she’d ask to have another taste. Deals with those who call themselves gods never pan out for the mortal’s benefit.
Good thing I’m not mortal.
“Nah.” I take a step back. “I’m good.”
She snorts with a flare of indignation. “You’re refusing the one thing that could keep you and your girlfriend alive?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
She licks her teeth, squinting. “I think you overestimate your ability, Bleeder. When a goddess speaks, it’s best to listen to her.”
Not from the stories I’ve read, I quip, hoping she can’t hear my thoughts. “But say I accepted your offer. What would my full potential be?”
She twists the mushroom between her fingers. “Abilities beyond your comprehension. You saw an example before with that blonde boy. The one who betrayed you.”
Nathan. He’d burned so hot when we fought, I thought I’d catch on fire.
“And I’ve never heard that Bleeders could communicate telepathically or share emotions—”
“Because that only happens to those bonded at the soul.” Her words have become more rigid, soaked with venom I should probably wish not to have directed toward me. “If you and your girl can, that means you’ve chosen one another.”
There’s a sparkle in my chest at her words as she takes a bite of the ambrosia, rusty liquid running down her chin and dropping to her chest. Where it touches, I watch as the rot reverses.
“What does that mean?”
The purple tint of her irises have turned icy as she glares at me. “You’re bonded at the soul. What do you think that means, boy? You’ve become soul mates.”
My heart stutters at her words as she takes another bite. More of her open wounds close.
“Don’t look at me like that.” She shifts her weight. “Soul mates are forged, not found.” The hatred in the air grows as gold liquid drips down her forearm, the meaty insides red as blood. “If you won’t eat the ambrosia,” she drawls, “then you have one other option, although it’s not as… sustainable. Bleeders still need sustenance, or they’ll wither away, hence the reason you still eat food. But you’re still partially zombie. Still partially vampire.” A wicked scowl taints her gorgeous face as she chews on the last of the ambrosia. “If you feel weak, eat a brain.”
Honestly, I’ve never eaten one before. Not a human one, at least. I shudder at the memory of me slaughtering a slew of zombies for experimentation.
Her fists rest on her hips. “Consider my debt repaid.”
I blink, switching gears. “Come again?”
“You released me and I answered your questions. There’s no more I owe you.”
“One of those weighs more than the other,” I counter.
“I don’t make the rules,” she says with a smile that says the opposite. “Unless you take the ambrosia,” she gestures to the halo around her feet, “I have nothing more to give.”
“What about with Mount Rook? I thought you wanted them gone.”
“I do,” she assures, “and you’d better take the opportunity I give you to destroy them.” The Wasteland melts away to black tar as her eyes darts to the side and back to me. “Interesting.”
She grips me tightly around my throat, but doesn’t squeeze hard enough to choke me. A thousand whispers join her voice as she leans in close and says, “Wake up.”
My limbs are on fire as my skin melts into ichor, revealing bones made of gold before I disintegrate. I sit straight up, gasping for air. I’m in the underground bunker, in bed, next to Mikey.
But as I turn to face her, she’s gone.