ATTACK OF THE WERE-ZOMBIE

FRIENDSHIP WITH BENEFITS

Sarah Brand

What most people don’t understand about the Infected is that they’re usually not dangerous unless they want to be. As long as they don’t bite you, you won’t turn into a vampire or a werewolf, and good luck convincing someone with the fae virus to put her teeth anywhere near you. But zombies are definitely unsafe, and you shouldn’t get too close. A friend of mine was only mostly a zombie, and whether we were close is up for debate. Still, it didn’t end well.

Adam has this band called Flux Mortician that plays every now and then at the Black Cat, one of my favorite DC bars. The second time I met him, he mentioned how much he was enjoying Atlas Shrugged. I paused to check for irony, found none, and agreed that really long books were great. For instance, the seventh Harry Potter book was also long. Which House did he think he was in? To Adam’s credit, he went with it.

I don’t date libertarians, so romance was never in the cards. But I kept hanging out with certain mutual friends of ours, which meant spending time with Adam, and he grew on me. He loved Flux Mortician with a seriousness I reserve for virology, but whenever one of his bandmates wanted to do something risky—a crazy drum solo, a cover of “Chandelier,” whatever—he went with it. I never once heard him ask if they thought they could pull something off.

Also, he checked some important boxes: tall, dark eyes, and a tenor voice that could narrate my physical chemistry textbook and still sound like punk rock. I thought he might be secretly fae. Yes, I’m shallow. Sue me.

Then some dude with feminist views and progressive politics dumped me next to the biography shelf at Politics and Prose—during a werewolf attack, if you can believe it—and I was done. If I was destined to fall for emotionally unavailable losers who just saw me as a distraction, I wouldn’t fall for anyone. I’d protect myself by sleeping with someone with whom I could never, ever possibly fall in love.

I got to the Black Cat early that Friday night. Adam was always the first one there, and I found him at his usual spot at the bar. Two chairs over, a fae boy and a pretty werewolf were holding hands, talking to each other in low voices. I let my gaze linger on the couple for just a moment, then pushed my envy aside. I wasn’t going to get hurt again, which meant a boyfriend was the absolute last thing I needed.

Adam nodded at me. “Lexie said you broke up with that guy,” he said. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah.” I kept my voice light. “But my life is pretty tragically devoid of kisses right now. I’ll have to do something about that.”

He snorted. “I bet Marcus would help you out.”

My face scrunched up before I could stop it. Flux Mortician’s drummer had a thing for me…and every other woman in our group. “Is he actually a vampire?”

Adam raised his hands. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“Well, I have pretty specific requirements for friends with benefits,” I said. “First, it has to be someone I’m attracted to. Second, it can’t be someone I secretly want to date. Third, I have to trust him not to be an asshole.” I had never actually had a friend with benefits, but those rules seemed sufficient.

“Makes sense,” he said, draining the last of his beer.

I hesitated, but backing down has never been my style. “So, uh, how about it?”

He narrowly saved us both from a spit-take. When he recovered, he just looked at me for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Is that an actual offer?”

I could feel my face heating up, but I nodded.

“Our friends come first,” he said. “I don’t want things to get weird. We’d act normal around everyone, I assume?”

I hadn’t even considered letting our friends know what was going on. “Yes, please,” I said.

He was dangerously charming when he smiled. As our friends straggled into the bar—much too close to sunset, curfews to protect us from the Infected be damned—I pushed that thought to the back of my head. This was going to work.

* * *

After the bartenders kicked all the known Infected out, Flux Mortician’s show lasted for two hours, and the party afterward went until morning. It was too dangerous to roam the streets after dark, the logic went, so we might as well be in an amazing bar, with wonderful people, having a fabulous time. And drinking, which can help everything seem more amazing, wonderful, and fabulous.

By sunrise, I was mostly sober. I bought one last bottle of water from the bartender, made sure I had my things, and waited awkwardly on the corner of 14^th and U until Adam shuffled up to stand beside me. “Still want to do this?” he said.

Even bleary-eyed and unshaven, he was beautiful. “I do.”

As soon as I said it, I flinched—did that sound too much like a wedding thing?—but Adam didn’t seem to notice. “You’re closer, right?”

We rode the metro in silence, which might have been companionable if I hadn’t been wondering the whole time whether it was awkward. When we were back out on the street, about a half-mile from my apartment, Adam glanced over at me and burst out laughing. “What?” I demanded.

“Well, you have to admit this is pretty surreal, right?”

“More surreal than the Infection bringing on the Twilight universe?” There were probably better literary comparisons, but I’ve never been a fan of urban fantasy, especially not once it turned into urban fact. “Vampires, werewolves, zombies—”

Which, of course, was exactly when a zombie crashed out of the bushes and lurched toward us. It was fast, just like the government had warned us about, and it smelled like my brother’s refrigerator. Adam stepped in front of me, and the zombie halted. It sniffed the air, an uncannily human look of confusion on its rotting face. Then it turned and loped away.

Adam kept walking, like nothing had happened. “I knew it!” I said. “You’re a fae, aren’t you?”

He laughed even harder at that. “Nope, just me.”

One street over from my apartment building, there’s a brick wall next to the sidewalk that comes up to my shoulder, which is to say it isn’t very tall. As we walked past, without warning, Adam picked me up and swung me onto the ledge. Then he reached up just a bit to kiss me, his lips warm and soft against mine. I bent my head and kissed him back.

“Sorry,” he said. “I saw the height differential and I had to take it.”

“No need to apologize at all.” Clearly this had been the best idea ever.

We reached my apartment building, and I led him inside.

* * *

We didn’t sleep together, mostly because after the night at the Black Cat, we both really needed some actual sleep. “See you tomorrow afternoon?” Adam said.

Some friend of Adam’s had an alt-rock band, which was playing over on H Street. “I’ll be there.” And I would. But first things first: I had science to do.

I had originally partnered with the NIH to do my dissertation research on flu vaccines, but then my lab had been drafted into looking for ways to prevent Infection—especially with the zombie virus, given that zombies had almost no self-control when it came to biting people. They left other zombies alone, but that was about it. So, we were developing a disease model that would let us simulate potential vaccines.

Even setting ethics aside, getting blood samples from zombies was tricky, but the principal investigators thought we could develop a vaccine with the data we already had. After months of fighting with our aging CAD software, I wasn’t so sure, but I was willing to keep trying. Scientists all over the country were working on the problem, so even when I was the only one on duty at my lab, I never felt lonely for long.

Maybe I could just marry molecular biology. Our children would be beautiful when viewed through a microscope.

I spent the entire night at the lab, drinking far too much coffee and analyzing the latest promising virtual molecules until mid-morning. A few hours before Adam’s friend’s show was supposed to start, I went home and changed into my cutest dress, the skirt of which is probably a tad too short, but I’ll only be in my mid-twenties once. I put on eyeliner, which I never do, and carefully packed my purse with everything I could possibly need if I wound up at Adam’s place after the show.

There’s no good way to get to H Street, but even running late, I made it just before the friend’s band went onstage. Adam was already there, along with our friend Lexie and a couple of others, not to mention the dozens of strangers that were crammed into the tiny bar. Act natural, I told myself, even though I’m a terrible actress. Fortunately, once the band started playing, no one was paying any attention to me.

Unfortunately, Adam wasn’t paying attention to me, either. He had one drink, then another, and he barely said anything at all. That was my first clue that something was wrong. Normally, when we’re out with our friends, he never shuts up. As the music pounded in my ears, he leaned against the nearest wall, then slowly slid to the floor.

By the end of the concert, he had recovered enough to stand upright. “I’m heading home,” he told me. “Go with Lexie. We can hang out later.”

I couldn’t argue without breaking the “act normal” rule, or worse, being a pushy jerk. I swallowed my disappointment and nodded.

It was about five o’clock, with the sun on its way down but not quite there yet. As Lexie and I walked into a nicer, less crowded bar, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Adam, and autocorrect had not been kind to it. Whey ate you guys?

Like an idiot, hoping that somehow this day would still turn out the way I wanted, I told him. About ten minutes later, Adam staggered in, made straight for the bar, and then came over to our table with two shots in one hand and a beer in the other. He did the shots in rapid succession, then cracked open the beer. “I thought you went home,” I said. He wobbled when he shrugged.

Lexie stepped forward and pried the beer out of his hand. “Adam, you are drunk. Go home.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then without a word to me or anyone, walked out the door. Something about his gait was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

When the sun really was about to set, we settled our tab and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Ahead of me, I saw Adam, who apparently hadn’t made it home after all. But why were people running from him and screaming?

Then he turned around and I screamed, too.

He was a zombie. The flesh on his face was rotting away, and when he moved, he lurched. He took a step toward us, and I froze, some moronic part of me not wanting to leave him like this.

He turned and ran, and Lexie pulled me into the nearest cab. She was crying, and it occurred to me that she had known Adam for much longer than I had. As I awkwardly patted her shoulder, my biologist brain went into overdrive. The zombie virus had a forty-eight hour incubation period. Even if Adam had been bitten immediately after he left the bar, he shouldn’t have started decaying that quickly. And I had seen him with his shirt off less than forty-eight hours ago. Besides, while Adam had flaws, somehow I didn’t think coming to a concert after a zombie bite was one of them.

What was going on?

After the cab dropped me off, my phone started buzzing with texts from Adam, nonsense that I couldn’t decode no matter how hard I tried. Every time my phone went off, I wanted to throw up. His phone was just going haywire. That had to be it. I turned my phone off, and somehow, I went to sleep.

* * *

When I woke up, one more text from Adam was waiting for me. I need to talk to you.

My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely type out my reply. I thought you were Infected.

It took a few minutes for him to answer. I am in a relationship with Infection and it’s complicated.

Let’s meet at Starbucks, I said. But it has to be soon. Lab duty this afternoon. I was freaked out, but I was curious, too.

I arrived before he did, bought a cup of tea, and snagged the one empty table. Between the music and the conversation around us, whatever he had to tell me, we probably wouldn’t be overheard.

And then Adam was sitting across from me, a venti coffee in one hand, looking profoundly hungover but otherwise normal. “About last night,” he began.

I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t going to help him out.

“Last year, I was bitten by a werewolf,” Adam said. “But she had the zombie virus, too. So instead of turning into a wolf at the full moon, when I lose control, I turn into…that thing you saw last night.”

I had to take a minute to process this. “You’re a were-zombie. I’ve never even heard of that.”

“For all I know, I’m the only one,” he said, talking at a point just over my shoulder. “I haven’t asked around. I’d end up locked in a lab somewhere.” Finally, he met my gaze, and I could tell he was wondering if he would be locked away after all.

I wasn’t sure yet whether I could reassure him on that point.

“It’s interesting, though,” I finally said. “If your flesh can regenerate itself, then the effects of the zombie virus might be reversible.” He tilted his head warily, and I took pity on him. “At least give me a sample of your blood.”

“Won’t your coworkers wonder where it came from?” he said.

“Let them wonder,” I said quietly. It was stupid, and I knew it. For everyone’s safety, Adam would be better off in quarantine. And if I took his blood secretly, on my own, without so much as making him sign a consent form, I would be breaking about a million rules. But were-zombie or not, he was my friend, and I wasn’t going to force him into becoming a lab specimen.

Adam stared at me, then shook his head, as though to clear it. “That’s not why I came,” he said. “The thing we talked about before…it would be complicated. Probably not a good idea.”

I shouldn’t have been disappointed. “Okay.”

If I had anything approximating good judgment or common sense, the story would have ended there. But it didn’t.

* * *

That week, I couldn’t stop thinking about Adam. Partly it was because I was spending every spare moment staring at his blood under a microscope, and partly, I felt terrible for him. But some of it—too much of it—was the way I had felt when I was kissing him, perched on top of that brick wall.

My brilliant plan was failing in every way possible. The one saving grace was that I still didn’t want to date him.

I didn’t talk to Adam, even when I saw him online. But when Friday came around, as I was getting ready to go to the Black Cat, I shaved my legs, even though I was planning to wear jeans. That was my first mistake.

My second mistake was thinking that our other friends would be there. Flux Mortician wasn’t playing, and I guess the rest of our group had other things to do. Adam and I stood around awkwardly until I hit upon the idea of going to buy a drink. But then he came to the bar with me. “Don’t worry,” he said when I stared at him. “I know my limits now.”

The problem with making yourself feel more comfortable with the power of drink specials is that eventually, you get too comfortable to remember that you need to stop drinking. I tried to be responsible. I really did. I closed out my tab when I felt the alcohol kicking in. Then Adam offered me one more.

“I can’t,” I said. For someone who occasionally died, he was far too pretty. “If I have another drink, I’m going to hit on you.”

“If you have another drink,” he said, “I will let you.”

The next morning, I would know that he shouldn’t have said that, and I shouldn’t have agreed. I would know that I had just been staving off the inevitable feeling that I had no one and would probably die alone. But right then, my princess was at the top of the castle, and I just had to climb the ladder of one more drink. I didn’t see the barrel coming to hit me in the face.

“Good,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about you all week, you know.”

His eyes widened, but he bought me the drink anyway.

I remember asking him if we could leave. I remember waiting for him near the front entrance, clutching my purse in my arms. I remember Lexie bringing me a bottle of water, and I remember being too far gone to wonder when she had shown up. She helped me toward the bathroom and told Adam to get lost. And just after the bathroom door closed behind us, I bent over the sink and retched up that last rum and Coke.

The worst part was that without Adam, I couldn’t go home until sunrise. And the last thing I wanted was to go back into the bar. But Lexie didn’t make me leave the bathroom. She just sat with me, one arm around my shoulders, while I cried my eyes out. And slowly, as my vision cleared, I began to think that maybe I wasn’t so alone after all.

* * *

By sunrise, I also felt really fucking embarrassed.

I had tried to go home with a part-time zombie. I had made questionable relationship decisions before, but even for me, that was a new low. I had been more intoxicated than at any previous point in my life, and I had no idea how many people had seen me. I had even less idea how many people had seen me with Adam. If Lexie had figured out what was about to happen, other people might have, too.

Also: “I’ve been thinking about you all week”? Really? Did I have to say that?

Adam had apparently also done some reflecting. After I got home, he texted me to say, again, that he didn’t want a casual thing with me. Okay, I replied. I should have taken no for an answer the first time around.

I left his blood sample outside a principal investigator’s office with an anonymous note. Maybe someone could help Adam with his occasional rotting and lurching problem, but that someone wasn’t me.

The principal investigator discovered that she could use the data from Adam’s blood to synthesize an experimental antiviral drug that could cure him, and maybe others. She also found out that I had brought the sample in. Her gratitude wasn’t enough to save me from getting kicked out of my program. Since I had violated most of the protocols for collecting human blood, I knew better than to try to fight it.

Three weeks later, on my last night at the Black Cat, I told my friends I had quit from burnout. I was leaving DC—trying to live on a tiny stipend had been bad enough, so there was no way I could afford the rent now—and I had to tell them something. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Lexie said.

Adam was standing a short distance away, close enough to hear but far enough away that no one watching would think he was part of the group. He had told everyone he was cured now, but our friends were still pissed, and I couldn’t blame them. “It’s complicated,” I said. “There’s been a lot going on.”

I went up to the bar, like I was about to order a drink, and if that put me right next to Adam, I wasn’t complaining. He glanced over at me, not quite making eye contact. “You didn’t burn out.”

I shook my head.

“Thank you,” he said, a little clipped, still not looking at me.

“Of course,” I said. “We’re friends, okay? Some things are more important than a job.”

Finally, he smiled. “Friends. Yeah.”

For just a moment, I wondered if maybe I had wanted to date Adam all along. But even cured, he wasn’t right for me, and wanting something doesn’t make it a good idea. And I was leaving town anyway.

Still. “We’ve got a few hours before sunrise,” I said. “Want to dance?”