Short Story: Grace

Note: This story was originally published in Devolution Z Magazine.

Beautiful thing about the dead, you can’t argue with them. Can’t reason with them. They’ve got nothing you want, and you’re all that they want. It’s why I’ve always thought that the dead make great company.  Back when the world was still a world, I didn’t have too much of a social life. I’ve never really known how to interact with people. Like now, for instance. I have no idea why I’m telling you this, but I am. I guess I have to tell somebody.

I think people thought I was kind of unusual, back then. Odd. Maybe. They kept their distance, I know that much. And I stayed away from them, too. Isolated, always on my own. When the world went to hell, I barely even noticed. I’d always kind of been seen as a zombie anyway. Eating, sleeping, never interacting with anybody. Never giving people so much as a second glance and never having a reason to.

Not until I met Grace.

It was six months after the plague broke out, just when people were—almost—starting to adapt; at least starting to realize that things weren’t going to change, that they would never be normal again. These were, of course, things I’d already worked out for myself. I had never been normal. It was starting to feel like I’d never really been part of the world, and now it was adapting to fit me in it.

I was out on my morning walk. Before the plague, I used to take it every day. It’s getting better now. At least I have company. At least now, when I go out walking, I’m not alone. It seems like there are more people, now that they’re all dead.

For the most part, that morning, they left me alone. The ones that didn’t, I could handle. I paced myself while walking so that, if I needed, I could sprint out of a situation without getting too tired. As a result, I’d run off my usual track (Wesley Ave down by the Irving Station, looping around the Crooked Road back to home) and found myself down by the water.

Out here in the mountains, we’d never had too many people to begin with. The zombies, as a result, never hit as hard here, not like they did in the cities. I haven’t seen any of the cities, granted, haven’t even been down to Portland since it began, but I’ve heard. And what I’ve heard isn’t pretty. They say those places—all boxed in like that—just became death traps. Nowhere to run, no way to get out. They call New York the City of the Dead now. You believe that? Out here, though, we didn’t get hit as hard. They’re around, of course, and dangerous. And I certainly see more zombies than people.

But mostly it’s just me. I’m sure there are more people out there just like there are more of the dead, but I don’t go looking for either. That’s the beauty of life. Stop looking for something, eventually it finds you.

The lake used to be a hugely popular spot in the summer—like this—back when people were alive. I don’t know if zombies can swim, I’ve never seen them do it, but either way the place is empty now. If they were still after me, it would be a good place to hide out for a time, just until they passed by. Maybe, hopefully, I’d be able to find a new car. I liked to walk much more than drive, but cars are scarce and it’s better to have it and not need it than, well, you know. They don’t drive. But they wreck a car pretty good, so I thought it would be nice to find a new one.

Lucky for me, I found something else instead.

She was wading in the water with something in her mouth. It looked like a squirrel, maybe big enough to be a rabbit. I wasn’t close enough to see and the animal was too mangled to truly classify. Whatever it was, she tossed it back into the water before she turned around. Her hair was matted, dark, and hung limply off her head. Her eyes were open. I could see where they’d once been dark, and surely beautiful, but they’d since glazed over. Her chin was dripping with fresh blood, whatever was left of the animal she’d just eaten was dangling from the left corner of her mouth. Dark and sinewy, still stuck in between her teeth.

I imagined, for a second, that I was in some romantic comedy, wiping the mess away with my handkerchief while she made some cute, embarrassed face. Her clothes were damp, and yes, they stank. But that was only natural.

She blinked twice, letting out something like a soft sigh. The sound stirred a warm feeling in my gut, something that had been dormant for a very long time.

I had never really been in love before. Never even really known what it felt like. But if this wasn’t it, it was close. It was as close as I was ever going to get. Looking at her, feeling things I had never felt before, I knew what she was—not just the perfect woman, not just perhaps the love of my life. She was my salvation.

In a world where rewards don’t exist, where good things no longer happen, I was perfectly aware of how lucky I was to meet a woman like this. My baby. 

My saving Grace. 

I’ve never given much thought to Heaven or Hell, even in the beginning, when the fear was overwhelming and all people did was spout Revelation until they were eaten up. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know a good thing when I see it, and that doesn’t mean that when I look at something so angelic, I’m not going to wonder if there is a Big Guy still up there, intervening just for me.

It’s not something I think about often. But I guess it is there, in my mind, in the back. Somewhere under the surface, where all I feel, all I think about, is her.

For once, when she looked at me, I didn’t want to run.  I didn’t see her like the rest of them. She wasn’t like the rest of them, not if she made me feel like this. Sure, I wasn’t necessarily afraid of the others. But I didn’t fear this one at all. In fact, I wanted to stay. There was something different about her. It sounds ridiculous, I know. From my understanding of love (which is, I admit, limited) that’s just the way it works. It’s ridiculous. It’s irrational. It’s even more beautiful because of that.

I took a few steps toward her, and she took a few steps toward me. It was a thrill. All these years, getting rejected, shot down, and here a girl was making a bee-line for me. It was almost impossible to believe it, but here it was, undeniably true. Plain as day. She wanted me.

There was a handkerchief in my pocket, that part of the daydream was true. I pulled it out and wrapped it around her mouth. It’s not the most dignified introduction, but I knew she carried a disease and I didn’t want to risk infection. They can’t spread it through scratching, or through any other means I know of. As far as I’ve heard, it’s only in their bite. I loved her, but in that moment, I guess I was a little scared of her too.

My luck was proving strong, and as I’d hoped there was a car still waiting here with the keys in it. Someone must have thought they’d only be stopping a moment and now they were dead. Tragic, really, but it turned out better for me.

I helped the girl into the back seat. She struggled and growled at me, but settled fairly quickly. My handkerchief was already red. I figured she must have spat up some of the animal she’d eaten. I didn’t mind. I had other handkerchiefs. I only had one of her.

The thought thrilled me as I drove home.

I had a girl. A real girl.

She was cold. And slow. And she survived off human flesh. But she was beautiful, even for what she was. She was real.

That was more than I’d ever thought I’d get in my life.

Unfortunately, she was unable to speak. So she couldn’t tell me her name, and we’d never be able to have a real conversation. But maybe that was better. I’d have someone to listen to me, always, someone who would always want me and would never leave me, because she depended on me. She needed me.

I named her Grace.

And I loved her.

The house, I had always thought, was too big for one person. In a two-story home that was clearly built for a family, it had only made my loneliness that much more prominent. I’d never been able to escape. The loneliness followed me wherever I went.

I would never have to feel that again, though, would I? Not with Grace.

My father had built a guest room in the basement, and because I never had any guests, I had turned it into a storage room. So, while it took awhile to clear everything out, I fixed it up for her. There was plenty of room in my bed, of course, but I didn’t want to rush her into anything. No. I wanted this to work. I wanted us to work.

Grace wouldn’t be a one night stand or even a short fling. I had, subconsciously, decided that the moment I saw her. In that moment, I knew exactly what she was. She was the love of my life.

That first night has always stood out as one of the best that I could ever imagine or even dream of. There’s nothing better than the day you fall in love; everybody knows that. But just to have somebody there. Just having somebody to talk to felt like the most incredible thing in the world.

I fixed a medium-rare steak for myself and a raw one for her, obviously. After a bit of mental debate, I decided to handcuff her. It didn’t feel right to do to someone I loved, but it would be better for both of us, I knew. It was for her own good. She ate the steak rather indignantly, but I didn’t mind.

When you’re in love with someone, you’re in love with them. You love the best things about them, but you also have to love the worst—the grimy parts, the parts even they may be uncomfortable with. Otherwise it’s not love.

After supper, I put her to bed and went to sleep upstairs. That was how our relationship began.

It’s been a year and three months now. Just me and Grace. The happiest time of my life. I don’t want it to ever end. Which presents a bit of a problem for me. As much as I love her, there are a few things that I’ve been, well… maybe a little delusional about. And those things need to be dealt with right away.

I see a lot of zombies. Even when I think she’s above that, I have to understand that it’s the class she falls into. We can’t help where we come from. And I see them eating every day. And even though a few grocery stores are still stocked… I never see them eating raw steaks. I’ve been feeding Grace nothing but processed raw beef for a year, even though I’ve known all along that she wants more.

She deserves more.

So I have to make a decision, and I have to make it soon. As far as I know, she may not be able to survive like this. I’m sure she can’t survive on the beef alone. Why would they eat people if they had alternatives?

Eat people.

I have to think it over and over, roll the words across my tongue until they feel real. No. No, no, it has to be done. There’s no way around it. I’ve never really wanted to kill anyone, if there’s even anyone left to kill, but there’s no way around it. If I want Grace to survive, I have to do it. I have to.

With that in mind, I get in the car. Turn the key. Back out of the driveway. And I go to do something that I’ve always thought about since the plague broke out, but was always too shy to act upon.

I look for survivors.

As I drive, with my eye open for any house with remote signs of life, I think about Grace. As always, I think about Grace. About the times we’ve had and, oh man, I can’t believe it’s been a year already. I think about all the years to come.

I think about what I have to do to make sure those years do come.

I think about everything I’ve had to do for her and how there’s so much more I’m willing to do. More than she realizes.

I think about how she’s offered me more than anyone ever has in my whole life. Maybe I’ve never been able to kiss her, but that’s okay. She’s given me so much more.

I remember how nervous I was when it finally happened. Only a month into our relationship, and I was thinking about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how much I needed it, and how I could feel that need growing with every passing second. I was ready. Finally, I was ready.

But how would I know if she was ready?

She wasn’t exactly able to tell me these things. That was a lie, though. She couldn’t talk, obviously, but I’d become able to read her pretty well. There was so much I could get just from a look in her eyes. And I could see that she was ready too.

After dinner, we both went down to her room. The whole time, she never took her eyes off me. When I nervously told her my intentions, when I took off her clothes (new ones I’d brought her to replace the old, smelly rags I found her in), when I entered her. Her eyes never left me once. They didn’t even blink. They were glued to me. Wanting me.

And oh, I wanted her.

It didn’t feel like I expected it to, but then, I guess it never does. It’s never what you expected, not the first time.

This time I was the one moaning. Usually Grace never went without some kind of noise. A groan, a mumble, a murmur. Sometimes even a little, sharp squeal. But when I took her, she was silent.

She was my first. My only. My love.

Everything I do, I do for her. Just as I am about to do now.

The man’s name is Randy. His girlfriend is Sue. They were traveling with a group of people, but it’s just them now and, man, they cannot get over how glad they are to see me. Finally, they say, their luck is picking up. To find someone like this. They haven’t even seen a working car in at least six weeks. They were beginning to think the zombies were learning how to drive.

I nod at what they say, chime in on the conversation when it feels appropriate. They truly seem like nice people. But they could be the kindest people on the planet, and it wouldn’t matter. I’m prepared to do what I have to do.

As Randy tells me for the hundredth time how grateful he is that I’ll give him a place to stay, I think about how this would have made a wonderful anniversary present. It’s too late now, though, but Grace will love it just the same.

That’s enough for me.

When we drive in, Sue keeps saying that she can’t believe what a lovely house this is, oh, Randy, isn’t this such a lovely house?

“Yes,” he says. “Of course it is. It’s wonderful.” He asks me if it’s just me alone in this big house.

“No.” I tell him. “It’s me and my girlfriend, Grace.”

“Oh, that’s so wonderful,” Sue says. With everything that’s happened, it’s great to see two other people like us. Making it together. Surviving. Staying alive. I think that’s the gist of what she says. I’m too focused and my heart’s pounding too fast and too loud to truly hear.

“Yes,” I say after a moment. “It’s truly great.”

These two are very much in love. Maybe not as in love as Grace and I, but I don’t know how anyone could be that passionate, that devoted. But it’s something close. It’s fitting, I guess, that it would be people like them. Maybe even for the best. These are wholesome, kind people. I’m no expert, but I’d say that’s probably the best kind of meat.

I’ve managed to get my baby Choice Cuts, instead of some discount hamburger meat, like a murderer or a rapist. No. Not for my Grace.

“You want anything to drink?” I ask Randy, who turns to Sue.

Sue says that she doesn’t want anything right now. She glances around the inside of the house, exclaiming once more that it really is lovely, then asks me where my girlfriend is. “Grace, is that her name?”

“Yes. You can meet her if you want to.”

Randy says that they’d like to do that very much. After all, they don’t want to intrude without introducing themselves properly to the lady of the household.

“No,” I say, “I guess you don’t.”

I take them downstairs and open the door to Grace’s room. She’s standing in the doorway already, the moment I open it. Must have smelled them coming. My baby’s got a wonderful nose on her.

Randy and Sue share the same dazed, dumb expression. Their mouths are both open, eyes both wide and confused. I push them into the room, because neither of them seem to be getting the hint, and let Grace do the rest. As she takes them, her eyes are still glued to me.

Thank you, they say. Thank you, my love.

I tell her I love her.

Then I close the door. The walls in this place are fairly thin, and if it weren’t on such a nice slope, out here in the woods, I would probably have to worry about zombies getting in every day. But, like I said, we don’t get too much company.

Only downside of walls this thin is that I can hear everything going on. I go downstairs, I go upstairs. I still hear the screams. The tearing of flesh. Of Randy’s flesh. Of Sue’s. The gurgling and chewing sounds. I wonder for a second if it really does bother me. Then I remind myself what I did it for. Who I did it for.

She’s having the time of her life, I think. What more could I ask for, for the woman I love?

The sounds go quiet. The house goes quiet. For what seems like forever, there are no noises at all.

Then, a slumping sound. Toward the stairs. Something dragging—or being dragged—across the floor. No, that’s not quite it. Footsteps, I realize. It’s the sound of footsteps.

Slowly, the footsteps continue up the stairs.

I wait.

I didn’t close the door all the way. I forget if I did that on purpose. The door’s always been locked, for her safety more than mine. But now that she’s out, I’m not afraid. If anything, I am anxious. She only has to push through it a little bit, and then she’s standing in the room with me. Blood all over her. Staining her cold, gray flesh. The only things different, the only things contrasting all the red, are her hair and her eyes. She’s giving me that same beautiful look that she had the first time I saw her, the look she’s had ever since.

Only for me.

Her eyes hunger for me. They always have. I’m all she wants, and she’s all I want. Maybe we express our desires in different ways sometimes, but we’re both dependent on each other. As I’ve just proven, she can’t live without me. I already knew I couldn’t live without her.

Her arms open, outstretching, calling to me.

“I love you, Grace,” I say.

I love you so much.

She keeps moving toward me. And I realize what’s happening. She’s taking me just like I took her. I’ve been doing nothing but showing her my affection, making clear to her how much she means to me. Expressing my love, but I’ve never given her the proper chance to express hers. Not until right now.

I love you, Grace.

Her quiet murmur sounds almost like, “I love you too.” But it’s not loud enough to really hear. She approaches me, wraps her arms around me. She has me. I’m hers and I’m not going anywhere. Something I’ve always known, something it thrills me so much to see her advocate as well.

We belong together. Inside each other. She’s a part of me, and I am finally about to become a part of her. There’s no escape. There never has been.

She’s still covered in blood, but as she tears into me—not like she probably did with Randy and Sue, but lovingly—some of that blood on her becomes mine. I splatter her face. The pain takes over, but it’s almost calming. It won’t last too long. It can’t. And even if it does, it’s just a labor of love.

Irrational. And beautiful.

She begins to eat me. And I feel it, as strong a sensation as ever I’ve felt, and I wonder if this is what it felt like when I took her. But the wondering begins to fade and, finally, ceases. Things go dark, blank, as I am eaten.

I am consumed.

I am loved.