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God, why was she telling him all this? It was like a dam had just been opened ,and all these things came from her without her being able to stop them.
“Go on, Rebecca.”
She stared at him and loved how he said her name so softly that it seemed to go against the way he held himself, the way he acted and reacted back at the store. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I don’t even know you.” She gave this awkward little laugh.
“Sometimes, we just need to get it out.” His voice was deep, coarse even, but his words made sense.
She nodded and continued. “I killed him—my boss, I mean.” Rebecca focused on the wall behind Collin. “I stabbed him right in the eye with his letter opener.” She closed her eyes, picturing that day when she heard about the infected turning into these crazed cannibals who attacked without thought.
They had been told to run from them, tell the authorities so they could handle it, and to not engage because of how dangerous they were. But others had been saying they were already dead, and damaging their brains would bring them down for good. So, Rebecca had taken out the asshole and not thought twice about it.
“I killed him, and when his blood covered me and his lifeless eyes stared up at me as he lay there bleeding out all over his cheap carpet, I felt… nothing.” She was still focused on the wall, thinking about that day, picturing the way it felt to stab him through the eye, to see the life drain from his rotting face. “He had already started decomposing,” she said, still picturing George’s face. “I think he had died in his office, and when I went in there to bring him a stack of reports, he had already changed into one of those infected assholes.” She stared at Collin, seeing how his eyes seemed hard as he watched her, and how he didn’t move a muscle.
“We have to do what we need to in order to survive,” he said slowly, confidently.
She nodded. “I know, but we don’t have to be heathens about it.” Swallowing roughly, she reached for her water, took a long drink, and thought about Andrew, her sweet, young brother.
“You lost someone very close,” he stated without phrasing it as a question.
Rebecca nodded. “Didn’t we all?”
He looked down, breaking their intense stare. “I was estranged from my parents for years before the outbreak occurred. I don’t even know if they’re still alive.” He looked up at her. “Chances are they’re infected, but I hope they’re dead, because that would be a hell of a lot more humane than walking around like those fuckers out there.” As if on cue, an infected groaned out.
“I killed my brother a month after all this went down. We had been driving away from the city, trying to get to the country, because we heard the infection hadn’t hit there yet.” She had been wrong. Everyone had been wrong. “But Andrew, my brother…” She stared at Collin. “Andrew had been scratched and didn’t tell me. He thought it would be okay, because he wasn’t bitten.” She closed her eyes and breathed out. It had been a long time since Andrew’s death, and it still felt like yesterday. “But I found out soon enough that a scratch was just as deadly as a bite.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded genuine, and she offered him a smile, even though it didn’t feel real.
“That’s the world we live in now. Having to kill your flesh and blood before they turn on you and want to destroy everything you are.” She didn’t want to think about Andrew, how she had killed him right after he turned, because that wound hadn’t healed within her yet.
Rebecca knew it would never heal. Since then, she killed enough infected that she was comfortable with it. Rebecca only ate half the jerky Collin had given her and set it aside. Even if she was still hungry, food was scarce enough that she couldn’t be greedy. “What about you?”
“What about me?” he asked without malice in his voice.
“What did you used to do before all this?”
He was silent for a few seconds, brought his water bottle to his mouth, and took a long sip from it while watching her over the rim. He lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “I wasn’t a bookkeeper,” he said without any emotion in his voice.
Was he some kind of criminal, murderer, extortionist? Did it matter anymore? He could have been a criminal in the world before, but what happened then didn’t really matter now. He hadn’t hurt her, had saved her life even, and was sharing his food. As far as she was concerned, he was a good man. “It doesn’t matter anymore what someone did in their previous life—well, not unless they were a doctor or something and could have a useful talent.” She shrugged. “But if you’re in need of your finances being checked over, I’m your girl.”
