As Seth and I gather her in our arms afterward, our breathing slowing and our heart rates settling, I vow that I will never let anything bad happen to her.I will do everything in my power to protect her and make her happy until the day I die.
10
MADISON
Happily sore from our antics in Damiano’s office, I go home to do some cleaning.At first, I tell myself I’m just going to do some decluttering, but I end up going all out, wiping down everything in the kitchen and even mopping the floor.Could I afford to hire someone to do this?Yes.But I have the time, and I actually enjoy connecting with the house in this way.
While I work, my mind bounces around between my favorite zombie shows.I think about the different ways character archetypes show up.Particularly inFlesh and Teeth, where half of the characters aren’t who they present themselves to be.The “priest” who is actually an outlaw.The “monk” who is actually a woman escaping an abusive marriage.The presentation of false fronts seems a fitting allegory for zombies in particular, because zombies aren’t who they seem, either.They aren’t alive, but they also aren’t exactly dead.No one is who they seem.
Halfway through vacuuming the living room, I have several more comparisons and ideas.I have to stop cleaning to jot them down.
Could I write a book about this?Or start a podcast?There are plenty of fan-driven podcasts for particular shows, but I haven’t found anything that analyzes the zombie genre as a whole.
I’m so lost in the idea, I almost don’t see the person-shaped shadow pass by my living room window.
But it’s there.Moving quickly, and with purpose.
The sight of it makes me freeze.I don’t even breathe.Someone is definitely out there.I’m not imagining this, I’m not creating drama for fun.
The curtains are drawn almost all the way closed, with a few inches open for light.All I saw was the shadow passing through the fabric.
One of the Nove guards?No.They don’t come this close to the house, ever.They don’t need to.
So it’s someone else.
I duck behind my couch, out of view of the window.If they peer through the crack in the curtains, they won’t see me.But whoever’s out there has to know I’m home—my car is parked in the driveway.
Deep breaths.I have cameras, and Nove guards are standing at the driveway.Damiano texted me their number so I can call them directly.
My phone, though—I left it in the kitchen.Fuck, why did I do that?
Slowly, I rise up so I can see over the edge of the couch.
Nothing.No shadow.Whoever was there has moved away.But where?I look back and forth.There’s a second window at the other side of the room.The curtains are fully drawn, thankfully.Nobody’s waiting on the other side.
I want to cower here behind the couch, but I won’t get any answers this way.And I won’t be any safer.
I bolt forward, staying as low to the floor as possible.The kitchen floor is slippery beneath my bare feet—it hasn’t dried yet from when I mopped.My phone is on the little breakfast table.I grab it, nearly dropping it because my hands are shaking so hard.
Darting back into the living room, I hide behind the couch again.
Someone rattles the back door in the kitchen, trying to get in.
I gasp, heart thundering, lungs seizing.Breathe, Madison.
I pull up Damiano’s text thread and search for the number his guards use.Shit, where is it?I should’ve saved it to my phone, not let it get buried in our texts.
Finally, I find it and click the link.
Someone answers right away.“Miss Greene?This is Laura.”
“Someone’s trying to get inside,” I whisper.
“Which door?”
The back door rattles again.
“They’re at the back door,” I tell her.
