Decay and Devotion

Darkness.

Ethan blinked, his eyelids scraping against dry eyes. Still blackness. Odd.

He lifted his arm, and his fist immediately banged into something solid. He was inside a box. Wooden and barely bigger than him. It was a struggle to get a hand up to his face.

As he rubbed his eyes, he considered his position. Was he dreaming? No. He was fully awake, of that he was sure. He didn't feel his heart rate rise or his breathing change. He was usually terrified of tight places -- had been since getting trapped behind the sofa as a child. Yet, he was utterly calm.

He felt around his wooden prison. His sense of touch felt as if he were wearing surgical gloves. Above his face, he discovered a join in the wood. He gave it a tap and heard a dull thud. Something on the other side. Soil?

He banged on the wood all around him as hard as he could. He also began to scream -- at least, he tried to. An uncomfortable dryness in his throat made it impossible to make a sound. He kept swallowing and moving his tongue until he could finally make a noise. His calling grew in volume with each attempt until he was screaming and banging as hard as he could. He kept it up for a full twenty seconds before he accepted the futility of his actions.

He went quiet, resting for a moment. He frowned. He didn't need a rest. He wasn't tired. Despite his banging, his hands didn't hurt, either.

Something fell into his mouth, and he spat instinctively. He tasted fresh, damp dirt. Feeling above him, he found a new crack in the planks. Without thinking, he began beating on the box lid as hard as possible.

Damp earth fell on him. It went into his eyes, mouth, and nose. Quickly, it turned into a flow. Finally, with a crack, the lid gave in, and Ethan was buried.

Panic to breathe rose in him as he scrabbled upwards. After thirty seconds of attempting to swim through soil, a realisation came to him. It was impossible to survive. He relaxed.

Better to give in now.

As he lay there, submerged in the earth, it occurred to him that he should already be suffocating. He wasn't. He attempted to take a breath, but his body didn't react. It didn't even try. Thinking back, he couldn't remember breathing since he had become conscious.

Odd.

In this zen state, he slowly began shifting the soil around him. Climbing again.

After an unknown amount of time, Ethan's hand found emptiness. He surged upward, bursting out from the ground into the open air. Legs still buried, he flopped on his side, looking around.

Unsurprisingly, he found himself in a dark graveyard. Twisting to look behind him, he discovered his gravestone.

'Ethan Williams. Taken suddenly and too soon. 1996 - 2024'

"Brief," he commented, pulling his legs from the ground.

He sat numbly regarding his gravestone. He should cry or scream, but he didn't feel it was somehow necessary. His newfound ability to think things through calmly was strange to him. He had always been the impulsive, reactive type. He looked at the gravestone again.

Before he died.

A flicker caught his eye. He looked up, and to his amazement, the starlit sky was ablaze with aurora. He had never seen it this far south. Yet there it was, blazing greens and purples. As he watched the curtains of colour form, dissipate, and reform, he scratched an itch on his chest. When the itch didn't go away, he looked down. Where he had been scratching was covered by a muddy shirt. His shirt. His favourite shirt.

Good choice, Chloe.

Undoing a few buttons, he found massive scars -- tears -- across his chest. Loose stitches of coarse thread held his skin together. Barely.

Interesting.

Dead then. Definitely dead.

Dead but up, thinking, and moving.

Zombie.

Great.

After five minutes of watching the light show, Ethan decided it was time to do something. He needed to know how he had been brought back, and more importantly, he needed to see his fiancé. He stood and attempted to brush the dirt off his clothes. This made it worse so he gave up and wandered over to a nearby gravel path, following it to a gate and artificial light beyond.

Stepping from the cemetery onto a deserted street, he ambled over to a lamppost and examined himself in the light. His clothes were dirty, no doubt about it. Holding out his hands, he regarded his grey skin. It was intact, unlike his chest. He prodded his face, checking for gashes or tears. He didn't feel any.

"Could be worse," he said aloud.

Approaching headlights warned of an oncoming car. Ethan turned away, shielding his face. The car shot past and he glimpsed enough to see the man behind the wheel. Their face was filled with terror.

Interesting. Not the only one, then. Ethan shaded his eyes from the light and tried to see back among the graves. Maybe he saw movement. Maybe not.

At least he knew where he was. The public toilets in town could be unlocked. He could at least clean up a bit. It was a start.

Twenty uneventful minutes later, Ethan arrived in town. Not a soul on the way. The toilets were unlocked, but the fluorescent lights were almost blinding, hurting his eyes. No, he corrected himself. They didn't hurt. It was a memory of pain.

He stripped off and cleaned himself and his clothes. He checked out his awful reflection in the mirror. His face was blessedly untouched, just very grey, his skin tight over his skull. He had no memory of his death. Judging by the two deep diagonal slashes from armpit to waist, it had been traumatic.

He held his shirt under the hand dryer, thinking of Chloe.

It was simple. He needed to know she was alright. Maybe they had died together? That would be awful. He didn't feel that it would be awful. He just knew that it would be an awful thing.

Emotions were hard.

He put his still-damp shirt back on and headed out. As he exited, he ran into someone on their way in.

"Hey!" said the man. "Watch it." He shoved Ethan.

Ethan didn't move. It wasn't that he resisted; it was just that the push wasn't that hard.

The man looked up and focused on Ethan's face. "You basta..." His expression changed. "Arrrrgghhh!! You're one of them!!" He staggered back, tripping and falling.

Ethan stepped forward, holding out a grey hand to help the man up.

The man crabbed rapidly backwards.

Ethan held up his hands, quickly realising he was acting 'typical zombie'. He dropped them to his sides and smiled.

"I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you."

The man was helped to his feet by two others, who Ethan only then registered. He spoke to the group.

"I wonder if you could help me..."

"Stay back!" shouted one of the other men. 

"I didn't move. I won't do anything, I just need..."

One of the group bent down, picked up a stone, and threw it at Ethan.

"Hey!" said Ethan, dodging the projectile.

His sudden movement caused the men to back up. They glanced at each other and telepathically came to the same decision. They legged it.

"Thanks," muttered Ethan.

Alone again, he followed the light of a large TV that was visible through the window of an electrical shop. Wandering over, he saw BBC News 24 was on, and a suited man was being interviewed. He couldn't hear the sound, but squinting slightly, Ethan could just about make out the text scrolling along the bottom of the screen.

'... unprecedented solar flare. Anyone encountering those affected should avoid contact and return home immediately. Contact the emergency hotline...'

Definitely not just him.

Use the time you have.

Chloe.

Ethan set his jaw and headed off for his flat -- or what had been his flat.

Nearly an hour later, Ethan was home. He had looked through enough windows to know it was nearly four in the morning and that people were scared of those in his condition. Families were gathered in front of their TVs and he had caught the headlines.

Massive solar flare.

Dead rising from the grave -- just the recently deceased.

'Run away' was the sage advice.

Terrific.

He stood next to a little wooden gate, barely hanging on by one hinge -- something he was always going to get around to fixing. A paved path ended at two doors in the front of a large Victorian terrace. The left door led to the upstairs flat. His flat. Four years alone, nearly three with Chloe. All he had to do was walk up and ring the bell.

At four in the morning.

Movement caught his eye, a curtain twitching a few doors up. Instinctively, he turned his pallid face away. He looked dodgy, standing at someone's gate in the dark. Ungluing his feet, he pushed the squeaky gate open. Seven strides later, he was at the door.

After a two-second pause, he pushed the silent bell. The ringing would have sounded just inside the kitchen on the other side of the building. He counted to twenty before pressing the bell again, just as the stairs light came on. Typical.

Through the obscured glass panel in the door, Ethan watched a blurry shape come down the stairs. The shape got to the door but didn't immediately open it.

"Hello?" came Chloe's muffled voice.

Ethan froze at the recognition.

"Who's there?" Fearful.

"It's me," said Ethan, keeping his voice calm and quiet.

"Me, who?"

"It's me, Clo. It's Ethan."

Silence. Then a shaking voice. "Ethan? It can't be."

He put his hand on the door. "You see the news? It seems anything is possible."

Silence again. Then, a click, and the door moved in a few inches. Chloe looked out through a three-inch gap, the safety chain still attached. Seeing her face stirred the first emotion Ethan had felt since waking. She stared at him wide-eyed.

"I can't see you properly. Step back into the light."

Ethan hesitated. "Promise not to scream?"

"Is it that bad?"

"Remember when I had the flu for three weeks?"

"Yeah?"

"It's way worse than that."

Chloe frowned. "I need to be sure."

Ethan sighed and looked at Chloe's beautiful face. It was just yesterday when they were together. Last week? A month, no more than that. His memory was unreliable.

"Step back," repeated Chloe.

Ethan sighed and did as he was told. The streetlight illuminated his face.

Chloe audibly gasped and brought a hand up to her mouth.

Ethan shrugged and held his arms out to his sides. "This is what you get after being in the ground for a few months."

"Five," she said sharply. "Nearly six."

The length of time hit him in the chest. "Six months." He looked into Chloe's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Clo."

"Don't call me that," she snapped before collecting herself. "Sorry. It's just that I've really struggled without you. I missed you."

Ethan stepped up to the door. "I didn't mean to leave. I promise."

"I told you the car felt funny."

"What?" Understanding. "Oh. So that's what happened."

"You don't remember?"

He shook his head. "No. Was it bad?"

Her eyebrows shot up, along with her volume. "Bad? Yes. It was bad. You died!"

"Sorry. Yes. Stupid. Sorry." He looked around, seeing more curtains twitching. "Look. Is there any chance we can have this conversation inside?"

Chloe bit her bottom lip. "The guy on the news said to keep...er...people..."

"You can say, 'zombie'."

"People like you out of the house." She hesitated. "You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

"I could never hurt you. You know that. You know me."

A long moment passed. Neither of them spoke. Finally, Chloe relented.

She scraped the metal chain off and let the door open. Clothed in her favourite pyjamas, dressing gown, and dragon-shaped slippers, she gripped a large kitchen knife tightly enough to make her knuckles white. She stepped to the bottom of a steep staircase, keeping the blade between them.

Ethan carefully stepped into the well-lit entrance, keeping his distance. He saw Chloe's face flicker through surprise, horror, revulsion, and pity.

"Thanks," he said.

"I think that's far enough for now."

"Fair enough. Honestly, I wasn't expecting you to answer the door."

"Why did you come, then?"

"You're my everything." Ethan watched the knife lower slightly. "I can't imagine what you've been through over the last few..."

"Six."

"Six months." He took half a step forward. "I'm sorry I went away, but I'm back now."

Chloe frowned. "Back?"

"Yeah. I'm here. Second chance."

She looked him up and down. "I don't know if..."

Ethan stepped right up to her. "It's different. Sure. Maybe there'll be a cure?" He waved out the open door. "Once everything out there has calmed down. Maybe people like me can be brought back. You know? Properly."

They stood only inches apart. Ethan looked deeply into Chloe's eyes, the love of his life. Everything would be alright now. Shut the door, go upstairs, have a cup of tea.

Chloe's nose twitched. "You smell," she said.

"Do I?"

"Yes. It's not a good smell."

Ethan shrugged. "It's probably some of the graveyard lingering in my hair."

Horror flashed across Chloe's face. Ethan watched as another thought appeared in his former fiancé's mind. He followed her gaze down until they both saw her hand still holding the knife -- its blade deep in his stomach.

He hadn't felt a thing.

Chloe shoved him away, stepping up a couple of stairs.

"You're dead," she hissed. "I grieved for you. I still grieve for you. This," she pointed at the dry knife wound. "This isn't the man I loved. He died."

"Clo," he started.

"No! Get back!"

Ethan held up both hands. "We can work this out. We do everything together."

"I can't." Tears began pouring from her shining eyes. "You left me."

He started to speak when a screech of rubber snapped his attention to the street. A blue car pulled up outside the gate. A man leapt out, leaving the engine running and the door open. He made it halfway up the path before Ethan recognised Chloe's brother, Tom.

"Get away from her!" he shouted.

Ethan smiled. "Tom. I'm not causing trouble. I'm just trying to..."

Tom pushed past, placing himself in front of his sister. Chloe retreated further up the stairs.

Tom shoved Ethan. Hard. It was like shoving a wall. Tom rallied instantly and grabbed the knife from Chloe's hand, narrowing his eyes.

"They say to attack the head."

Ethan immediately stepped out the door and back onto the path. "No need for violence."

Tom grabbed the door handle and followed him out. He spoke to Chloe over his shoulder.

"Shut the door behind me. Don't open it until you're sure it's me."

"Don't hurt him," said Chloe through tears.

He set his jaw. "He's beyond hurt."

Ethan saw people peering out of their front doors up and down the street. He took one last look at the only woman he had ever loved.

"I'm sorry, Clo. I love you."

Tom stepped forward. "Sod off, creature. You're not Ethan. I don't know what you are, but you're not Ethan."

With no other options, the zombie headed back to town.

Two hours later, Ethan slowly climbed the wooded hill in the park, the first light of dawn beginning to show. Gangs of people had taken up roaming the town for the undead and he had witnessed their actions when they found one. Ethan didn't feel pain but was sure he didn't want to experience what he had seen.

The park was blessedly quiet. He stood and leant against the trunk of a large ash and tried to find a silver lining. None came to mind. He'd made things worse. Being dead was terrible. Climbing out of his grave six months later was horrific. In Chloe's place, he would have likely acted the same.

Who knows.

A beam of sunlight faded into existence between the trees, sweeping down as the sun crept over the horizon. Ethan held his hand up to block out the light.

Pain.

It took a moment to register the new (old) feeling. Once he did, he ducked behind the tree and examined his palm.

It was burnt.

Solar flare.

The sun had revived him.

The sun would put him to rest.

Shouts snapped him back to the present. A gang was nearby. Before he could even think, six or seven men appeared just down the path. Several held baseball bats.

"Another one!" Hands pointed at Ethan. "He'll make twenty."

A cheer went up as the gang surged forward.

Ethan set off running, snapping twigs and branches, ignoring whatever blocked his path. Somehow, he beat the gang to a clearing where benches allowed a view across the town. The incline was steepest there, so he emerged from the trees and was still in shadow. The benches were in full sunlight.

The end of the road.

He turned to face his pursuers just as the men burst out of the trees. They piled up in a group as they found Ethan waiting for them. He was the first motionless zombie they had encountered. A calm zombie was a new experience. Group confidence waned.

Ethan couldn't be with Chloe.

He couldn't be without Chloe.

He smiled at the men.

They watched the zombie walk the few steps to a bench. It sat down and gazed out at the view. Smoke slowly rose from the body. White turned to grey, then black as the entity briefly reborn as Ethan faded to dust.