WTF

I’m handing them lukewarm water bottles like the proper host I am. I give one to the lady with a child and she thanks me. A little flattered, I return a “You’re welcome.” No one’s ever thanked me for anything and it gives me a nice feeling in my chest. I give the mother, Emma another bottle for her baby. Our hands touch a little and she jumps, dropping the bottle. The feeling’s gone now.

“Right. I’m going now,” I say, pointing to the security room. “Wait!” Martha stops me, grabbing my arm but with no strength.

She leads me to the huddled group of adults, Sean in the middle. I stand with my arms crossed, watching them fidget around and waiting for them to tell me what they want. Martha is the one who speaks out, most likely uncomfortable with the silence. “We left all of our stuff in the car, including food and clothes.”

I shrug, holding my hands out. “Then go get your stuff. I’m not stopping you.” She frowns, not expecting my answer. “It’s just that we have nothing to defend ourselves,” she explains.

I slowly realize that they want me to go bring their belongings. “It’s right across the street!”

Sighing, I look towards the entrance and I see there aren’t any at the doors. I tell her I’ll go take what I can. Martha nods and gives her thanks. Before I walk away, I warn,”If you lock me out, I’m ramming the car inside.” No one says anything but they nervously give me silent nods.

A few stragglers are out there, but they’re easy to weave through. If I walk carefully around them, the zombies won’t be able to reach me. I move past them, heading straight to the abandoned car. I crawl inside and close the door before one tries to follow me. In the back seat, I find a few worn out bags and throw them over my shoulders. Banging on the window makes me jump. A scraggly looking zombie with gray, leathery looking skin growls at me. I growl in return as I attempt to show dominance. Ignoring the zombie, I search in the vicinity for whatever that looks important. I find a candy bar in the glove compartment. I pocket it in my jeans before swinging open the door. The scraggly zombie responds ironically with lively moans. I kick it away and it falls on its back, and a loud snap is followed. One of Scraggly’s friends gets a little close to me as I crawl my way out of the vehicle. I stood up from the pavement and I hit the friend with the large bag. It falls directly on top of Scraggly. Now both are groaning, looking as if they are surprised. They could also be attempting to snap their teeth at me, but my rendition is funnier.

I leave them be and retreat back to the museum, steering clear of any more zombies as much as possible. The humans greet me at the doors, some cheering for their belongings. I hand Sean the bag and tell them I’m going back for the rest. He nods his thanks, asking, “You sure you don’t need help?”

He doesn’t continue after seeing the face I’m making. “Are you serious? You’re offering to help now?”

I turn around before getting an answer, avoiding their gazes at me.

***

I watch them go through their belongings. They’re extended into the lobby with a lot of items spread out as if they’re expecting to stay longer than a day. Sean is searching in a large backpack and takes out a chocolate bar. So they’re his. My eyes land on Martha before he attempts to eat the half melted bar. She’s talking to the older man I haven’t learned the name of. They’re both kneeling on the floor while taking out different items. I think they’re having a passive conversation, handing each other worn out books and weirdly colored bottles.

Their calm disposure annoys me. I’m tempted to shove all their things back in the bags and kick them out of here, but instead I sit on a bench and observe from afar. Martha laughs at what the man says, her hand covering her mouth slightly. It’s an elegant and playful movement— both things I can never try to imitate or else I’ll look like an idiot.

My teeth itch, ready to gnaw on something. Although there are plenty of zombies at hand, I wonder how fresh human would taste like. The thought swiftly leaves my mind. I’ve had someone training back in the day, similar to Pavlov's trick. Biting, eating, or anything that comes close to mouth and skin contact is bad. The thought makes me gag a little and I try to think of something else. Right, biting my own hand doesn’t count, I think to myself. I bite my right hand hard enough to leave a mark, but not enough to break the skin. The pain distracts me and I notice someone coming in front of me until he speaks.

The one who stands in front of me is a boy, although he looks closer to being a man than a boy. He’s closer to my age more than anything, so a teenager. His piercings are really noticeable, one on his lip and two on his nose. He says something, but I’m only focused on the silver pieces. I ask amazed, “Are those real?”

He looks confused for a moment, before realization comes to his face. “Yeah, they’re real.”

I nod, content with the answer. He stands there without saying anything. The awkward silence is broken by him, asking if I have any food. A heavy sigh leaves me and I tell him there’s none.
Unsatisfied with my response, the man-boy persists. “Listen, uh— “

“Brad,” he interrupts. “Brad,” I continue, “I wasn’t expecting guests. There isn’t any food here. You can probably find something around, but I’ve scrapped up a lot of it.”

I watch him walk back to the others, most likely complaining to them. I flop down to the floor like a dead fish and I stare at the ceiling. What would Oprah do?

A strong independent woman like her would come up with a brilliant plan that would bring everyone together. Unfortunately, I don’t have her confidence. The least I can do is create a plan for these humans as they don’t want to leave any time soon. I stand back up to gather my thoughts.
I’m not embarrassed to say that it takes me longer than other people for me to think up a few rules. I pace around the lobby—the humans watching me wearily— for five minutes before announcing my faulty rules to them.

“Since you guys want to stay here for a little while, there are gonna be some ground rules. Rule number one: don’t ask stupid questions, only I can do that.”

I see Emma raising her hand, but I stop her with, “What did I just day?” I shake my head at her and move on. “Rule number two: no touching” I say, gesturing to myself. “I don’t want your grabby hands on me. And rule number three: You can go wander anywhere you want ‘cause I don’t care. Just don’t go to the basement. There are rats down there.”

I see some frowns in the small crowd, but the rest are mostly just curious. I’ll let them take in the rules with their own time.

Brad asks me, “So there really is no food?” I throw my hands up and declare, “Whoever wants to check the fridge, come with me.”

A few follow me to the employee’s lounge area. They surround me on both sides— when I open the refrigerator door— to see for themselves. Inside the fridge, there are 2 odd smelling condiments that are long expired. Above those, there is a plate carrying a leg. I take great satisfaction as I see their faces contort in disgust. They look as if they’ve never seen a zombie’s leg in a fridge before. I take the plate out of the fridge and slam the door closed. “Want some?”

I hear a whispered, “What the f—” before I take a bite out of the calf. Their reactions bring a smile to my face as I chew on the stiff muscle. They’re just stunned, their mouths hanging open and eyes wide. Licking the thick blood off my lips, I open the freezer’s door. I take out the only item inside, which is a frozen pizza. I hand it to Sean— with some difficulty— and say, “The microwave still works and plates should be over there.”

They numbly distribute the paper plates to each other and sit on the uncomfortable chairs. We cut the hard pizza with a plastic knife. I let them have it all for themselves since I have a whole calf for myself. When they’re done slicing up the pizza, I then use the same knife and attempt to cut a part of the leg. Failing to cut it right, I just bite it. Before taking a large bite, I stop myself, sensing an audience. I see them watching me in disgust. Getting the hint, I tell them, “I’ll go eat on the couch.”