CJAY entered the first nightclub he saw. He walked slowly to conceal the natural stagger in his walk, since being a zombie compromised his motor coordination. The playful strokes, rhythm-coordinated blink of the lights, and the huge crowd on the dance floor also helped in hiding him from observant eyes.

So far, the nightclub still looked the same as it was years before the epidemic. There were still colorful lights, dreamy fogs as part of their special effects and cigarettes, energetic people sweating off their perfume and the sweet, highly addicting adrenaline from their bodies, and music like defibrillators that could bring anyone to life. Because of all of these, Cjay could not help smiling.

This must be the exact thing that he needs, something that would make him feel truly alive. Which was ironic, because he was already a zombie. A dead man. A walking corpse.

He wanted to dance, but the lack of coordination in his body held him back. Once he tries to make big movements, everyone would discover his presence, including his father once the news about a zombie dancing in a nightclub began spreading like fire. So, he contented himself by sitting on the bar counter. He ordered a drink so that he could keep his seat which also faced the dance floor. If Cjay couldn’t dance, then he should at least enjoy himself by watching others dance. Once his alcoholic drink was served, he felt a little scared at first. The last time he got drunk, he was still a normal, functioning human.

Cjay sipped a little beer and tried to feel his body. He cocked his head upon realizing that everything felt normal. The alcoholic drink did not seem to affect him, so he drank some more until he lost count of how many times he asked for a refill. Then, he was reminded of his limitations—his face twisted as his gut began hurting. It was a combination of a chilly pinch, his intestines felt like being wringed and burned, all at the same time.

Confused, he left his seat and searched for the toilet. After being tossed by the partying crowd, he got lost and found himself outside the nightclub.

“Fuck it,” he muttered. He didn’t want to leave yet. But when the pain in his gut persisted, he felt like he had no choice but to go home. ‘It must be because I had coffee before beer . . . Shit! Why did I forget that? Or i-it must be only the b-beer’s fault.’

Staggering, he decided to search for his car. It must be somewhere in this shadowy parking space dimly lit on a few spots by the lampposts.

Unfortunately, the pain was slowing him down. Cjay was starting to gain more clarity about his situation. He felt as if he has an open wound dribbled with ethyl alcohol. At this point, he knew it was the beer and his stupidity to blame.

He felt the impulse to scream, that might relieve him. But as soon as he opened his mouth, something burning hot and sour climbed from his gut up to his throat, like a volcano getting ready to erupt. Alas, he dropped on his knees and threw up everything he could. He could feel his fragile throat stretch as pieces of the food he ate earlier came out of his mouth along with his blood, and the coffee and beer he just had.

His vision blurred, but his vomit kept sputtering until he was empty like a chest scoured by pirates. He shuddered and shook as chills ran all over his body, followed by his coughing.

“L-Let go of me!” he snarled when someone held his arm from behind. He wanted to say something more, but he coughed again and was unable to stop when it went on and on.

“Let me help you—”

He could not help chuckling mockingly as he turned to look at this fool who was offering him some help. ‘Help? Heh. Is someone trying to be funny here? I’m . . . Cjay . . . the rich and famous zombie son of the president . . . and you want to help me?’

‘You really want to help me?’

He gagged, cursed at the back of his mind. It took him a moment before her rotting smell gave his nose a violent upper-cut punch. He squint his eyes and concentrated on the face of the person behind him. His lips slightly parted when his blurry vision cleared up slightly and made him see the face of a young woman. The shadow of the trees made it dark where they stood, but he managed to make out some of her features. It wasn’t so hard because she’s pretty. Anyone’s blurry eyes will suddenly turn sharp in fear to miss a single detail from such a beautiful face. Cjay forgot her rotting odor for a while. He admired her long, black disheveled hair that slightly covered her cheeks, making her look carefree. Her lifeless, double-lidded almond eyes with long lashes and thin, straight eyebrows made her look relaxed and wise. Her lips . . . they must be chapping for luring in too many people in one night and gifting so many lips with her sweet kisses.

She looked beautiful, but something was wrong . . . She suddenly looked ghostly to him, like an apparition. Or was it because his eyes were still cloudy?

 “You’re the one who will be needing h-help, m-miss . . .” It was a warning, because he’s a drunken zombie that could eat her.

Nah. Who was he fooling? He could not eat her because he just had his dose of immortality pill. Moreover, this young woman stinks so bad like a rotting corpse that a zombie like him would never find her appetizing. He feasts on fresh meat from the living, not from the dead. Cjay only learned it from experience why the zombies in the movies have leftovers—because they cannot finish their meal once it was completely dead.

Maybe she would still need his help though. Like her, he suffers from a very lethal body odor. If she needs some deodorant, he’s got a lot of that at home.

The thought made him smirk as he flicked up her chin. She received a glare from her but he didn’t mind it. It was his fault, after all.

He felt that he was levitating. Cjay was not sure if it was because of the pretty face, the young woman’s knock-out odor, the effect of alcohol, or the emptiness of his burning stomach. The pain was still there, but he could not pay attention to it anymore. He could feel a potent force pulling him forward. As he slowly dragged one foot after another forward, dizziness took over followed by losing his consciousness.

***

“MY goodness, Natalia!” Aunt Hilda gasped as Natalia hurriedly stepped inside the apartment. She walked past her aunt who was left by the door to lock it.

Aunt Hilda was a distant family friend that took her in when she arrived in Citadel. They were not related by blood but Natalia and Aunt Hilda both considered the latter as her aunt, so she often addressed and viewed her as if she was her real aunt. Aunt Hilda was a thick woman with a soft face framed by the small twists of her dark, shoulder-length, curly hair. Pre-epidemic, she was a stay-in housemaid and a babysitter, now she’s one of Team Aegis’ medics.

Natalia was still supporting the unconscious Cjay by draping his arm over her shoulder and guiding him as they walked. Apparently, Cjay fainted before they even left the parking lot. Even if carrying his weight was like Greek mythology’s Atlas to the world, it was favorable for Natalia because this enabled her to bring him home without a fight. Just to make sure, she put on his hoodie so that no one would see his face.

Natalia dropped Cjay on the old sofa with its faded blue leather mostly chipping and was torn in places where some of its springs and foams were sticking out. Then, she puffed out a breath. She really did not expect him to be so heavy. Cjay’s ability to talk like a human made her forget a little that he’s still a zombie. It was only at this moment when she remembered that the human body becomes heavier when they become corpses.

As soon as Cjay was laid down on the sofa, his hoodie fell off again. His pasty white face was revealed, thick with concealer but ran down by single line of tears on each cheek. He must have had tear up a little when he vomited earlier. She pulled out a handkerchief from her jean’s pocket and spat on it before using it to wipe the makeup off his face.

Yes, spitting on the handkerchief was nasty, but she was going to eat him anyway so . . .

After tossing away the handkerchief, Natalia threw her hands on her waists and scanned him. She inserted a finger to inspect the inside of his slightly parted lips. Based on her observation so far, his tongue, lips, and the walls of his mouth looked like a healthy human’s.

‘Is he really a zombie?’

She bent down and sniffed.

‘He smells dead enough.’

“Who’s that—” Aunt Hilda asked, sounding scandalized as she approached them. She did not finish her sentence though, because it was replaced by a short shriek, followed by a sharp gasp. Aunt Hilda widened her eyes at her. “You little brat! That’s Cjay!”

“Yes, that’s him,” she faced her aunt. “Keep your voice down. Our neighbors might hear you.”

Aunt Hilda began to place a hand on her chest and dramatically hyperventilate. “Why did you bring him here?” she worried. “That’s a zombie, Natty!”

“I know,” she groaned. “That’s why I brought him here—to eat him.”

“My goodness,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Are the dead cats not enough, Natty?”

“You know I can’t eat all of those, auntie,” she complained, “especially the ones with the tiniest bit of mange!”

Of course, the ‘mange’ was just an alibi to justify her unwillingness to eat dead cats. Yes, they were corpses too and could be an alternative for human corpses, but Natalia pitied each dead cat that her aunt brings home for her to eat. They just looked too cute and innocent! Natalia enjoys the foods that human eats, but the physiology given to her by having the blood of another creature—aside from human—flowing in her veins required her to consume a corpse at least once a month.

“But that’s the son of the president. It will be risky—”

“There’s no free pass for any son of the president when it comes to my hunger, Aunt Hilda.” She gently pushed back her aunt by her shoulders. “Go to the bedroom first. You won’t like the sight once I started my decent meal—”

Not having eaten any corpse for three months had weakened Natalia, that’s why Aunt Hilda effortlessly took her hand off her shoulders before gripping her arms.

“Natty.” Her aunt stared deep into her eyes. “Times have changed. You must learn to adapt to the situation. You know what happened to your family when they let their hunger, their gluttony get the best of them. So, please, don’t let your hunger blind your reason!”

“That is so easy for you to say, because you’re not the one who’s hungry here,” she sighed before slowly looking back in time to remember her parents.

Their whole clan . . .

The horrifying things they went through during the epidemic . . .

“But,” Aunt Hilda replied firmly, “if you’re going to eat that Cjay, what will you do if the president’s security tracked us here? Natalia, we will be put in grave danger.”

“Once I ate him—” Natalia slurped the pooling saliva in her mouth back in her throat then swallowed it. “—I won’t leave any evidence because there won’t be leftovers! Promise!” she smiled, a mix of sinister and innocently hopeful. “Since I was a child, Amang (Father) taught me how to carve banana trunks into the likeness of a human. I used to replace the corpses in the coffin with my pretty little sculptures, and no one sees any difference! I can still pull that off after I eat Cjay, because I know where some banana trees are planted in this city.”

Aunt Hilda glanced at the unconscious Cjay with pity in her eyes. “But I am also waiting for the results of his medication.”

Natalia looked at Cjay curiously. She was trying to see any signs that he was, indeed, taking any medications. What her aunt just said was so hard to believe because she could not see any sign of changes or improvement in Cjay’s current condition.

“There’s hearsay that his immortality pill medication remains continuous.” Then, her voice softened. “If it happens that the pill cures Cjay’s zombie virus, then . . . I will request to the militia officers that I know to look for Brandon . . . then, have him medicated too . . .”

Brandon was Aunt Hilda’s husband. It was him who helped Natalia get into the Citadel, but due to the turn of events, he did not make it back with her . . .

“I can feel it in my heart that he’s still alive. That he just turned into a zombie. That he’s just walking around outside Citadel . . . or hiding.”

Aunt Hilda never blamed Natalia for losing her husband, which was one of the reasons why she didn’t have the heart to tell her to wake up to reality that Brandon was already a lost cause. It was either he was eaten up the zombies or the special ops team outside the Citadel already shot him dead. Whichever way it goes, Brandon would still end up dead as long as he was outside the Citadel.

And in case he makes it back to the Citadel as a zombie like Cjay, how can her aunt get him medicated? The immortality pills were already phased out. The government announced a year ago that it was being developed further by some scientists but based on what Aunt Hilda just said, it was most likely that the president greedily reserved all the immortality pills for the exclusive consumption of his precious zombie son.

Natalia glared at Cjay. How she wanted to help Aunt Hilda realize that this zombie was hoarding up all the immortality pills, depriving those who actually need it. But at the same time, what if there were some unknown negative side-effects from using those pills? There was a possibility because it was not that long ago when criminals abused these pills and used them to get away from their heinous crimes. During the first years of the establishment of Citadel, criminals had been looting other people’s food, medicines, and belongings. The health emergency and national security crisis truly brought out the worst in these people.

In the end, Natalia just let Aunt Hilda be. If hoping to be with Brandon again was the only thing she was holding on to just to keep going, she wouldn’t want to take that away from the only remaining person who cares for her.

Natalia took so long to respond, it made Aunt Hilda look at her expectantly. She felt her aunt’s gaze and stared back. In that exact moment, they heard a cough. It was followed by a pained groan. When they glanced at where the noise came from, they saw Cjay slowly sitting up while clutching his stomach. With eyes closed, his pasty white face was crumpled like paper as he continued groaning.

Natalia returned her eyes on Hilda who was giving her this pleading look. Obviously, her aunt wanted her to spare Cjay’s life. So, she just sighed in surrender. How could she say no to her aunt? She was forced to nod her head in approval before leaving Cjay in her Aunt Hilda’s care.

Natalia had to leave because she had been swallowing too much saliva the moment Cjay woke up. He was just near her after all, making her inhale his delicious scent that tickled her stomach to eat him already.

To control herself, she locked up herself in her bedroom.