As they continued on in silence, Frank tried to organize his thoughts.

This girl... this zombie girl looked strikingly... normal. She walked normally, like a living person, he long hair swayed lazily with each step. There were no signs of decomposition that he could identify. She seemed strong and fit and in total control of her faculties. Her outfit was a bit confusing though. She looked like she was wearing hospital scrubs or a nurse's uniform. Her plain white shoes had squeaked softly as she went back around to the driver's side and got in the truck.

Frank tried to place the scent he caught from her—disinfectant mixed with flowers?

Once he'd changed into fresh jeans and another black tee-shirt, he'd taken a few steps away from the road and unzipped.

Maybe I should run, he'd thought. But really, where would I go? He had no idea where they were and if he'd taken to the forest, he figured he'd eventually run into some hungry ghouls or die of exposure.

Jane is my best hope at... well, Jane was the only sensible...

Maybe we'll fall in love and have wacky misadventures.

He'd relieved himself then returned to the 4 Runner. She'd already put his music on.

After ticking off a few dozen miles she turned to him. "Honestly, I don't mind your metal shit," she said smirking.

"Fuck off," he said, returning the grin, then turned down the music. "So, when was your birthday?"

"Alright, there are a few things I should explain," she began. "I told you I'd only been watching you for a few days—that's true. But I don't want you to think it was a stalker kinda thing. I was... studying you. Seeing if you'd lead me to other people. But the reason it was only a couple of days was because I was frozen up until then."

"What's that?" Frank asked as he pictured the idiotic faces he must have made when masturbating.

"I died just after the outbreak started," she continued. "Fucking freak occurrence—car accident. Which, at the time, seemed like such a shit way to go considering the world was falling apart and there was all this chaos and insanity—this momentous thing was happening to the world and I fucking run a red light on the way to 7-11 to get a Red Bull. This was when things were still open—people weren't hoarding, which is what I assumed happened."

She looked at Frank who nodded.

"So, anyway, as far as I can figure it, they put me on ice waiting for an autopsy or toxicology specialist or something and that's when Cheney got hit. Either that or they just forgot about me."

"You were... frozen?"

"Sort of? I guess," she squeaked, lifting her shoulders. "I'm really not sure about any of this but while I was in that freezer, I... woke up. Reanimated, I guess. I couldn't move or anything, but my mind was working. 

"Now, you have to understand, you don't sleep when you're dead. So, I just laid there thinking... for about three months—it's September so... I think it was about three months—seemed like forever. So, to avoid going completely crazy I spent my time thinking of what I would do if I became a zombie. Planning. I had seen enough stuff on the news that I knew the zombies lived off their desire to feed but they were ultimately brainless—controlled by their hunger. I don't know what the difference is with me, maybe it was three straight months of constant, unrelenting brain activity that kept me cognitive, but I decided, if I was ever to come out of that freezer that I would have a plan. I would make sure I could survive—as the case may be. 

"So, the day comes when the back-up generators failed. I could feel the constant vibration, suddenly stop. Then I thawed. God, like some fucking turkey, I thawed," she said, eyes getting big.  

"Eventually, I was able to move a bit and kicked open the door to the freezer shelf I was in. It took a hell of a long time but finally, I could stand. The room was covered in blood. Looked like something pretty terrible had happened but there weren't any bodies. Whole bodies. There were some pieces here and there scattered around. A hand, a couple of chunks of who-knows-what... even a head. Now, normally, I wouldn't be able to stand the sight of blood—I'd pass out instantly—but that was before. I'm a changed girl, now. I felt nothing." She paused, lips tight.

"Well, that's not entirely true. I felt hungry. Really goddamn hungry. But not for normal food, you know? I needed living meat. I searched around for anything or anyone in the building but of course came up empty handed. I did, however, finally find a refrigeration unit where they kept donor's blood. I figured it would have to do so I drank it. Not all of it. But a lot. And I felt better. More energized, it's hard to explain. I found a little cooler thing—something I guess to transport organs or whatever—and filled it with the rest of the packets of blood. It's in the back," she gestured over her shoulder. 

"So, there I was with a cooler of blood, naked and fucked. Oh yeah, I was naked. Not that you really need to know that, but it should explain the scrubs." She gestured dramatically to her outfit. "I got these things in the laundry room—washed, thankfully. Although now that I think about it, I don't think I could've smelled the difference anyway."

"Hold on... this is a lot to take in..." Frank started, but Jane was on a role.

"While I'd been laying there, I decided the best way to go if I was to become some flesh-eating freak was to find someone who I could use as a decoy—someone I could befriend—to lure me some fresh meat. That's you. I figured out pretty quick there wasn't anything happening in Cheney. Everyone was dead. Then I saw you loading bodies into your truck. So, I followed you. Watched you for a few days—decided you were pretty harmless. You're not really much of a gunslinger, you know. And then you drink so much. I can't blame you. I'd be a lush too in the same situation. What else is there to do? Except—" she made the universal sign for jacking off. "And you did plenty of that."

"Ahh, ha ha!" Frank spat out an uneasy laugh.

"Don't get all embarrassed. It's no big deal—everyone does it... did it," Jane shrugged. "Anyway, so you looked like you'd serve my purposes. It was only a matter of figuring out how to approach you. I couldn't really just walk up to you—you might try to shoot me or something. So, I started throwing rocks at your house. You didn't notice until the other night when you came out, puked and fell on your ass. Sorry about laughing by the way. But still, you had a gun with you, so I came up with the idea to kinda just... steal you. I found that car with the keys still in it and... you know the rest."

"Yeah," Frank said. "So, your plan is to use me as bait?"

"Yeah."

"You had three months to think of a plan and that was it?"

"Ye... yeah." She sounded slightly embarrassed.

"What makes you think I'll do it?" Frank asked bluntly.

"Well, in truth, for all my planning, I never really thought I'd get this far so now I'm just winging it."

"Winging it?"

"Yeah."

Frank looked in the back seat and saw a case of waters. "Can I have one?"

"Yeah. They're for you."

He grabbed a bottle, opened it and took a long drink. "Alright. That was a great story and all but... where are we going?"

"I'm not sure. South, like I said. I thought we'd take the back roads to avoid all the abandoned cars and things."

"Probably a good idea."

"I thought so."

Frank took another sip. "You want one?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Can... can you even drink water?"

"Yeah, I can drink it, but it does nothing for me. Gets my mouth wet."

He was amazed that he could get aroused by a zombie, but there it was—that warm pressure in his pants. It's just hard not to think nasty things when a girl says anything about her mouth or being wet. He adjusted in his seat and turned to look out the window in time to see a buckshot riddled sign for the next town. "Did you bring any of my booze?" he asked.

"No. Sorry, I didn't think about it. No porn either."

He let that slide. "Well, could we stop at the next town—see if we can find anything?"

"We gotta find some gas anyway. You only had two cans in your garage."

"Well, I didn't think I'd be going on a road trip, so I didn't need much of a surplus," he said defensively.

"Don't get testy. I'm just saying."

Again, they rode in silence for a while.

The scenery outside was unchanging. The same strip of road bordered by the same endless expanse of trees.

Frank thought about his predicament.

He was being held captive (although loosely) by a dead girl that said she wouldn't eat him but was instead using him as bait for any other living humans that might want camaraderie and then, bang, she'd pop out of the bushes and bite holes in their faces.

That sounded accurate.

So, why did he feel so apathetic about the whole thing? Perhaps it was because he had come to the conclusion long ago that he was the only living person left—he was the exception to the rule. She would never get the chance to use him as live bait. Besides, it was such a nice change of pace to have some company.

But, on the off chance they did find someone, there was no way Frank was going to go through with her plan. No matter how kinda hot she might be.

She was kinda hot. Really hot, actually. She'd only revealed her face a few times before again hiding behind her hair, but he'd taken a mental picture during those brief moments. Sharp cheek bones, perfect skin, button nose.

My god! What am I thinking? She's dead!

Impulsively, he opened up the glove box and found it empty.

She glanced at him but said nothing. She must have searched the car for guns before she lugged him into the passenger seat.

"Don't worry, I'm not stupid. We still have guns but they're in the back—locked up."

"Locked up?"

"You had a footlocker thingy in your living room. I used that and a pad-lock I got from the hardware store in town."

"You have the key."

"I have the key."

"Swell." He didn't want to enquire what she had done with the contents of the footlocker which was, of course, more porn.

He breathed in heavily and coughed on the pungent mix of aromas enclosed within the car. She must have acquired the disinfectant scent from the clinic and the flowers must be something else she put on top—some kind of air freshener.

As far as Frank could see, there was no clear scientific explanation for Jane's ability to speak, think and act normally this far into the pandemic. But then again there wasn't any clear scientific explanation for anything that had happened in the last six months.

This was all the stuff of fantasy. One minute some biochemist was looking through the lens of his microscope and the next minute, the virus had latched onto a passing oxygen molecule and ridden its way into his lungs. Then there was the change and the brain-feasting carnage that followed.

Maybe, with Jane, it really was the fact that she was preserved—or because she was locked up in some airtight freezer unit where the virus couldn't get into her system to mutate. She definitely bore a closer resemblance to the first strain of ghouls than the walking bags of bloated decay Frank had grown accustomed to.

As far as anyone knew, there were no clear signs to indicate infection, so to ensure their safety, people employed preemptive measures. No one will ever know how many lives were lost by senseless, random killings.

People would barricade themselves in their homes then plant themselves by a window and pick off anything that looked like a potential threat. Which meant anything. And if the marksman was wrong (which, as one can imagine, happened frequently) the target would get up and come at you again. But even then, it was difficult to distinguish between a reanimating zombie and a mortally wounded human.

They could talk, reason and worst of all, persuade—convince people they were okay, just needed some medical assistance. Then, of course, once trust had been won, they'd chew you to pieces.

It wasn't really until their food source started disappearing that they went through the major metamorphosis. Once they weren't getting fresh food, which must have been keeping their brains leaning on the side of clarity, they started to slow down—in every respect.

Their death was catching up to them.

Jane's stasis and bloody picnic basket was keeping her alive—in whatever sense a dead person could be alive.