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The world didn’t end when humanity died. This was something Dream knew deep in his heart.
The world would end when he did.
That’s the funny thing about zombies though, were they ever really truly dead?
They had been wandering the new world for a while now, through trees and forests, along empty roads and cities. Dream lost track of time after a year or so, no longer viewing it as the sun’s rotation; instead as a series of cycles.
Every few weeks when he happened upon another lost soul, abandoned, left to the world’s mercy he’d draw them in. He was the flame to the moth, coaxing them into the spider’s web. Because they weren’t him and he was hungry.
The feeding, he called it. The people would’ve died anyway.
But George wasn’t dead. He was simply other, a distinction he’d quickly made when his friend had first crumbled in his arms, black veins coursing through his flesh as his heart slowed and slowed. And stopped.
George wasn’t dead because if he was, then he would’ve bitten Dream long ago. But he didn’t.
The tears of joy Dream had cried when he first realized were the sweetest he’d ever tasted.
Because the world wasn’t over. George was still here and until he faded and dragged Dream down with him, it wasn’t the end.
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It was calm tonight. Dream stared up at the twinkling stars with an AK on his knee and soft moss at his back. Dead leaves crumpled around his feet and he thought it might be autumn.
“It’s so beautiful isn’t it?” Dream looked over to the man beside him, a soft smile on his lips.
George’s face was tilted away from him, his body resting against the stump of a tree. His shirt was tattered and mouth still bloodied from the feeding earlier that day. There were still warm bones on the ground.
George matched the blue of the sky, broken capillaries sprinkled across his skin like constellations, greyed skin the darkness of the clouds. The whites of his eyes had darkened to red and they no longer glowed with human brilliance (it’s okay, Dream didn’t mind).
“You used to love nighttime,” Dream hummed within the silence. “You’d point out the different shapes and the North Star.” Dream paused, waiting to see if George would react.
He didn't, only the slight hissing of his odd breath indicating his presence. His eyes were distant and glazed.
For the first time in a while, sadness tugged at Dream’s heart. Of all the things he wished for, it was that George would be able to speak again. Words not just sounds.
“I know you can’t do that anymore…” Dream shifted, the slight crunch of broken leaves. “But sometimes I think you like hearing me talk about it.” Dream watched the side of George’s face, following the black veins along his cheek that rested in his temples and hair. “Do you want to hear a story? You used to love my stories.”
The slightest turn of a head.
Dream smiled. “How about when we first met each other?”
At last, George’s eyes turned to him, that rouge hue eclipsing deep brown. His pupils were dilated in the night, twitching slightly as they focused on him. It was a blank gaze. No emotion stirred in the muscles of his face, just that hollow, empty stare; blood stained his mouth like a kiss.
But he’d looked. He’d heard him. That’s what was important.
Dream scooted closer, throwing aside the femur and collarbone picked clean at his feet. He settled beside George, brushing elbows together as the man continued to stare with those dull, darkened eyes.
“It all started when the sun set.”
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Dream always traveled at night now. It wasn't too big a change. Having George around seemed to keep the zombies at bay or perhaps they already thought of him as one of them.
George didn’t like fire or the sun so Dream didn’t either now.
It was fine, it was easier to find humans at night when they were sleeping.
Dream wasn’t sure when he started referring to them as humans or when he’d stopped considering himself as one of them.
He was an in-between, a soul trapped in a living body ready to open the door to the other side. I’ll stand in that doorway with you, he’d promised long ago.
One day when he found the perfect place for them, he’d offer himself with hands raised, a willing lamb to the slaughter. He’s sure George would understand then. He’d bite him. And when the infection spread to his brain and his body and remade him anew, then the world would be perfect.
Dream and George would be immortal together, wondering however they wished until the sun swallowed the earth.
One day, he promised himself.
“One day—” Dream beamed at his companion. “—I’ll be just like you. And you won’t ever be alone.”
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“Dream…”
The last time Dream had heard George’s voice was at night.
They’d made a run for supplies, lingered too long and returned as the sun set and the hoards had awoken. It wasn’t a pretty fight.
They’d made it back home, supplies packed away and the moon high in the sky before George had seen it.
“Dream…”
Dream remembered his voice as he’d been cooking over the fire, humming a tune to an old radio.
“What is it?” Dream had turned and seen George standing white as a ghost, face twisted with a terror he’d never witnessed. Dream looked down and that’s when he’d seen the bite.
He didn’t understand then that it wasn’t the end.
“George.” He’d dropped everything, the pan crashing to the ground, George hobbling forward to meet him.
He’d reached out and that’s when George had fallen to his knees—into his arms and began to shake.
“George, look at me. Hey—Look at me.” He’d frantically grabbed George by the shoulders, forcing his friend to look him in the eye. “George, it's going to be okay, we’ll fix this.”
And George had looked up, eyes already overflowing, pained gasps beginning as the infection took hold. “Dream I don’t—I don’t know what happened.”
“It’s okay, It’s okay.” Dream had tried to think of anything. But there was one thing everyone knew.
There was no cure.
“Dream. Dream, I’m scared.” His eyes had been so wide, his voice so broken. It’s not over, he wished he’d told him then. It’s still you.
“Shhh, I know.” He’d tried to think of everything, anything. In a craze he’d torn off a strip of his shirt, grabbing George’s arm to wrap the bite tight, knowing it would do nothing.
“Dream, stop.”
Dream had pulled George closer.
“Stop! Listen to me!” So Dream had stopped.
The world had gone fuzzy and Dream realized he was also shaking, tears blurring his vision.
George's face was all he’d seen, soft in the moon glow, beautiful like death wasn’t creeping around the corner. Because it wasn’t. He’d only reach for the handle and pull the door open but not walk through. “I love you,” George rambled, “You made this hell worth it. I fucking love you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry it ends like this.” A pained groan left his mouth, his shaking growing worse.
“No no no, you’re not—“ Dream clutched him close to his chest. George’s hands gripped his arms with a tightness that hurt as he spasmed. “You’re not leaving! You’re not leaving me!”
He’s not. He won’t.
And George was gasping in his ear. “I don’t—I don’t wanna go.”
“You won’t. You won’t.” Dream cradled the back of his head, pressing his cheek into his and rocking them back and forth. “I’m gonna keep you right here, okay. I’m gonna take care of you and love you and make sure nothing bad happens to you ever again.”
A cry ripped from George’s throat and this time there was no denying the recognizable hiss underneath.
“No no no, George stay with me.” George’s labored breathing began to calm but it only made Dream’s panic worse. “Stay with me a little longer.” George’s grip began to loosen. “Don’t leave me here alone.”
And George stopped.
The world stopped.
George took a deep rattling breath.
And the world started again.