A World Alone - A Zombie Novel

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Stella P.O.V

Joey is picking at a scab on his arm. His attention has not moved from it since. I watch him, his nail digging into the crust and peeling it back to free a bubble of bright red. He wipes it away, smearing it across his skin, and moves on to find the next one.

He has not said anything since the reanimation. Not even cursed or sighed at the pain he must be inflicting on himself. He sits in the chair beside mine, his head bowed so he does not have to see the body.

Logan has found a sheet to cover it, and has draped it over. Still, the outline is visible, with maroon flowering from its head, soaking through the white fabric. Inch by inch, the red creeps against the white, devouring it the way spilled ink taints a page.

Logan stands silently by the couch, his eyes, like mine, are trained on Joey. I think we're waiting for something. Waiting for him to move, or speak. But he gives no sign of doing either.

He just sits, picking at the scabs spread out along his arms.

"Joey?" I ask, twisting my body so that I am facing him. He makes no indication that he has heard me, he just keeps picking.

Pick, pick, pick.

Bloody dots cover his arms now. Soon he will have nothing left to pick at, and I worry then that he will begin digging into his skin.

"Joey say something." I demand, "please?"

His finger stops its burrow and his head sways the slightest bit that I'm not sure if it was an intentional movement or not.

"It's my fault." He says, the words spoken softly as if he's afraid of waking the dead.

"What?" I ask.

"It's my fault," he repeats, "all of it. We wouldn't even be here right now if it weren't for me!"

"Joey that's-"

"No!" He cuts me off, his head snapping in my direction. "Don't even try to justify it Stella!"

His eyes scare me, no longer reflecting the distant memory of an ocean long forgotten. Their blue have dissolved to a darker tone, taking the color of the sky when night attacks. He tears them away, looking back down at his arms.

"How many people are dead because me?" He falls silent and I know that he is counting. "Y'know that's why I didn't want to kill those people at the supermarket?" He turns back to me, "because even though that was you, I still blame myself. Like I should have stopped you or something."

"But those people were planning to kill us!"

"I know that!" He shouts, "but I..." His voice drops off with a shake of his head and he sighs, "I just don't want anymore blood on my hands."

He rubs at his eyes with clenched fists, as if trying to wipe away the guilt. I share a glance with Logan, unsure of what to say. He looks as helpless as I do. There's nothing either of us can say. We can lie, but what good will that do? He won't believe us anyway. As the silence begins to descend upon us, Joey reaches forward and grabs the red bag at his feet, the one that he has been cradling as if his life depended on it.

"Here." He says, handing it to me, "get rid of it, destroy it, do whatever the hell you want with it, I don't care."

His eyes linger on it as I take it from him, his hand resting on its red fabric longer than necessary. I pull it to my side, out of his reach, and his hand retracts.

He returns to his scabs.

Logan clears his throat, "we should probably get going soon. Not much sense hanging around here."