The Shallow Places (ON HOLD)

Chapter Ten

A pair of hands gripped me like iron around my wrists as I thrashed at Zane. The more I struggled, however, the tighter he held on. His hands were like handcuffs; steel and hard and impossible to free from. My instincts told me I had to get away, so I kicked hard and aimed low. My foot hit something hard--a knee--and Zane grunted, loosening his grip slightly, but not enough to release me.

"Would you calm down?" he exclaimed, shaking me to ensure I was fully awake.

Once it was made apparent that Zane was, in fact, not one of the undead, I stopped fighting and I could relax. His eyes weren't the deep red anymore, but the crystal-like blue I was used to. I exhaled a long and slow breath, still shaken from the dream. It was so frightening. He loosened his grip, and seemed to sigh with relief as well.

"Sorry," I muttered, leaning back on the bed, but I wasn't so sure I was. After the way he spoke to me, he almost deserved it. Though it seemed that the anger and irritation had nearly dissipated from his eyes, and now was replaced by a new emotion--humor. Mere humor!

Zane smiled, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "You're fiesty," he laughed, touching his knee tenderly, "but if this is all you've got, then you need to brush up on your combat skills."

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was picking fun at me. "I'm excellent with a bow," I defended, "which you seem to be in short supply of." I made a disgusted face as he laughed again. Annoyance washed over me. He was laughing at me. However, I admit it was an improvement from earlier.

His laugh was whimsical almost, but low and mocking. He waved a dissmissive hand, "Bows are for long distances, which I'm sure you're accustomed to when you spend your days hiding up in your tiny apartment."

My back stiffened and I grew defensive again, "That's--"

Zane held up a hand to silence me, "But a bow is useless in one-on-one combat."

"How can you call it combat when they don't fight back?" I challenged.

He frowned and placed two fingers to his clean-shaven chin, but his tone was still teasing, "That's true, but they do try to eat your brains. You would need something more reliable than your hands for close distances."

"I don't like guns," I confessed, feeling useless.

"Because you don't know how to be comfortable with one."

"And I suppose you'll teach me?" I asked, unsure of what I wanted his answer to be. Part of me hoped he would say yes, but I wasn't sure why. Having alone time with Zane was frightening, but also a bit exciting. He made me feel safe, but also risky, and it was a curious emotion with feelings on two ends of the spectrum.

Zane thought a moment, "Someone has to, if you're going to stay with us."

The last syllable echoed as silence settled in between us. I began to look around and I noticed I wasn't in Eli's room anymore. I was in a room with creamy beige walls with white curtains on the windows, and a beige comforter. It was a spacious room, and the closet was large, and it was clearly one of the nicest rooms in the house. It was classy, unlike Eli's.

But why this room? Zane hated me, and I hated him.

I frowned and pressed a firm hand into the sheets--silk. Beautiful and very expensive silk, which made me afraid to ruin it.

I had only felt silk once before in my life, when my cousin Tabitha came by to visit after her trip from India. She had brought me a dress made from silk; it was blue with brown and gold edges, and it was absolutely enchanting. Towards the end of the first year of the infection, some of the Survivors set up a sort of black market in the old subway station to trade for supplies, and at the time, I was at a loss. I had traded my silk dress for canned goods and the wood I used to craft my bow. Over the months, it became too difficult for the people to get to the subway and it was eventually overrun.

I looked at Zane, who was leaning back on the bed next to me, locking his fingers behind his head. His expression was thoughtful and focused, almost sad. I smiled, wondering what, or who, he was thinking about.

"Who's room?" I asked.

He didn't look at me as he spoke, "My parents' room." His voice was steady, but I could hear the sadness behind his tone. I felt something in my gut--it was part sympathy, but mostly understanding. I knew.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say, and it wasn't enough, but when he looked back at me, his expression was grateful. He knew I meant so much more, even if I couldn't form the words.

He nodded, closing his eyes. "I should probably go," he whispered, standing to leave, "But hey, dinner is in an hour, so at least go take a shower and make yourself presentable." His voice was mocking again, and any emotion I had caught glimpse of moments ago was gone. His face was stony and the look was effortless. Showing true feeling was much harder for him.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, as I came to a new realization in that moment. I didn't move in here myself. Someone must have carried me without my knowledge. That was scary. "Who moved me over?"

"I did," he said, "Honestly, I didn't trust Eli to do it, and not just because he's bitten." He seemed to wince at the word bitten. My heart skipped at the thought of Zane's strong arms around me.

"Why this room?" I asked, honestly curious.

"I figured you would need something more private, considering you're a girl and all." He was avoiding my question. Why his parents room?

"Thank you," I whispered. He wanted to leave, I could tell, as he body was stiff with discomfort, but I didn't want him to go yet. He turned, but I grasped at his wrist until he stopped and looked at me. "I had a bad dream."

Zane sighed and rolled his eyes. He sat on the bed again, closer to me this time, and he didn't pull away when I took his hand. "I know," he hushed, "I could hear you screaming, so I came to wake you up. I thought someone was hurting you."

I was shocked that Zane was the one to come to my rescue. Zane--the cynical, rude bad boy who made his own rules. I stared into his eyes; they were bright blue in the dark, glowing against the blackness. "It was about you," I confessed.

His eyes grew wide in confusion, "What about me?"

"I had a dream you were infected and you turned into a Stillwalker." I leaned forward and rested my forehead on his shoulder. I suddenly felt comfortable enough to do so. I felt fine around Zane, for once. His back stiffened at my touch, as he was stunned by my actions. "It was scary," I whispered, "to see you as a monster."

His muscles seemed to tense up under my weight, and he pushed me away. Zane narrowed his eyes as he looked at me. His face was blank, except for his anger, which was over mastering right now. "They are not monsters," he hissed. There was something more behind his words, and by 'they', I didn't think he meant just the Stillwalkers.