Sunkissed: A Zombie Novel

Chapter Eight

The car is pitch-black, it's cold, and I'm alone.

I can't tell if my eyes are open or not at first. I sit up slowly, also unable to tell if I'm still alive. How am I supposed to check? I place two fingers to my neck and find a soft, yet steady pulse. I rub the fabric of the blanket that lays over me with my other hand and feel the soft cotton. I take in deep breaths, shake out my hair.

"I think I'm alive," I whisper to no one, my voice quivering. Confusion, relief, and stress flood through me all at once. Confusion, because I shouldn't be alive. Relief, because I am. Stress, because Danny is not in the car with me.

I shift in my seat, checking the car. Two of the three bags we brought are gone. I look into the front seat. The keys are in the ignition, my dad's hammer in the driver's seat, and the axe is nowhere to be found.

I sit down in the backseat, wondering what time it is. It's pitch-black out and there's no way I'm leaving the safety of the car when the undead could be lurking around. I lower my head back down and pull the blanket up around my shoulders.

I must have been exhausted, because before I even have time to worry if I'll wake up again, I'm reawakening, sunlight piercing through my closed eyelids. I first sigh thankfully, but dread again weighs heavily on my shoulders.

Danny is gone, and I have no idea whether she's still alive or not, nor do I have any clue where she might head to if she is alive. I think about calling her, but I quickly remember that she had forgotten her phone at her parents' house. I wonder how long it was after I passed out before Danny left me here, how far she had to go to get to another car, if she made it, if she's safe. She must have left while the sun was still up; doing otherwise would be downright unintelligent, and Danny was not unintelligent.

My stomach growls, and I take inventory of the things Danny left behind. There's only some food and a little water left, besides the blanket that Danny laid on me while I was sleeping. I find a can of ravioli—figures; Danny doesn't like ravioli—when I try to recall if I was smart enough to bring a can opener. If I was, Danny took that as well before she left.

I stare down at the unopened can longingly, and then tuck it away. Finding a box of granola bars, I eat two and drink half a bottle of water. I'm still hungry, but I want to save my resources. Who knows when the next time I'll come across food will be.

After folding up the blanket and shoving it back in the bag with the food and water, I grab the hammer from the driver's seat and open the car door.

I thought I'd never feel sunlight again. I spread my arms wide and soak up the sun, when I catch a glimpse of the bloody bandage around my wrist. "Should change that," I mutter. But the first aid kit is also gone.

Sitting on the passenger side, I open up the glove compartment to look for something helpful. "Score!" I cry, finding that the previous owner of the car was smart enough—or cautious enough—to store a first aid kit there. Glad Danny didn't see it and snatch it for herself, I find another roll of gauze and begin to undo my bandages.

I pause in between wrappings to examine the bite marks: a semi-circle at the curve of my wrist, and a matching imprint on the underside. Each dent is perfectly etched into my skin, dried blood lining the toothprints. I use some disinfectant from the kit on the wound, taking in a sharp breath when it stings. Then I carefully wrap it with clean gauze and tie it off neatly when I'm finished.

"Now, where to?" I ask aloud. Looking up through the windshield, the empty highway stretches out before me.

I try weighing my options.

I can go...anywhere.

"So much for that," I mutter. Do I want to keep the car, or should I try to find something sturdier? Or maybe another gas-smart vehicle? A car has protection, but a motorcycle has a distinct advantage when it comes to distance.