PLAYTHING

If I had been told, a week ago, that I would wake up safe and warm in the arms of an infected hunter, I would have punched someone in the face.

It was bizarre, given the situation, how calm and contented I was. I was cuddled up, lying on my right side, my left arm hanging over his hip. Both of his arms were around me, our legs woven together, and I could feel his breath on the top of my head. I was also clad in my birthday suit, and he in his.

His skin was hot to the touch, which, at first, seemed somewhat strange. When I think ‘zombie’ I think dead, cold, rotting flesh and a thirst for brains. My hunter was warm, constantly horny, and very much alive. I guess, though, ‘zombie’ was just a name that they’d been labeled with to make them seem less human.

That way, you didn’t feel quite so bad when you shoved a shotgun barrel in their face and introduced them to a round of piping hot lead.

I wiggled and squirmed, finally winning my freedom without having woken him. Damn, I was stiff; my whole body ached.

My legs especially.

I shouldn't have been quite so pleased about that.

Trying to keep my footsteps quiet, I shuffled into the bathroom. A hot shower would ease my aching body. The knobs turned with ease, and the rainfall from behind the shower curtain quickly filled the bathroom with steam.

I stepped in and moaned, thankful that the hot water heater for the apartment building seemed to like me. A copious amount of shampoo was unloaded atop my head, and I worked the lather until I was satisfied.

With all of the time that I'd spent in the hunter's company, I should have been able to sense, or at least hear, him more easily. At times I did, but others I didn't. I guess that since I was no longer afraid of him, it didn't bother me much not to be able to hear him.

Which is why I jumped so high when one minute I was alone in the shower and the next I found his arms sliding around my waist.

I hadn't even heard him push back the shower curtain. Damn, Zoey, you're losing your edge.

His hands came to rest on my stomach, and his chin found my shoulder for support.

I know it was bad news for me, but I liked the purring noise he made when we were close like this. I shouldn't have, but I did.

It was weird that I smiled. I hadn't smiled in a long time, not truly, since the outbreak of the infection. There'd been too much clouding my mind and troubling my heart. I didn't have to think when I was with my hunter. I just had to feel.

And, I guess, he didn't mind the low brain activity on my part.

Still, I wiggled from his grasp. Loading one palm up with shampoo, I went to work on his hair. He didn't growl at me, like I half expected him to, but he still didn't look very pleased.

I washed his hair a second time, just in case. If we were going to be in such intimate proximity, he was going to be clean, God Dammit.

Turning to rinse my hands free of suds after I'd properly cleaned his scalp, I turned my back to the hunter and let the water fall against my neck and shoulders.

His hands snaked around my waist again, and I wasn't about to protest.

He surprised me when he twisted me in his arms so that we were facing one another. His arms brought me close against his chest, one of his hands resting between my shoulder blades while the other traced circles in the small of my back. I lazily let my hands explore his shoulders as I slowly slid my arms around his neck. He was well built, I'd easily give him that.

Knew how to use those hands of his, too.

I pressed my face to his chest, pleased that the water remained hot despite having been in the shower for so long.

He nuzzled the side of my neck, obviously pleased for other reasons.

I gave in without even thinking about it. One moment he was holding me, and the next my back was pressed against the shower wall.

His hands slid up and down my thighs, though he moved slower than before. His actions were deliberate, calibrated; so unlike the raw need from the night before.

Unable to help myself, I arched against him.

He growled, bowed his head against me, and nipped at my collarbone.

I let my arms rest on his shoulders and lazily ran a hand through his hair.

His teeth raked across my neck, and I tilted my head back. I was shameless in my want of his attention, but what the fuck did I care? I felt his lips move up, and it wasn't long before his mouth claimed mine in a heavy, wanting kiss.

If this was wrong, I didn't want to be right.

His hands pinned my hips to the wall, his desire obviously no longer taking back seat to his indulgence of me. Not that I was going to bitch. He was inside of me with a push, and I shuddered at the feel of him.

And yet, he still had it in him to tease me.

He pulled out, almost completely, at a deliciously slow pace, and then pounded me against the wall as his hips pushed against mine.

I couldn't help but moan.

It must have been what he was looking for, however, because the deep sound of satisfaction that rumbled through the hunter was enough to curl my toes all over again.

He apparently liked to tease me like this, however, because his slow pull and heavy push continued until I was clawing at his back and pushing my hips against his frantically. I whined into his ear, panting, feeling like I was going to explode.

Deviousness was something that seemed to please him greatly. One moment I was almost to the breaking point from his slow pounding of me, and the next his hips were nailing me against the wall with all of the fury and lust from the night before.

God. Damn. He was good.

My fingers sank into his back as my muscles tightened and the world came crashing down around me in a sea of stars and light-headedness. As I floated back down from the heavens, he snarled into my ear. His back twitched under the skin of my fingertips as he panted against me, completely satisfied.

He held me against the wall for quite some time, the both of us simply straining to catch our breath. Eventually, I leaned over and turned off the water flow. He steadied me, and held my arm as we both stepped out of the tub.

The fact that we were dripping wet didn't serve as a deterrent; he led me by the elbow back to bed. His big arms immediately went around me, and I had a feeling that the bed was going to be where we were going to spend a lot more of our time.

I liked the idea that it pleased him so much to cuddle after he'd screwed me. He ran his fingers through my hair and I drifted off into a light nap.

My growling stomach woke me. I eased out of the hunter's arms and made my way to the dresser, finding another button up shirt and a pair of undies for each of us. I found another pair of sweatpants and tossed them at him along side the underwear. The shirt easily fit over my head, without any of the buttons having to be dealt with.

Not bothering to see if he'd followed me, I meandered into the kitchen, pulling on the underwear one leg at a time. I pulled the sausage from where I'd hidden it earlier, intent on gluttony.

He wandered into the kitchen shortly after I'd put water on to boil for the remainder of the noodles. He hovered around me as I cooked, but I found that, even with him so close, he knew when to ease off and allow me a little space to move around.

Even if he couldn't talk to me, it was more than comforting knowing I had someone so strong and capable near me. I had little to fear with him in reaching distance.

I finished cooking our food, mixing the slices of the sausage in with the noodles, and turned the stove off. Plucking some meat from the dish, I pushed it against the hunter's lips.

He whined and moved his head away, taking my hand by the wrist and moving toward my face. I smiled, deducing that he wanted me to eat first. I did, and enjoyed every last damn bite. A little more than half was left when I was full and the hunter began to eat out of my hands without protest when I offered. He lapped at my fingers when he'd finished, taking my index finger in his mouth and pulling ever so gently.

I couldn't help my laugh. It was just funny to see him try to be sexy. I knew he meant well, which was why I was so amused in the first place. He placed a kiss to my palm, smiling along with me.

“Get something for dessert,” I told him, turning away from him and walking toward the bedroom door. “We'll eat in bed.”

What? My legs were still sore.

I crawled over the bulk of the bed, rolling back and flopping down with a contented sigh. I heard a few cupboards open and close, and a few moments later the hunter shuffled in with a can of peaches in hand.

Unable to stop myself, I smiled. I sat up, holding my hand out, and took the can from his hands. The lid popped off easily enough, and I pressed the tin opening to my lips, swallowing enough of the juice so that I'd be able to dig out the fruit a little easier. I tugged out a piece, nearly losing it back to the can care of the syrup it was floating around in, and pressed it to the hunter's lips. He smiled against the fruit, taking the peach, along with my fingertips, into his mouth.

I made to grab a piece for myself, but my hand was promptly swatted away. Carefully, the hunter dipped his clawed fingers into the can and speared a piece of fruit. Pleased when the slice didn't fall away from him, he pressed it to my lips with a gentle smile. I took his offering, chuckling lightly. It was weird being fed by him, considering he had a hard time feeding himself. Nevertheless, we finished the can, feeding one another in turn.

Tipping the can, now void of fruit, to my lips again, I drained the rest of the juice.

Sadly, I missed, what with sitting at a slight odd angle, and managed to dribble peach juice down my chin. The empty can was taken from my grasp and tossed to the floor. The next thing I knew, I felt his tongue snaking up my cheek, cleaning me of the sticky mess.

I smiled, tilting my head away from him and sighing.

He kissed down my neck, letting out that deep growl as his lips teased my skin.

“I wish this could last,” I whispered against him.

He stopped, dead. No pun intended.

I swallowed, knowing fully I'd fucked up the mood. I had to be honest, though. I wouldn't lie to myself, or him.

“You know this can't last. I can't stay here with you forever.”

He snarled against my neck, and I jumped at the feral sound.

“Stop that. It's the truth.”

I felt my heart sink to my stomach. I'd hurt him, I could tell.

But what was I to do? Lie through my teeth to him? I couldn't bring myself to do something like that. He deserved the truth.

He growled into my ear and took my wrist in his grasp.

I flinched against him, having forgotten how strong he was. My wrist began to ache under his fingers. I wiggled against him, trying to free myself.

“Let go. You're hurting me.”

The snarl that burst fourth from him was all feral. Gone was the hunter I knew, and there in his place was the fierce killer I should have feared.

He bit me, on the neck- and not just some love bite like I'd grown used to.

He bit me, and he bit me hard.

I whimpered underneath him, clutching the sheets with my free hand.

“You're hurting me!”

He snarled against me, and I felt his teeth puncture skin.

I cried out, bringing my free hand and smacking him against the head.

My heart in my throat, I felt the hunter push off of me. He leaped from the bed and pressed his back against the far wall, panting. I watched him, his eyes wide, look down at his palms. His mouth fell open, and he let out a choking sound.

When he took a step back toward me, I couldn't help but flinch away. I pressed myself against the headboard, only slightly aware that I was shaking.

He bolted, and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.

I heard him pacing just beyond the other side, his heavy footsteps thundering from one side of the apartment to the next.

Then, I heard the distinct smashing of glass and wood.

He yelled; a deep, mournful bellow that made my skin crawl. I heard more things being broken on the other side of the door, and the rather distinct sound of a cupboard door being ripped off its hinges.

The sound of the slider door opening, then slamming shut, made me jump.

I wasn't aware that I'd been short of breath until I tried to take a deep gulp of air. The world spun on me, and I almost blacked out. My heart hammered in my chest so fast that I was terrified it was going to beat right out of my chest.

It was nearly an hour later before I managed to get out of bed. I used the restroom quickly, the splashed water on my face. I used a wad of wet toilet paper to wash away the blood on my neck. The wound would heal well, mostly because of the minimal blood loss, which surprised me somewhat.

When I walked out into the main room of the apartment, the amount of damage that had been done made me freeze. I couldn't bear it, so I simply turned around, shut the bedroom door, and picked up a box of mini-powdered donuts.

It must have been lumped in with the extra things he'd brought me the night before last. I ate a few, but found I wasn't able to stomach much else.

I picked up a magazine, trying to distract myself, but found that I couldn't concentrate. I tossed the collage of colorful ads to the floor, and burrowed under the covers of the bed. Stressed and tired, my mind wandered. I began to cry for no other reason than the fact that I felt like shit.

When my chest hurt from crying so much, and I felt relatively better than I had before, I threw the covers off and paced around the bedroom. I found, much to my secret, albeit small, delight, a stack of paperback books hidden under a few pairs of pants near the corner of the room.

It wasn't until I got them back to the bed and plopped several of them down that I realized what kind of jackpot I'd hit: several Clive Barker books, luckily including The Thief of Always, and one of the few novels that ever made my hair stand on end; Stephen King's Salem's Lot. Fantasy and horror stories had always been my favorite. How ironic of a position was I in compared to some of these books, I mused.

Snuggling against a few pillows, I nabbed a random book and set to work.

My breath hitched when I opened the first page.

There, in the same neat handwriting that the letter the hunter had written me before the infection had been in, was an inscription.

'If found, please return to Tristan Bradley.'

The phrase was accompanied by a phone number.

I threw the book off the bed, and grabbed the next of the pile. The front page bore the same message.

My blood ran hot and cold within me at the same time.

I picked up a third book and flipped it open. Same. Damn. Thing.

I felt my hands begin to shake.

It was one thing to think of him as I had been; a once-human being who was head over heels for me.

But now that I knew his name?

Reality came crashing down on me like a brick to the face. Everything was real. Everything.

Especially him.

Tristan Bradley.

The name rang in my ears, over and over again, until I buried my head under my pillow in a desperate attempt to drown out the echoes.

I cried until I fell asleep.

And I woke up when I heard footsteps come from the other room. The door opened and closed, and I sat up, groggy beyond all belief. It felt like I'd been slugged in the head.

I rubbed one eye, easing my weight onto my other arm, and tried to see what was going on.

“Tristan?”

It was a stupid thing to do, to call out his name. True, I hadn't been in my right mind when I'd awoke, but what I'd done was borderline stupid, to be honest.

I watched him back against the closed door, his shoulders suddenly very tense.

The anxiety on his face woke me right he hell up. I stumbled for an apology, wishing I'd used my damn brain. Dumbly, I pointed to the books on the floor and end of the bed. “I'm sorry. You left, and I didn't have anything to do so I looked through your books. That's your name, isn't it? I found it written in a few of them.”

There was a distinct look of hurt strewn across his face when he turned his back toward me.

Great job, Zoey.

I watched him pick up his hands and flex his claws, his gaze intently upon his digits as he worked the muscles in them. His entire body tensed, as if he were going to throw another tantrum like had done earlier, but one heartbeat later his shoulders sagged.

He was resigned.

The low, sorrowful wail that came from him broke my heart.

My body reacted when my mind couldn't, and my legs, of their own accord, brought me to stand next to him. I reached out a hand to touch him, but he flinched out of my grasp and stumbled across the room.

He tried to growl, but the noise ended in a whine. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked the bedside lamp off its table and, with a crashing pop, the room fell into darkness.

I eased myself toward the bed and sat down, trying to get near the middle. His labored breathing was easy to hear so, despite not being able to see well, I knew where he was.

“Come sit down.” I tried to keep my voice calm and gentle, but I was still scared. Considering the mark that now marred my neck, could you blame me? What might have happened if he hadn't stopped and completely lost his temper with me underneath him?

I heard another whine issue forth from him, low and full of self-loathing.

Right now, his needs were greater than mine.

“None of that. Come sit with me, Tristan.”

It was weird, using his name. It cemented everything, made it real and solid. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, really.

The edge of the bed dipped under his weight.

I reached out to him, finding his bare shoulder. I'd forgotten he'd left the apartment earlier lacking proper clothing. Well, at least he still had pants on, right?

Running my hand up the shoulder of his skin, I traced his neck and jaw line, resting my palm against his cheek.

He couldn't explain to me in words what was going through his head, but I could hear it in the whimpering sounds he made, all the same.

He was ashamed of what he'd become; he hated what he was.

“Don't hide yourself from me.”

If I was going to be honest with him, he was going to be honest with me, Dammit.

His body rushed at mine, and his lips were pressed again the bite mark before I had time to blink. He whined against me, no other part of our bodies touching.

“I'm okay. Everyone loses their temper sometimes.”

He flinched away, like I'd insulted him.

“I'm okay,” I told him, reaching out and stopping his retreat with a hand to his bicep.

“I'm okay. We're okay. I promise.”

The next moment, I was bowled over. His arms wrapped tight against me, I felt as his whole body shook. One of his hands ran through my hair while the other, tightly wound around my waist, held me close against him.

I reached up and let my fingers fall though his hair.

“Kiss me?”

I was all kinds of courageous tonight, wasn’t I?

His kiss was gentle and pleading, a sentiment I was slowly becoming used to seeing in him.

Smiling against him, I pushed his shoulders up and rolled him over so that he way lying face up on the bed. I swung my hips over his, somewhat kneeling atop of him, and simply let my weight rest on his upper body. His arms snaked around me again, roaming their way up and down my back and hips.

“We’re okay,” I reiterated, kissing him on the cheek.

One of his hands trailed its way up my back and rested on the back of my head. He pressed me in for another kiss, his lips still gentle against mine.

I had other things in mind, however. It had been selfish of me to use him the other night as device to keep me from going numb. True, it wasn’t as though either of us were found complaining. But now that I’d seen the turmoil within him I wanted to be the thing that made him feel again.

Slowly, I kissed a line across his jaw, nipping at his neck.

His hands fell from my head and back and shot to his sides. He grabbed a handful of bedding with either fist, and then moaned against me.

It was pretty fucked up to think that sound curled my toes in impish delight and desire.

Oh well.

I nipped at his collarbone and felt his chest arch as he heaved a heavy breath.

I also heard the fabric he was gripping begin to tear under the stress of his clenched hands.

“Tristan,” I whispered while trailing my fingers down his toned chest. He shuddered under me, groaning.

It was easy to tell he was trying to restrain himself.

That, however, wasn’t part of my plan.

I needed to show him how to bring his human side and his feral side together as one. Oh, I don’t doubt it was both that had been nailing me all over the apartment the past few days. It had been, however, different each time; some wild and greedy, others gentle and giving.

I let my fingers hesitate on the elastic waistband of his pants for only a moment. Despite the fabric barrier between us, I could easily tell how hard he was.

He hadn’t expected me to touch him like that, my fingers smoothly running down the entire length of him. He moaned, and I could tell from the sound of ripping fabric that his restraint was quickly coming to an end.

I eased my face next to his, nipping at his earlobe.

One more call of his name was all it took for me to push him over the edge.

A moment later I was flipped onto my back, his hands attacking the boxer shorts I had on. His hands were frantic, and I wasn’t about to get in his way. He had the fabric down past my ankles in a matter of seconds, a feat I admired him for considering he still couldn’t get his damned hoodie over his head without help. I felt him wiggle the rest of the way out of his pants next.

And then he was on top of me. Nipping, biting, growling; he already knew my every button, everything I delighted in him doing to me. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pushing up against him. He pushed inside me with ease, that low, deep moan emanating from within his chest.

“Tristan,” I mewled against him. His hips kicked against mine, already working feverishly in search of satisfaction.

We both found it.

Damn him for being so good. No one should have this kind of power over me, especially not in bed.

Not that I was about to bitch about it, right?

I called out his name again, digging my nails into his back.

He answered my cry, moaning against me as he slowly came back down from release.

I was dimly aware of him as he pulled out and pulled me close, not even bothering with covers this time. He buried his face against my neck, inhaled deeply, and relaxed completely; sleep was overcoming him already. Mental and physical exhaustion can do that to you. I fell asleep shortly after him.

He woke me up with the light stroking of his fingers over my cheek. I was somewhat cold, but not uncomfortable. Stilling up, I yawned stretched my neck.

A bundle of cloth was unceremoniously plopped in my lap. I looked at my hunter, but he was already on his way out of the bedroom. Maybe he was hungry and wanted me to cook him something. Whatever. I was slightly sore and still somewhat sleepy. Regardless, I donned what he'd given me – boxer shorts, sweatpants, and a t-shirt, all of which easily a few sizes too big – and made my way out to the living room.

Another bundle of something was shoved at me. I held up the gift and peered at it. It was a backpack, and from the weight of it there wasn't much inside.

I looked at him and raised any eyebrow. “What is this?”

He looked up at me with milky eyes and reached up to pat himself on his shoulder blades, very obviously indicating he wanted me to put the pack on. I complied, extremely confused.

I didn't like what happened next. In fact, I fucking hated it.

He stood up to his full height, reached toward me, and picked me up. It wasn't until he headed toward the sliding glass door did I realize what he was doing.

I began to struggle and yell in his arms.

“What the hell are we doing! Put me down right now! Tristan!”

Despite my protests and all the wiggling I did – fat lot it helped – we made our way out onto the balcony overlooking the rundown city.

The look on his face was morose. He turned his head toward mine, leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips, then tossed me onto his back and jumped.

My throat was in my heart the entire way down. I knew better than to scream, lest I attract unwanted attention, while he climbed down the wall. Even with my added weight, he was still agile. I knew that if I were carrying someone on my back, I sure as hell wouldn't be able to scale a fucking building. I doubted I would even be able to with my own weight.

We were on the ground quickly enough, but my feet didn't touch the cement quite yet. I knew, as did he, obviously, that I was no match for what infested the city without a firearm in my hands.

With my legs wrapped around his waist, and my arms around his neck, we ran quietly through the darkened streets of a once bustling city. I knew when we passed and old, ransacked apartment building what part of the city we were in, and what direction we were traveling. It looked as though we were making our way to the hospital.

Gripping me tightly around my legs, he leaped and landed on a broken window sill a few floors up in an office building.

When he put me down, I realized it was the same office building I’d been knocked from. He knew I’d lost my gun. Hell, he'd been the one to knock it from my hands. He sniffed around carefully before taking a step away from me.

The entire building stank of the dead. Hell, the entire city was rife with the stench of hundreds of rotting bodies. It was no surprise that I hadn't spotted any infected yet; a huge portion of them had most likely either starved to death for lack of decent food, or died when the others decided to make a meal out of them. To be honest, I wasn't sure if the infected actually ate people, but a living body, no matter how fucked up the living body in question might be, needed some kind of sustenance to survive, and eating one another was the only way I could see most of them surviving for this long.

My hunter had a private cook for him. I can guarantee you that no other infected was that well off.

I shuffled around the hallway, looking for my lost gun. Had it really been an entire week since I'd been thrown from the window? Had it really been an entire week since I'd been pinned down by my hunter, then carted off like some stolen maiden from a story book?

Grow up, Zoey. This wasn't going to end happily ever after. It would surely end in some way or another, but happy would not be part of the descriptive words used.

I found my gun, only by the light that reflected off of it. Three bullets still left.

Not nearly enough to save my ass with. Tristan knelt by my side, tugging at my shirt to get my attention. I looked down at him and shook my head.

“I don't have enough to protect me, let alone the both of us. We need to find a safe room and see if there's any ammo still left.”

It was a depressing thought, not being able to defend myself, but I didn't have any other options open. It was either find a safe room and pray to whatever sadistic deity that stuck me in these shitty circumstances in the first place that there might be some ammo left over, or die.

There really wasn't room for error.

My hunter understood the state of my predicament and merely nodded, keeping low to the ground and motioning for me to follow him. It was a streak of luck that I lacked shoes; even though the cold easily seeped through, wearing only socks kept my footsteps from making noise.

We managed to quietly navigate up three flights of stairs before we eased across the bones of broken scaffolding and into the hospital. My heart pounded in my ears as we crept down the echoing hallways of what was once a bustling building, meant for helping and healing. The place was in shambles. Faucets had leaked and molded the woodwork, beds and tables littered the floor, and medical instruments and charts were strewn across our path.

I'd always thought hospitals had been scary. For no particular reason they'd frightened me.

Given the current condition of the building, my fear wasn't exactly abating any time soon. It was, however, easily more terrifying to wander a mostly empty hospital than it was to confront one filled with the living.

I say mostly empty for the sheer fact that while traversing the lower levels of the building we'd run into three infected. Though it was a nice, low number, and Tristan easily took them out, I felt it was only a matter of time before we ran into more.

The generator for the hospital had somehow managed to keep working, though only in selected areas. We passed several surgery wards with lights still blazing, and yet meandered down many dark hallways all the same.

I couldn't bring myself to use the elevators; if there was power left, knowing my luck it wouldn't be enough to support them. We found a winding flight of stairs and slowly and quietly crept up them, passing several dead and decaying bodies along the way.

When we passed by one particularly gruesome body, I felt that my earlier suspicion about the infected eating one another might just be true. The poor bastard lay in pieces on the floor, very obvious teeth and claw marks decorating what little was left of him.

We made it as far as we could before we hit a blockade in the stairwell and were forced, once again, to walk the decrepit halls of the hospital. Before, when it'd been the other survivors and I... it was just as much about survival as it was about the thrill. I'm not going to pretend it wasn't, for the sake of sounding sane because, honestly, sanity was the least of my worries (and, given that I'd already fucked a zombie a few more times that what's healthy, I'm really in no place to argue the state of my mind). I feel as though a part of that came from the fact that no one really believed what was happening; it felt so much like a movie or a game that we'd convinced ourselves it had been. Here and now, as Tristan crept low to the floor, listening for any signs of danger, my heart was thumping so hard I felt like my damn ear drums were going to pop and I knew that it was real.

Tristan pointed a clawed finger down the hallway. There, on the wall, were makings that a safe room was up ahead. We looked to one another, and then set off running. Well, to be fair I was running and Tristan was leaping, but we were still traveling down the hall as fast as we could.

I was half expecting a horde, or a tank, to come thundering around the corner as we made it down the hall, but I suppose lady luck had momentarily turned her head the other way.

We piled chairs and desks and anything even remotely heavy in front of the door once we were safely inside the safe room. The walls were illuminated by a single naked light bulb that hung from the ceiling.

And then, for what could have been many reasons, I sank against the wall, slid to the floor, and proceeded to break down.

My hands were shaking, my heart was thumping, everything was too loud, the room was too bright, the world was nose-diving; I'm not sure what the trigger was. I couldn't pin down a single reason for my freak out, because, honestly, I don't think there was just one. Everything that had happened over the past week came crashing down on me in a wave of cold realization.

Tristan was in front of me in a heartbeat, but I wasn't in my right mind. I reached out and tried to push him away, sobbing, but he wouldn't have it. He took my wrists in his hands and pushed his forehead against mine, whimpering.

I looked up into those milky, clouded eyes of his and just cried.

He did his best to soothe my heart, wiping away my tears and holding my face in his hands.

My mind was spinning.

Some people might view me as weak at this point, and, honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. You'd think that, put in a situation like mine, you'd be able to keep your head, that you wouldn't panic or break down, but let me tell you something- I'm not weak. Not by a long shot. Any other person put in my predicament wouldn't have survived half as long as I have. The human mind does some strange things in the face of danger, and while mine is no exception, my overall breakdown just came at a bad time, and rather late.

I absentmindedly watched Tristan bring over the old dusty sleeping bags that lined the floor, making a pile of them before he hefted me on top. He laid out next to me, arms wrapped around my waist, sighing. I could easily tell that he was as drained as I, but the difference between us was his strength to go on.

Honestly, I didn't even know where we were going or why. I could take a guess, oh, sure, but that would involve actually using my brain which, given my mental state, was a fuck of a lot harder than you'd think.

I don't know how long I slept for – maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour – but when I woke up I was filled with newly found resolve. My guardian hunter sat up with me, pawing at my shoulder to silently as in his own way if I was alright. I stood and filled my pockets with clip after clip of ammo.

Reloading my gun, I first looked to the door, then back to Tristan. “Don't get in my way. I don't want to accidentally shoot you.”

He stood, took me in his arms, and held me for a long moment before he took the latch off the safe room door and disappeared into the darkness.

I took a deep breath and followed him.

Our good luck was running out, and fast.

No less than seven infected screeched down the hallway at the sound of the safe room door being open.

Tristan pulled back, then pounced, taking two down at once.

My turn.

God, it had seemed like forever since I last held a gun in my hands. I aimed, pulled the trigger, and felt smug over the head-shot I'd just landed.

Two more went down after that, while Tristan took care off the rest. He stood silent for a moment, then looked to me and motioned toward the stairwell.

We made it to the roof without any more trouble, but we knew those seven weren't the last of them. Not by a long shot.

He took my hand and ran me to the small building at the base of the helipad, and I knew, with a strange, cold sense of dread what he wanted from me. We stood there, in front of the radio, in silence. Finally, he reached out, took the receiver off of its mount and thrust it toward me.

With a shaking hand, I pressed the call button.

Empty silence stretched out for what felt like a hundred years. Then, crackling sounded over the piece shattered the my world.

“This is command seven-two-seven. Is there someone there? Over.”

I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and held down the call button. “Yes. Yes, there's someone here.”

“Relay your location, please.”

“The top of Mercy hospital.”

“Good God, we thought there was nothing left in the city but the walking dead. We're sending a chopper out now. Be ready for pickup in minus five minutes and counting.”

I dropped the hand-piece and flew at Tristan, wrapping my arms around him. I was shaking in my socks, scared for reasons I couldn't place.

He patted the top of my head, then unwound my arms from around him, looking sad and hurt. He leaned down, kissed me, then crept toward the door.

I don't know what had done it, but there was a horde of the nasty bastards running toward us. I stepped up next to Tristan, reloaded my gun, new-found determination running through my veins.

“Let's give these fuckers a sweet goodbye, shall we?”

Tristan growled his approval, and we sprang into action.

I would love to say that it was a like a well choreographed action movie, but I don't think there was anything father from the truth out there. I came close to shooting my hunter only once. I'd lost my touch, it seemed, for I was clocked clear across the face by one of the unwashed zombies that had made it to the roof.

Knocked to the floor, I began shooting wildly. I panicked, and if it wasn't for Tristan's quick feet I might have blasted him, too.

He managed to knock the other zombies down before he grabbed my wrist, preventing me from shooting him. I cried out, more startled than hurt, but I knew he understood my fear.

Without hesitation, he swung me over his shoulder and began to run. He leaped up the short staircase that resided in the back of the little building, and we wound up on the roof.

The horde, screaming and snarling only steps behind, poured out of the door and came after us. Well, they were only really coming after me, but since I was slung over Tristan's back, he'd be their first target.

Knock the hunter down, get the yummy treat; I was the prize at the bottom of the cereal box.

He kept running, and for a fraction of a moment I thought he was going to run right off the edge of the building.

What he did was worse.

Taking me by the wrist, Tristan dangled me over the edge of the hospital. I screamed; oh, God did I scream. I'd be surprised if I hadn't woken the entire zombie population of the city, or at least what was left of it.

I could hear Tristan's laugh over my scream, and I knew what he was thinking.

“You bastard!” I yelled as he jumped, wrapping his arm around my waist and clawing onto the building with his free hand.

A cascade of infected jumped off the building, falling to the dark cement below. It was a good plan, I'd give him that much, but had I known... Well, I'd say 'he'd be a dead man,' but I think that would be too literal of a reiteration.

I admit to shaking. We were dangling off a building- could you really blame me? But, true to the strength I knew he possessed, Tristan pulled us back up to the roof.

Most of them were gone, having jumped off the building after us.

The ones that were remained were easily enough dispatched by my handgun.

I smirked at Tristan, proud of the shots I'd taken.

The smile slid off my lips quickly enough. Far off in the distance, I heard the distinct sound of helicopter blades nearing.

For a moment, I didn't know what to do.

I couldn't stay here.

He couldn't come with me.

It was the end.

And I felt empty.

I was dimly aware of his fingers twined through mine as he led me to the helipad. I could feel my breath coming short as I began to hyperventilate. “Tristan-” I tried to speak, but it came out as a squeak, mournful and high-pitched. “Please, I-” I don't even remember what I was saying – or what I was trying to say – all I knew is that I whimpered the entire walk up to the helipad.

I hadn't noticed I'd been crying until Tristan wiped the tears from my cheeks. His face was somber as he looked down at me.

Gripping his hoodie, I struggled to breathe.

He took my hands in his own, pulling my grasp free of the fabric of his shirt. Slowly, as if he was afraid, he bent down and kissed me.

The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. He'd pushed me backwards, away from himself and toward the helicopter that was nearing the roof of the hospital.

I reached out, some part of me begging for him to come back.

Feeling a pair of strong arms grip me, I was forced to my feet. A horrible, shrill sound filled the air, and I realized as the military personnel put a hand over my mouth that the terrible sound had been my screams.

I don't know what I was screaming for. I could no longer see Tristan, or much of anything. The tears that filled my eyes made the world cloudy. I fiercely tried to blink them away.

Forced into the helicopter, I was buckled in. An oxygen mask was placed over my face as a multitude of hands descended on me. They were meant to be comforting, I knew, but they would do no good to heal me; not after everything I'd been through in the past week.

I looked over the side of the copter, staring down at the hospital's roof from the air. There, next to one of the buildings, hidden in the shadows, stood my hunter.

His hand was stretched out, as if he could reach me.