Excerpt from His Heartbeat

Atticus

Once upon a time, I died.

It's all right though, because I don't think my story is quite over yet.

Practically speaking I am one of the undead. We're known by plenty of strange names in popular culture, the most common of which is zombies.

I know what you're thinking. That I'm a slow-moving, grunting ghoul with hollow eyes and brain particles hanging from my rotten teeth.

This is, in fact, not true. Okay, my eyes are kind of hollow since the transformation and they are a much more luminous green than before. Some might say like a radio-active green, but whatever.

The good news is, I don't eat people, brains or otherwise.

I don't grunt unless I'm really frustrated, but I've always done that. And I'm not any slower than a "normal" person. I try to stay in shape, which for me means walking everywhere. I own a car. Several, actually. But I stopped driving for … reasons.

That too vague for you? How about this: around twenty years ago, there was an accident in the town where I live. I won't bore you with the details, but some people died, some people fled, and some people changed. That's how I ended up a zombie.

I'm not the only zombie in town, but there are lots of other … monsters, too. While being one of the undead is no fun, a lot of other people have it way worse. Right after the transformation some of the other locals kept on changing. They went full-on monstrous. Got feral and dangerous.

At that time I stopped driving because I wasn't sure if that would happen to me and I didn't want to be in a vehicle if it did. So now I just walk everywhere.

Currently I'm taking my daily walk to Lucky Beans because Roan, the owner, keeps bovine brains stocked for me and invented some kind of caffeine-infused brain latte that really hits the spot.

I'm not planning to stay and drink in the shop today, but rather take my beverage to go. I'm not the most social guy. I was a reclusive nerd even when I was a human. Besides, something in the air has me feeling restless. I suspect it has something to do with the new housing incentives they're doing in town to try and lure the humans back.

Humans. Because now, we—the collective remains of the citizens in Screaming Woods—are other.

Humans in a town full of others seems like a bad idea. Dangerous for all involved. But no one asked me.

The person I used to consider my closest friend is now the CEO of my company, since I obviously couldn't be the face of Hunt Industries anymore. I still keep in communication; I just do so via video chats where I can manipulate the image of myself. Everyone thought I'd been in some sort of accident that had scarred me and that was the reason I now hid from the public.

I suppose I have a handful of friends here. Roan, who owns the coffee shop, but he is invisible, so that makes chatting awkward at best. There is Silas who no one can get too close to or else risk electrocution. Then there is Draven, whom I like quite a bit, but he is a grumpy sort who never leaves his castle. So, we keep our conversations strictly to the phone. He designs video games though and I play periodically, so we have technology in common.

Lucky Beans wasn't busy yet.

"Morning Atticus," Mel greeted me from behind the counter. Her little rodent-like nose twitched as she smiled and finished off the drink she was making. She is a porcupine-esque creature now with quills and everything; pretty cool.

"My usual, please." I looked around the open space, searching for the metal mesh apron and gloves that Roan wears to protect the rest of us from his invisibility. His was the gift that kept on giving, considering if he touched you or items he could pass on the invisibility like a damn virus. I'd never really asked him about it because frankly, he didn't like to talk about it. I couldn't blame him.

"Atticus," Roan's deep voice came from the back. The gloved hands carried out a few things. "Mel, you want me to make his drink?"

"I got it," she said.

"Later, Atticus. I'm unloading some stuff in the back."

"No problem, Roan. Have a good one. Mel, could I get the drink to go?"

A few minutes later, I leave Beans with my drink in a recyclable cup. Some days I walk all the way through town, then head back through the woods towards my house. Today, I decide to just cut straight into the thick of the trees.

I know from memory that the weather is crisp and chilly. A perfect fall day. But my skin no longer deciphers the difference in temperature. So, I rely on memory and other clues. Like the fallen leaves crunching beneath my shoes.The way the light changes in the woods as sunlight filters through the barren branches.

A scent catches on the breeze and I could swear my stomach rumbles. It's a sweet smell, like vanilla and sugar and butter creamed together. The beginnings of a cookie recipe.

The scent grows stronger. This time my cock stirs. What the fuck?

I stop and look down. It hasn't reacted to anything other than direct stimuli—my hand—in two decades, but that, right now, is definitely the beginnings of an erection.

Then a scream breaches the silence.

A woman's scream.

She is in danger. I determine her direction and run towards her. Her screams grow louder and then I hear the growling. One of the ferals.

I pump my legs faster, harder. Her scent intensifies and goddamn, it's like an audible clicking of gears inside my body. Something shifts and then settles. And all of me is attuned to finding her, saving her. Because she matters.

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