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LETTY AND THE LAST STIFFS
A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE REVERSE HAREM NOVEL

LETTY’S ZOMBIE CHRONICLES

BOOK 1
KITTY SIBERIA
 Letty and the Last Stiff’s:
A Zombie Apocalypse Reverse Harem Novel
Letty’s Zombie Chronicles Book 1
By Kitty Siberia
Copyright 2023
All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 9798850599669

The Characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not
intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
 “For my dear Granny, she always allowed me to watch horror movies as a child.
I tried to explain the rh thing to her, but she believes that one man is already too much. “
 TRIGGER WARNINGS

I deeply care about your guys mental health, so please stay safe!

Zombies, gore and fighting

A potty mouth fmc
Lots of F bombs
Human trafficking
Extreme violence
Sexual assault
Attempted rape
Self harm
Amnesia
Suicide
General mental health issues
Praise kink
Explicit sex
Bi characters
Non pc jokes
Kidnapping
Soft bdsm
 CONTENTS

PART 1
1. Episode One
2. Episode Two
3. Episode Three
4. Episode Four
5. Episode Five
6. Episode Six
7. Episode Seven
8. Episode Eight
9. Episode Nine
10. Episode Ten
11. Episode Eleven
12. Episode Twelve
13. Episode Thirteen
14. Episode Fourteen
15. Episode Fifteen
16. Episode Sixteen
17. Episode Seventeen
18. Episode Eighteen
19. Episode Nineteen
20. Episode Twenty
21. Episode Twenty-One
22. Episode Twenty-Two
23. Episode Twenty-Three
24. Episode Twenty-Four
25. Episode Twenty-Five

About the Author

Also By Kitty Siberia
Writing as Krystal Frost
PART 1
EPISODE ONE
 “WHO’S THAT BLOODY PSYCHO BITCH STARING BACK AT ME FROM THE MIRROR?”

Letty

I don’t know who or what I am, and that’s a bit unnerving.

All I know is that I won’t get out of this shit alive because I feel as if I swallowed a herd of cats,
and they’re trying to claw their way out of my belly.
I woke up naked, lying on the floor, and all I saw were cold, cracked tiles covered with
something sticky that touched my face and fingers. As I sat up slowly, the world around me started to
spin.
One lonely light bulb offered pale yellow light that colored the once-white tiles in shades of
copper and red. The once-white walls were dirty. Handprints covered them, some smudged, others
clearly visible. And that smell. It burned inside my nose, traveling like a sickness down my throat and
making me gag. Pressing my nails into the soft part of my palms, I did everything possible to push
down the nausea.
That’s when I realized I sat on the floor of a dirty hospital bathroom.
As I tried to stand, I needed to kneel again and empty my stomach. This place is already filthy, so
who cares?
The noise was worse than the cramps in my belly because there was nothing in my stomach to
vomit.
Am I sick?
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand helped me get rid of the hanging strands of saliva.
Great. I’m turning into one of them drooling dogs.
I risked another look around. I didn’t feel sick anymore, and the smell no longer bothered me. All
I felt was tired and hungry.
A small emergency light flickered above the mirror. The red light moved in a sort of hypnotic
dance, bouncing off the walls, making the handprints and smudges look like one of those modern art
pieces.
After closing my eyes for a few seconds and breathing in and out, I did what I could to collect the
pieces and be myself again, whoever the hell that was.
My fingers clasped the edge of the shaky sink, and I pulled myself up, then looked at my
surroundings.
Blood was everywhere.
 On my body.
On the walls.
Bloody fingerprints covered the cracked mirror only hanging by a loose screw.
Now, I had the chance to get a look at myself. The face that stared back was foreign. I had no
memory of the woman who stood there, with her dirty, blood-encrusted hair and the lost look on her
face. She was not ugly. She seemed like the kind of bitch I’d have a beer with and who could talk
about books and swear like a sailor.
Closing and opening my eyes again, I tried to recall her name.
“Trauma,” I whispered. A part of me knew I had to be silent. Like a child, I tried to touch my face
and watched the image in the mirror.
“Yep, that’s me,” I spoke louder than intended, and another greeted my noise. A low moan that
sounded pained slid through my bones, freezing my blood.
A flat palm smacked against the flimsy door and made me jump.
“The fuck.” I looked around the broken bathroom. It was obvious that something did go down
here. Only what?
The answer was on the other side of the door. I just fucking knew that.
Someone was beating on the other side of the door. It wasn’t a knock as if someone was checking
to see if you were okay, but the smack of an open palm pounding hard against the door. Each new hit
made the door shiver and made me jump.
More than one person was out there, their chorus of voices and shuffling feet clearly audibly.
They knocked and pushed against the door wildly. One of them peered through the door’s small
window, and I saw its face reflected in the mirror.
The sounds converging over me, and the images dancing in the red and orange light, were not
human. No longer able to look at the face of the snarling stranger that faced me from the mirror, I
ducked, trying to make myself small. The reflection was ready for war, but my little cowardly heart
wasn’t. Or was it?
My breath stuck in my throat as I tried to pull my knees up to my chest and turn myself into a
small, shaky void. With my hands covering my ears, I closed my eyes and tried to shake the fear away.
Fear again raised the question I had when I woke up.
Who am I?
Why am I sitting naked on the floor?
I must have been hurt because I was in a hospital.
Taking another shaky breath, I examined myself.
I was dirty, but as my hands wandered over my feet, legs, and lower abs. I couldn’t find any cuts
or other wounds that would explain the blood crusted all over my skin.
The things out there kept banging against the door, louder and louder, demanding access.
“My head,” I whispered. Every idiot knows head wounds are bad and bleed abundantly. My
fingers probed my scalp softly but found nothing, only my hair stuck together in awkward angles.
My inspection kept going. I eventually gave up because my body was fine. Nothing was bleeding.
Interesting.
Even though my mind wandered, and I didn’t know my name, my body felt fine and unharmed.
There was no pain. I stood up again, using the sink to support my hands, which were also covered in
dry, crusted blood. This place looked like a damned exploded tampon or something.
There was so much blood I could taste it in my mouth, the tangy, coppery flavor climbing slowly
inside my brain.
 “Huh, not bad,” I said to the face that looked back at me from the mirror for the second time. My
face was covered in dry blood, but I looked cute in a psycho-killer Carrie-type of way.
“Well, hello.” I only dared to whisper.
The sounds from the other side of the door scared me. Each new thump made me jump. And that
sound was in my ears, like the rustling of dried leaves in the fall. The door was locked, but I knew the
wood panel would crack sooner or later, and whoever they were would come through.
Turning on the faucet, the water that dripped out was brown. Even so, I used the dirty water to
scrub some of the blood off my face and hands. The blood stuck under my fingernails was another
story. A few tattoos covered the side of my neck and moved toward the back. Was that a kitten?
My hair must have been a light color, and the blue eyes gave my face such an innocent look. But
am I such an innocent one? A good girl gone bad, I thought.
As I met my reflection in the cracked mirror, I still drew a blank, an emptiness.
“What should I call you?” I whispered.
Even though they beat wildly against the door, I was in no hurry. I can’t do anything more now
than keep my shit together. There will be plenty of time to worry about my name. I had other
priorities, like getting out of this blood-encrusted bathroom.
A burger would be great, especially a Big Mac. Awesome. I could recall the name of a Big Mac
but couldn’t recall my damn name.
Fucking great.
“Fuck,” I whispered, scared of the sound of my own voice. It was foreign and cold, coiling on the
surface of my skin like a snake moving around my right arm. Yet it evoked nothing. As I closed my
eyes, I remembered I liked Michael Jackson’s voice, but again, as I said his name, my voice did not
ring a bell.
“It’s a fucking clean slate,” I said to myself.
I analyzed the woman in the mirror. She… because I couldn’t say I… she was youngish, maybe in
her early to mid-twenties, with big blue eyes.
“Damn, you look skinny,” I said to the girl that watched me with a what the fuck do you want from
me look.
One thing I know is she had the resting bitch face down to a tee.
She had a few tattoos that snaked from her neck down to her back, but I couldn’t make them out
well enough under the orange-red light and all the dirt that covered her.
Bored of her, I looked around the room. Bits and pieces of information floated inside my head.
The bathroom had only a toilet and a small shower in the corner, with disabled access. This place
must have something I could use as a weapon against the insistent people out there. Sadly, there was
no shower curtain, an image I recalled from a zombie flick. My next move was to take the lid off the
toilet, but that cheap crap was plastic. I threw it on the ground and kicked it against the wall. Giving
up on the useless toilet, I returned to the shower. The metal bars that help a sick person shower
looked weirdly black. I moved my fingers over the cool bars as far up as the screws.
What if…?
I shook the bar at the end that was screwed into the wall. It moved slightly. After wrapping my
hands around it, I yanked on it, and the fixture snapped with a loud crack. Looks as if whoever did the
screwing did a lousy job.
Great, I thought, snort laughing at my own joke and the fact that the metal bar got screwed over.
I’m good at making silly puns.
There I stood.
 Naked.
With a V-shaped bar.
I took the narrow end in both hands and ignored my nudity. Whoever was on the other side
wouldn’t care, either. Deep moans of an inhumane nature and a low guttural growl greeted me from
the other side of the door. How could I ignore those guys?
What do I do next?
I so wished I knew my name, that way, I’d have something to call myself instead of bitch.
“What’s next, Bitch?” I grumbled.
With my fingers on the doorknob, I moved my body behind the door. That way, when I open it,
there’ll be a barrier between me and the monsters outside. After listening to the sounds they made, I
knew that they weren’t human.
Fear was with me, inside me, stuck in my ass like an invisible wedgy from fear panties.
“I could use a fear t-shirt,” I whispered to Bitch, trying to calm her down. I closed my eyes,
wrapped my right hand around the metal bar and the left around the sticky doorknob, and counted to
ten.
Ten is decent.
What the fuck was I about to do?
Just as I pulled the door open, the pressure on the other side eased up.
I stood silent, holding on to the door with my left hand and to my makeshift weapon with my right.
Should I keep my eyes closed, thinking that if I can’t see them, maybe they won’t see me either? The
creatures stumbled through the door, pushing me hard against the wall.
The moans and groans continued. From my hiding spot behind the door, I saw them stagger into
the room. The back of a man with a bloody wound on his shoulder and a neck wound that should not
allow him to move around anymore. And two nurses, one of them missing a chunk of skin bigger than
my palm. They moaned and groaned, moving around the place. Their movements were jerky and
uncoordinated as if a child was learning how to use a string puppet.
I knew they were hungry. I could feel it deep inside me, in my bones.
As I stood there, watching them consumed by hunger, my own fear dissipated. I closed my eyes
and waited, holding my breath and doing my best not to move.
Hunger burned inside me as well.
Hunger clawed at my stomach and made me ravenous. It was impossible to wait. This place, these
creatures moving around, all of it made me shake with nerves.
I was hungry.
The door moved, and so did I.
I stepped out fast from my hiding place, approaching the first monster. He wore a white lab coat
and turned to me. Milky white eyes looked into mine. Then I did it. I wasn’t planning it, but I was so
hungry. With a roar from deep inside me, I stuck my teeth into his neck, ripping away the leftover flesh
from his bones. My mouth filled with cold, rancid blood that made me gag. I stood there, watching
him watch me as I chewed on his cold, dead flesh.
I was still hungry, so I pressed my fingers into his milky white eyes that looked at me in confusion.
There was no time to understand what was going on. My body moved on autopilot until my fingers
reached something squishy.
He stopped and faltered at my feet.
The other two looked at me with their white, milky eyes. One of them had been a nurse. I saw the
name tag with Letty written on it, covered in blood, still hanging on to her scrub top. Her milky eyes
looked at me as if unsure what to do next. The predator asking the prey for permission?
I couldn’t stay there and have a staring contest with Letty. Instead, I touched her head with my
hand. She stood still. With a fast move, my right hand shot up and pushed the spiked end of the metal
bar into her temple.
She was so screwed.
Letty’s eyes closed, her hunger gone, her body folding.
As I watched, I couldn’t just leave her, so I wrapped my arms around her still body, taking her
outside the filthy bathroom. The long corridor, the wheelchairs and the bodies that lay on the ground,
mangled and covered in blood, confirmed my suspicion that this place was a hospital. Letty was still
in my arms, and the other nurse ignored me. A part of me wanted her to have a nice place to spend
eternity in.
A wheelchair was empty, so I put Letty in it. It was the least I could do. She was dead before I
killed the body, but it still felt like part of my soul had died.
A loud crash and a cry of anguish filled the empty corridor. The red emergency lights flickered on
the ceilings with blood splatter.
“I can’t stay,” I whispered into her ear and walked away.
I was still so hungry. As I walked down the hallway naked, my feet made splashing noises in the
blood that pooled on the ground. More monsters moved about, but they paid me no attention.
Who was I?
What was I?
I am Letty.
I decided I could borrow the name of the woman with the blank stare that would be forever lost.
Now and then, I knelt next to someone who was bleeding out and looked at their fading eyes, but
all I could think of was how hungry I was.
Ravenous
I ignored everything else,
When I spotted a sign that said Cafeteria, my feet took me there, answering the call of the beast
that cried out in hunger inside me.
EPISODE TWO
 “A 20:80 CLEAN-TO-BLOOD STAIN RATIO ON PANTS IS OKAY WITH ME.”

They ignored me, and I ignored them.

The scream that attracted the monsters that cornered me in the bathroom faded. That person was
gone.
Dead.
And those monsters walking around covered with blood, with guts hanging out and with the lost
look in their milky eyes, were they zombies?
Did I end up in a bad version of my brother’s video game?
The thought of a brother made me feel warm inside. I looked around. Did I have a brother, a
family, and if so, what happened to them?
A window was open at the end of the hall, and I stopped to look out. All I saw was mayhem.
Milky-eyed dead people walked slowly along the street. Cars and buildings burned, poisoning the
sky with this smoke that left greasy traces on the skin of the walking dead.
Zombies. This was a damn B movie.
I turned my back to the window, realizing this disaster was not limited to the hospital, and asked
myself what was happening to the world.
Whatever was going on, I slept through the beginning of the damn show and wound up slammed in
the middle of the movie. A bad gut feeling whispered I was the main character.
“Fuck.” My voice slid around the walls, making other monsters call out in pain and run toward.
My gut pulled into itself. Again, hunger pushed me, but I ignored it for a second as I summoned all
my courage, touched the dirty glass door, and pushed it open. The door was blocked by a body lying
on the ground, half of its torso eaten, its chewed ribs glistening white in a puddle of dark blood. It
wore a pair of scrub pants, and I leaned down and pulled them off. They were not clean, but the
number of stains to clean surfaces was about twenty to eighty.
Eighty percent stains, that is.
I can work with that.
“My friend, I hope you don’t mind, but I need those pants.”
Its face was peeled off, and it was impossible to say if it was a man or woman. The body was
still, but as soon as I touched its knees and was about to get into his/her/their pants, its eyes opened,
looking at me. The same milky eyes, filled with the same hunger.
I screamed and backed off. How? How was it possible that the thing on the ground could still
open its eyes?
The creature rolled onto its side. Its one functional arm stretched toward me in a gesture that
touched my heart. I knew it was hungry. A part of me understood its hunger on a deep level I couldn’t
explain, not even to myself. One doesn’t wake up every day covered in blood, confused, and
surrounded by monsters that technically ignored me.
The half-chewed monster was making me sad and nauseous at the same time.
I opened the door, slipped through, closed it behind me, pressed my back against it, and closed my
eyes. After I saw a creature without a stomach being hungry, I needed a God damned second to pull
my shit together.
I opened my eyes and had a good look around. This was a normal hospital room with two empty
beds. One of the beds was covered in blood, but the other was somewhat clean.
As I looked down at myself, I remembered I was still naked. Not that it bothered me. I wasn’t
chilly. It wasn’t a normal feeling of being cold, but more a chilled feeling nagging me from the inside
out.
Pulling the clean sheet off the bed, I wrapped it around me, creating a makeshift dress that knotted
on top of my left shoulder.
Light streamed from the window. Now that I was wearing this toga dress, I felt brave enough to
face the world.
I stood in front of the small sink in the corner of the hospital room and held the edge. My fingers
pressed, and I leaned toward the mirror. The white porcelain started to crack, causing me to jump to
one side.
The fuck?
I released the sink. It was broken in two where my hands were pressed against the cold ceramic a
few seconds ago. Turning my back to the mirror above the sink right under the red light, I realized I
was not ready to face what was happening outside, but a voice inside me told me I had to do so.
Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. This was dumb of me to think so, and I knew it.
I opened the windows. The stench of burning rubber and coppery blood that turned the streets into
wine made me want to turn my back on it and hide under one of the beds forever. The city cried. Car
alarms blared. Now and then, I heard a scream in the distance. Smoke rose into the sky, but the sky
was still blue.
Small groups of monsters ran around like packs of hungry dogs hunting weak prey.
Hunger.
They were hungry.
I turned my back to the crying world and found my way to the cafeteria. Hunger made me forget
about anything else.
Another monster walked next to me. It stopped dead in its tracks as I came closer and looked at
me with those white, milky eyes. As soon as I got closer, it kept walking. It didn’t care for my tits or
my flesh. It didn’t care for me.
It wore scrubs, but its scrubs looked disgusting, and I would rather walk naked than wear that
crusty stuff. Twenty percent stains is the acceptable maximum, so my toga must do in the meantime.
A monster nurse walked in front of her desk. She acted the same way as the zombie doctor. She
watched me with her white eyes, her head leaning to one side. Her face was badly ravaged.
Something had bitten off her lower lip, but not only that, her skin was peeled off her chin like a
banana. The bottom of her teeth was visible.
I leaned closer and she stood there, looking at me.
“Hey?”
As soon as I talked, her head straightened, and she looked around, confused, as if the source of the
human sound couldn’t be my mouth. She looked in all directions except at me.
“I’m here.”
She snarled, roared, and ran by me, almost pushing me down. Zombie nurse ran toward the
hallway I had just left. I watched her. Zombie doc ran toward me but instead bumped into zombie
nurse. They ignored each other.
Hmm.
That was interesting. They ignored each other, and they ignored me.
A few sliding doors stood behind the nurses’ station. My hunger made me stop playing zombie
anthropologist and jump over the edge of the station.
A chocolate bar lay there, half-eaten. I grabbed it and took a bite. It was sweet, delicious, and the
taste was weirdly familiar. The sweet taste tingled my tongue and made me forget the taste of the
zombie guy’s blood.
Ugh.
What was wrong with me?
This chocolate bar was the first good thing that happened to me since I woke up, which was
technically all my new life. Even though I remembered chocolate, it made my toes curl and moan
almost as bad as the zombies.
After finishing the chocolate bar, I opened the sliding door to the closet. It was stacked with clean
scrubs, all of which were pink, but beggars can’t be choosers. I grabbed a medium and small set.
Ripping the small one to shreds, I drenched the top in water from the fountain and cleaned myself off
as well as possible. The dirty feeling still clung to me but, after scrubbing myself clean, I was better.
“Now, if you girls have shoes here, that would be great,” I mumbled as I looked in the closet
while getting dressed.
This was the first time I was dressed in a salmon-pink nurse’s uniform. How could I know this
was salmon pink, yet still had no idea what my name was?
“Letty. I’ll stick with Letty.”
Now that I was dressed and fancy, I kept walking on the dirty halls and made my way into the
cafeteria.
What was happening?
Was I living inside a zombie apocalypse video game?
The cafeteria was the stage of disaster. A body gnawed to the bone lay spread on one of the
tables. I stopped and looked around. Broken bodies littered the ground. A few zombies walked
around, bumping into each other. The sound of the door attracted their attention, but as I moved
carefully so as not to make too much noise, they ignored me fully, going by their zombie business.
EPISODE THREE
 “NUTELLA IS LIFE, EVEN IF YOU ARE UNDEAD.”

Two monsters ripped pieces of flesh from some guy's body using their teeth and fingers. The flesh
made weird sucking sounds as they bit and clawed at the upper thighs of the corpse, desperate to get
the best pick. As soon as I walked next to them, they stopped. Milky dead eyes looked at me, mouths
agape, with pieces of bloody human meat stuck between their teeth.
“Sup?” I asked.
Again, they stood from their feast, ran in my direction, and then passed me. That was fucking odd.
They reacted to my voice but chose to ignore me and chase after what they believed was a human who
spoke.
My stomach grumbled low. As I passed the corpse they had been devouring, it pulled itself across
the ground. Bites reanimate those who are hurt. Okay, makes sense. It looks as if pop culture wasn’t
wrong.
Even though I was curious, I needed food. The half-eaten chocolate bar didn’t do much to quench
my hunger, and I had to look for other sources of food.
The leftovers on the serving trays were not edible. Old, moldy pasta covered in a green sauce
crawled with bees and ants. Next to it stood a tray with some questionable meat products. The scent
of spoiled food mingled with the smell of half-eaten bodies that lay around the place. Some were
reanimated but too far gone to move and lay there in a state of perpetual hunger they could not and
would not understand.
Pushing through the doors to the kitchen, the light from outside streamed through the open
windows. Pots still stood on the stove but, as far as I could judge, that food was long since rotten, and
I refused to pick up any of the lids and look under it.
A rack was filled with bread still wrapped in the original plastic. Pulling a loaf off the rack, I
smelled it. It was your ordinary toast bread, the cheap stuff that’s under .69 cents at the supermarket,
but I didn’t care. I was so hungry, and my hands shook so hard that I bit into the plastic bag, tearing it
open with my teeth.
The bread was stale, but the first bite tasted like heaven. I slumped on the relatively clean floor
and stuffed myself with bread until the hunger I felt clawing at my entrails was subdued.
Now that I wasn’t shaking, I walked through the kitchen and found a white bucket. Lifting the lid. I
had to whisper, “Jackpot!”
The bucket was filled with Nutella. I would recognize that chocolate cream anywhere on this
planet. Taking my spot next to the rack with bread, I dipped the bread in Nutella.
“Great. I know what Nutella is. I have all the pop culture information on zombies. But I have no
idea who I am and what the hell I’m doing here.”
After a while, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, the bucket was next to me, and I was
wrapped around it, guarding it with my life.
Okay, Letty, think. What do you really know about zombies? They’re dead, I mean living dead.
They don’t breathe, and they don’t have a heartbeat or pulse. They can get shot, but they'll keep going
unless you give them considerable brain damage.
As I sat there, I recalled books and movies. Was I some kind of zombie nerd?
Some weird curiosity made me search for my pulse. My fingers pressed on my wrist. The veins
on my hands were pale blue and visible through my pale skin. Since I woke in a hospital, I suspected
I had been sick, or a nurse, or something.
“That’s odd.”
I moved from my right arm to the left and tried again.
Nothing.
Then I pushed my fingers onto my throat.
Still nothing.
Maybe my pulse was weak. But I felt good. I felt better than good. I was in excellent shape.
This started to upset me. Maybe I was doing it wrong. This is a damn hospital, so there had to be
a stethoscope I could use. Even though I felt perfectly fine, the lack of a pulse made me almost panic,
but not enough to make me forget about the Nutella bucket.
Before I left the kitchen, I opened a cupboard and stored my Nutella. I had no intention of leaving
it there.
“Okay, find a stethoscope.”
I broke into a light jog. Shouldn’t I feel my heart beating?
My hand landed on my chest, but there was only silence.
Nothing.
I ran around, jumping over zombies who lay on the ground, and did a few jumping jacks. Yet I
wasn’t winded at all.
Not a bit.
A few minutes passed, and I noticed that one of the crawlers had a stethoscope around his neck. I
knelt before it, but it didn’t give me the time of day.
“You mind if I borrow this?” I asked before plucking the stethoscope from his around his cold
neck.
I put it into my ears and hit the diaphragm with my fingers. The sound was so loud it made me
jump to the side, like thunder or a great concert.
“Okay, this works.”
I pressed the stethoscope on the spot where I knew my heart should be, but there was no sound.
Only silence.
I tried again. This time, I heard a rushing noise inside my ears, but it was from the way I moved
the thingy over my shirt.
I inhaled. That I could hear. But then I stopped. I didn’t feel the need to inhale again.
The fuck?
The crawling doctor that was so kind to lend me his stethoscope had a watch around his wrist.
The watch clung to his chewed flesh, but it still worked. I took it and exhaled. Not that I had to. It was
like a habit, like picking at your cuticles or playing with your hair.
The watch had a stopwatch function. I sat on the floor next to the zombie pulling itself along by his
nails and ignoring me in the pursuit of happiness, or whatever it was that zombie was pursuing.
“Okay, let’s do this,” I said loud enough to attract his attention. He crawled by, ignoring me.
I held my breath and started the stopwatch.
I read somewhere that a human can hold its breath for up to two minutes.
When the five-minute mark was over and I was fine, I started to panic. When the fifteen-minute
limit was reached, I stood and stomped on the watch with my bare foot.
It was an expensive Rolex. The shards of glass embedded themselves into my heel, but my foot
did not hurt. All I felt was mild discomfort.
Pulling over a chair and sitting down, I put my hurt foot over my knee. I expected blood, but there
was no bleeding.
Oh, fuck! Could I be in shock or something?
First, I had this need to play around and move one of the shards stuck in my heel, but when I did, it
didn’t bother me. After I pulled out one shard, the skin closed as if a zipper had been pulled from the
inside. There was no blood. No pain.
After picking all the shards from my feet, the wounds closed with no trace.
Odd.
I don’t bleed.
I don’t need to breathe, but I do out of habit.
I don’t feel pain.
I have no pulse or heartbeat.
And all the zombies ignore me.
Fuck.
My fear and frustration roared in me, and I ran. I ran so fast I crashed into the zombie stumbling
around the place. I pushed them aside, and they ignored me.
I kept running until the hospital spit me out into the bowels of the bleeding, dead city.
Piles of cars still burned, marking traffic accidents. Zombies fed on the carcasses of those who
would soon stand and walk around searching, hungry. Dirty, bleeding bodies stumbled around,
looking for their next meal.
And I was one of them.
Lost.
Broken.
Alone.
Confused.
I didn’t realize this was New York City until I saw a burning bus with Welcome to New York
written on it.
I only knew that whatever I was, I was not alive or dead either. I was deeply unnatural.
I kept running, my feet picking up glass shards from the street that embedded themselves inside my
flesh.
The zombies ignored me as they ignored each other.
I stopped on the side of the street and sat down to watch the inferno. Was it so easy to bring doom
to humanity?
As I watched the zombies, I saw they didn’t notice one another. Even if they bumped into each
other, they acted as if they bumped into a wall or a car still steaming because of the fire.
“I’m here, you fuckers!”
I yelled as loud as I could and felt like the proverbial pin that hit the floor with a sound too loud
in a silent room. They all stopped. If I hadn’t known better, I’d say they all held their breath. But they
didn’t because, like me, they didn’t need air. All the zombies looked in my direction. When one of
them came close to me, it smelled the air and kept walking. A small group passed me, looking like a
pack of rabid living dead hunters searching for the next prey.
“Even you ignore me.”
My body shook. Dry, hard sobs raked my chest. I had no more tears and was just so tired. I kept
walking until I found one of those beautiful New York brownstone buildings. The house looked empty,
and zombies walked up and down the street. Cars still smoked, and piles of ashes and garbage
littered the street.
I walked up the flight of stairs. The door was locked, but the glass part was inviting. Pushing my
shoulder against it, I leaned all my weight in and pushed.
Nothing.
A small plant pot decorated the stairs. I picked it up and crashed the pot against the glass part of
the door. It crashed and crumbled. The sound of the broken glass filled the street, but the zombies kept
walking around. Using my elbow, I cleaned away the shards and turned the doorknob from the inside.
A whistle escaped my lips. “This is how the upper crust lives.”
Art Deco ceramic tiles decorated the hall. Tall doors stood closed and uninviting. A part of me
knew that whoever I was before, I wasn’t from a wealthy house. I was more food stamps and less
fancy stuff.
As I walked up to the first floor, I tried to draft a plan.
Fuck, I forgot the Nutella at the hospital!
Worst case, I could go back to get it, but not today. My hope was that I would find some shoes and
clothes that were not scrubs, and then I could sleep.
One of the doors was slightly cracked open.
“Isn’t that inviting?” My voice sounded creepy in the empty house.
Whoever lived there, he or she left in a hurry, or was just alarmed by the noise and left to see if
they could help. I pushed the door, trying to see if there would be any resistance. Something pushed
against it.
I pushed again, and whatever was stuck there it budged at my second attempt. Light streamed into
the large hallway, coming from the open kitchen window. I looked at what blocked the door.
A woman’s body.
She just lay there. I knelt next to her. The woman looked as if she was in her late eighties. Her
hair was pinned into a neat vintage style. Her body showed signs of decay, but the smell didn’t bother
me.
The key was inside the lock, and I closed the door behind me.
The elderly woman was dead but, as far as I could tell, she died of natural causes. Her body
wasn’t bloated. It was thin and looked dry. The air inside the condo was cool and, even with the
decaying body, smelled better than what was out there.
“You mind if I crash here?” I asked the old lady. She wore a day gown made of silky blue fabric
and a pair of high-heeled slippers with feathers.
She looked lost.
Sad.
“I’m sorry you died, okay? But maybe it was for the best. Shit is fucked up out there.”
Her open, accusing eyes locked on mine. I knelt next to her and tried to close her eyes. She wore
beautiful makeup that still held. Her eyes kept on opening.
 “I’ll deal with you later,” I said as I stepped over her.
This was a classic New York five, and I planned to sleep here. As I opened the closet next to the
entrance, I took a long, silky cover and laid it on top of her before making my way into the first
bedroom and crashing.
I don’t know how I could fall asleep so fast, but I did. My eyes closed, and the world around me
pulled me into a warm, dark embrace.
The first thing I saw when I woke up was a stuffed duck on the wall across from the bed. This
room had duck-inspired everything.
“You really liked ducks, huh?”
I got up, stretching. This had been the best bed I ever slept in. Looking for my pulse, I couldn’t
find any, but that made sense. It was not as if the heartbeat would come and go just like that.
My grumbling stomach made me recall that I was hungry, and my stench told me I needed a bath.
This place was like nothing I had ever seen before. Except for the duck bedroom, she had turned
the house into a mausoleum solely and entirely dedicated to herself. As I walked from one room to the
next, I discovered that her name had been Gita and that Gita had been a Broadway star at some point
during her youth. Gita had an incredible collection of designer shoes, all with high heels and none that
fit.
“Damn!”
Gita’s bathroom was dreamy. She had a greenhouse turned into her bathroom. A huge, claw-footed
bathtub sat in the middle of the room. I walked towards the sink and turned on the faucet. The water
was cold, but it was running.
After filling the tub with cold water, bath oils, and smelling salts, I slipped into it. The cold water
didn’t bother me. Quite the contrary. The water surrounded me, and I lay there, letting all the crusted
blood melt away.
With one hand, I took the luffa and scrubbed my body until I felt clean. The cold water helped me
think. So, what if I was dead myself? That didn’t mean I should bury my life, right?
After I finished, I treated myself to Gita’s luxury towels, so soft and fluffy, and to the vanilla-
smelling body lotion.
This was nice.
After I combed my hair and pulled it back into a messy bun, I took a new look at my body. My hair
was a light baby-blonde and, to my surprise, the drapes matched the curtains.
“A natural blonde, huh? Here go the blonde jokes.”
I found no signs of any wound or injury.
A small pair of scissors stood there. I took them and slashed the blade across my chest. A long cut
moved from the side of my left shoulder, over my chest, down under my collarbone, and to the right
side of my ribs. There should have been blood, but there was none. There should have been pain, but
there was none.
The cut started to knit itself together fast.
“Fuck me,” I whispered.
Okay.
Okay.
I sat in front of the vanity and looked at the items Gita had. I recognized the various lipsticks and
that stuff that one puts on the eyes, but many of the jars and jellies were strange.
After inspecting more of the apartment, I settled for a lounging suite made from velvet. It made me
feel like a plum, but in a nice way. Returning to the hallway, I saw Gita.
 Poor Gita lay in the hall. After wrapping her into a pretty drape, I pulled her to the side.
“I’ll bury you, but I need coffee first.”
The kitchen was pretty, even though the tiles and the cupboards looked as if I stepped into an old
move. Gita had a gas stove with a full kettle, so I made myself a hot coffee by boiling it and adding
sugar. One large gulp later, I learned that crunchy coffee is just fine. The scent was lovely, and it
tasted wonderful.
After walking around the apartment some more, I tried on some of her clothes. I wish I had a plan.
“Gita, what do you say?” I called towards the hall.
In all the movies, people tried to get to their family or friends. But I was all alone and had no idea
if I even had anyone, or if humans were still alive.
As I tried on new clothes, I ditched the plum tracksuit because it made my ass look big. Gita had a
bunch of pretty dresses and elegant clothes, and I settled for a pants and shirt set made from a soft
fabric. It was green, but I kinda liked it.
After looking around longer, I found a pair of flats that were too small, but I took a pair of
scissors from the kitchen and cut the back side away. Sooner or later, I’ll have to get myself a pair of
shoes that fit. Gita’s feet were too small, but this was a win. Most of her clothes fit, and I had a
wonderful place to call my temporary home.
Mine and so fancy.
I was about to leave the apartment but couldn’t leave Gita like that. She deserved better. Until I
made up my mind where to bury her, I picked one of the bedrooms--the duck one--and put her in the
bed. It was her house, and I was okay with sharing it.
As I left, I locked the door behind me and slid the key into my pocket.
What next?
I’m strong. I’m not one of them. Maybe I can find people who need help. Maybe if I talk to others,
I’ll remember who I was and what happened to me.
The streets of New York City were like me--forgotten, broken, and sad.
I walked on the sidewalk, looking for signs of living people who may need help.
Today was silent.
Even the car alarms that cried in the distance when I woke up were silent now.
I saw a few zombies walking around but couldn’t bring myself to kill them. It felt wrong.
A scream startled me, and I ran toward the source, losing Gita’s shoes in the process.
A mob of zombies attacked the front of a small convenience store. A few desperate people tried to
defend themselves but were locked inside. They had guns. One kept shooting toward the mob, but he
only landed body shots, and the noise attracted more attention. The old and young dead, men in suits
and half-naked women with their clothes ripped off, attacked the living.
My mind was racing.
If my heart had been beating, it would have made a hole in my chest I was that nervous.
These were humans. Real ones.
I had no weapons and wasn’t sure I could kill the zombies fast enough to help the survivors.
EPISODE FOUR
 “A GIRL NEEDS A BAT, RIGHT?”

One scream made me feel the urgency of the situation. It was high-pitched and filled with pain. They
had pulled the bars down in front of the store, but one of the zombies must have gotten through.
Think, Letty, think.
I have no weapons but, as I looked around, everything could be a weapon. One of the cars that
was not burning anymore had a door ripped off its hinges and the trunk popped open. Inside the trunk
was a tire iron. A silly idea formed fast. I grabbed the tire iron and a piece of warped metal that lay
on the ground. Hitting the metal against the tire iron, I started to scream.
“Here, zombie, zombie! Letty is delicious this time of the year!”
My voice attracted a few of the zombies, but the movement inside the store and the fresh meat and
blood in there kept the majority stuck in front of the windows, like children in front of the candy store,
only that the candy was human flesh.
As soon as I considered it, I had to chuckle a bit.
The few zombies that followed me kept running in behind me but soon disappeared, chasing a
new ghost they would not catch.
Holding the discarded car door like a shield, I made my way toward the twenty or so zombies
still pushing against the store's windows. Now, if the people inside could lay low and be quiet,
maybe I could distract the living dead. With them shouting and mingling, that would be a challenging
task.
Fuck, I should have picked a knife, at least.
A small pawn shop that advertised all kinds of trinkets was off to my right, waiting for me with an
open door. The owner must have left in a hurry. The store was in good shape as I entered, but I had no
time to lose. A baseball bat and a machete attracted my eyes, and I knew I needed those right now.
How the hell did I know that, but pulled a complete blank when it came to simple stuff like my
age, name, or anything personal. I had no idea where my parents were or if I had anyone like a
boyfriend or girlfriend. My family could be in that convenience store, and I couldn’t tell. I could look
them in the eyes, and they would be lost to me.
Without losing more time, I grabbed the weapons that attracted my attention. The bat was perfect,
made of wood, and it had someone’s signature on it. I had no idea who that was, but now the bat will
have a real purpose.
I abandoned the car door shield. Holding the bat in my left hand and the machete in my right, I
attacked the small zombie horde.
The human noise from inside the store attracted more and more of the hungry ones, and I knew that
if I didn’t do something about all this and do it fast, there would be no salvation for them.
My first victims were two well-dressed businessmen wearing elegant Italian suits. The first
zombie fell right after the bat connected with its skull, cracking like a raw egg that hit the ground hard.
Following my momentum, I sliced the throat of the next zombie as it tried to claw its way toward the
store.
My next victim was a woman who couldn’t be much older than me, with a messy bun and wearing
a pair of track pants and a sports bra. How hard did she work to get that body? Its snarl was loud, and
I felt no mercy when the machete sliced through its neck and the head rolled down, still chomping.
This was fascinating. I could decapitate them, but their mouth would still chew air, desperate for
a bite.
Hmm.
If someone decapitated me, would my head still work? Would I be like that guy from the TV show
who ended up inside a vase? Just the thought made my stomach churn. I don’t want to end up in a
vase.
As I freed the exit. I got a look at the group of people inside. Two rugged-looking men and a few
haggard women who had made the trip to the store because they were hungry. But I couldn’t stay with
them. I would need to come up with a story or something for these people and if I ever meet more
survivors.
Zombie blood, thick and dark, mixed with some tar-like goo stuck to my skin. The results of my
bath and moisturizing regime were lost as blood and other zombie pieces covered me. As I kept
cutting them down, I lost myself in the movement. Each splash, each hit, each gnashing mouth was
forever silent. Despite the battle, my hunger still clawed at me. At least these zombies will have
peace, the type of peace I would not.
Time passed, and I cut my way toward the storefront. When I finally cleared away the zombies, I
saw my reflection in the windows. I looked more dead than alive myself with all the dirt that
plastered my clothes and hair. With the back of my hand, I tried to clean my face and make myself
look less feral.
“Are you okay?” I asked calmly, making sure they didn’t shoot me, thinking I was a zombie.
“Open the door.” A female voice called from the back of the store to the guys who watched me
from behind the bars. “She helped us.”
I heard movement and shuffling, and then the doors opened slowly. It was not a big gap, but it was
big enough to allow me to enter.
“It’s all good. I don’t want to come in,” I said to the man with a gun aimed at me and looked down
at me from under his baseball cap.
A larger, old woman pushed him aside. “What’s wrong with you, Danny? I didn’t raise you to act
like this with a lady.”
“But, Mom, we don’t know her.”
She made her way outside the store, even though the other two men protested. She had a long
butcher’s knife and a pan hanging from her waist.
“This girl helped save our asses. We can at least offer her a soda.” Then she turned to me. “Are
you okay, sweetie? Don’t mind my boys. Weeks have passed since they saw any woman other than
me, and even under all the dirt, you’re very pretty, so they’re acting like idiots.”
I looked at the woman. Her shirt was clean. She had long hair streaked with white and pinned
back. She had a warm smile.
“I’m Darlene. These idiots are Danny and Dave, my sons. And the other…” She pointed toward a
bald man with a huge beard. “…that’s Mike. He doesn’t talk much.”
“Hi.”
“She could be bait,” said Danny.
“Shut your mouth.” Darlene turned her attention back to me. “Are you, well… have you been
bitten?”
“No,” I answered.
“Then come inside.”
Darlene wrapped her arm around me, and I leaned into her. Her smell didn’t bother me, as my
zombie-goo-covered body didn’t bother her either. It was the first time I had experienced human
touch, and it felt so good. She was warm and soft, and her arm felt like a pillow.
Tears spilled from my eyes. I hated how her proximity made me feel, but she had the warmth I
craved. She pulled me closer to her, allowing me to sob for a few minutes. Or was it longer? I just
recall that when she let me go, I had no more tears, just a pain in the back of my eyes.
“Poor child. Are you all alone out here?”
I didn’t say a word. I allowed Darlene to lead me to the back room of the convenience store. She
sat me on a box, gave me a soda, and unwrapped a chocolate bar.
“Eat this and drink. Your blood sugar must be low.”
Darlene kept stoking my hair, then took a wet rag from somewhere and cleaned my face as I
sipped the bubbly, chemical-tasting soda.
“What’s your name?”
I was still sobbing softly.
“Did she get bitten, Mom?” Dave called out. “You know what happens with someone who’s
bitten.”
“Dave, shut your trap, or I’ll come and stuff it for you!” Darlene called toward her son. “Can’t
you see this girl is traumatized? Have I raised you all wrong?”
“Sorry, Mama,” they both called out. The other man simply ignored me.
“Don’t mind the dummies. Men.” Darlene started to stroke my hair again. “How did you do that?
You cleaned all them deados away, and you’re such a small thing.”
“I wasn’t alone,” I muttered. This was a lie, but my deep cry and hiccups made me sound
believable. I hoped.
Darlene hugged me again. “Thank you, child. Thank you. Without you, we’d have probably died.
If you want to, stay with us. I don’t want you to leave and be all alone out there.”
I shrugged and finished the chocolate bar. “I’m fine.”
“Let us do something for you. Do you need some help? Forget that. I know you don’t need help.
You looked like a mix of Bruce Lee and Van Damme. Girl, you’re amazing, and I just want to help
you.”
I had no idea who those people were, but I liked Darlene.
“We have a home base. Come with us. Or come see us. We live on the fifth in an old brownstone
that is barricaded. There are more of us. Stay with us.”
“Mama, why do you tell her?” Dave didn’t like me. “The base should be secret.”
“Don’t mind him,” Darlene said to me. Then, to Dave, “Don’t be a douchebag like your daddy.
That’s why the zombies ate him!”
Danny laughed.
“You don’t know that for sure, Mama,” said Dave.
“Zombies ate your daddy,” Danny said to Dave and laughed again.
 As I looked at the two, I noticed a resemblance, but one of them was darker, and his hair was
almost blackish blue. The other had warmer, brownish-red hair. They both looked very much like
Darlene.
“And what about your Daddy?” asked Dave.
“My Daddy probably has a stronghold now. He’s a king.”
“Sure. A king of a junkyard.”
“Boys, stop! Pack what we need and let’s go.”
I looked at them and listened. My crying had stopped, and I sat there, still and silent. Finally, I
stood.
“I need to go.”
The men threw me a look as if they had seen a ghost. As I moved close to Dave, even though he
probably weighed double what I did and was a tall and strong man, he moved away, trying to shrink
into the shelves to make sure he kept his distance from me.
Darlene ran after me and wrapped her arms around me again. This was a full hug, warm and
motherly. It was my first in my new life.
“Come see me. We have a nice community. You should be around people.”
“I will.”
“Take care, baby,” she whispered as she hugged me on my way out.
No new zombies were on the street, but I picked up the machete and baseball bat from the ground.
I had grown rather fond of them.
Even after I ran away from the small group that loaded up a truck, I felt Darlene’s arms around
me. She was so nice. Even in the darkness of this dead world, this sweet woman found a spot for a
stranger in her heart.
I walked through the city. Most places looked sad and empty.
And dead.
I ignored the zombies walking around since I couldn’t kill them all. They didn’t mind me at all. I
walked the same way they did.
Even though I wasn’t hungry, I felt empty. After what I did, I should have felt better. Still, being
with humans who were alive made me feel weird. Strange.
Even more alone than I felt next to all the zombies.
I stopped next to a young woman zombie that was probably my age. All the flesh from her throat
was chewed off. Her head leaned onto her left shoulder because she had no muscles to hold her head
up. Her body just swayed from left to right. She was like a small doll that was broken and
malfunctioning.
“Hey, so I met some people.”
The sound of my voice did not trigger her. She kept on swaying from left to right, her head shaking
softly.
“I mean living people, not like you.”
When I said that, I understood I wasn’t alive either. I was just a thing, broken like this pretty girl
who probably had left work, had plans, and maybe even had a guy she liked.
“Do you remember anything? Your parents, your boyfriend?”
She still shivered like a leave in the fall.
My attention moved toward her boots. The zombie girl wore a nice pair of tall black combat
boots.
“Do you mind if I try your boots on?”
 She didn’t say anything. I didn’t expect her to say anything.
I sat on the sidewalk and grabbed her foot. She didn’t react as I unlaced the boot on her right foot.
After the boot was off, I picked dirt and glass from my foot. It didn’t hurt, just like the first time, and
the wounds closed immediately. My foot fit into the boot perfectly.
“You mind if I take the other, too?”
She didn’t reply again, and soon, I was the happy owner of a pair of black combat boots.
With my blood-stained baseball bat in one hand and the machete in the other, I stood there,
looking like a living nightmare.
I put my weapons down beside me and took the girl’s hands in mine. Her head lulled back and
forth. She was once pretty, but her eyes now looked bloodshot, and her mouth was stained with dry
blood.
I grabbed her head and pressed my forehead onto hers. My eyes looked into her milky white ones.
“If you’re in there, say something. Please. If you’re like me, or if you’re trapped, say something.”
She was silent.
Nothing.
My machete was in my hand. I could end her. I could break her neck now and split her head like a
ripe melon.
“Do you want me to end you?”
Silence.
Nothing.
All I could feel was hunger. A deep, painful hunger that she could never satisfy.
“I’m really sorry this happened to you.”
A few of the other zombies moved toward me, but as soon as they smelled me, they walked away
to another place where they believed humans could be hidden.
This conversation wasn’t doing anything for me. I felt a jolt of energy shoot through me, and I ran.
Again.
Why be sad for them? They were gone.
The boots felt nice on my feet, and I kept running until the buildings and the zombies turned into a
blur. The world melted around me. The faster I ran, the better I felt. The world was further away from
me, and I almost felt as if I was flying.
When I stopped, the world was no longer grey and dipped in blood. It was green and vivid. I was
in Central Park.
Zombies walked through the park, but there were also birds flying. A big, fat pigeon pulled pieces
of rotting flesh from the decaying cheek of a zombie that tried to pull its torso through the grass.
There was nothing I could do. The bird had a meal. The sun was shining. So, I lay on my back.
The sun whispered stories from a better time.
Then, two gunshots ripped through the silence, and the bullets tore through my leg and shoulder.
The burning pain lasted only a few seconds before red-hot rage took its place. I turned into a hunter,
ready to find the one who shot me and rip him apart.
EPISODE FIVE
 “MAKE SURE TO CHEW YOUR… MEAT.”

“That fucking hurt, you asshole!”

I exhaled all the anger that blew up inside me between my clenched teeth.
A little bit of blood trickled from my shoulder. I pulled off my shirt and was exposed in Gita’s
sexy bra. My flesh was already knitting itself together, and the pain was just a soft burn that subsided
with each second that passed.
I stood and looked around, pointing at myself wearing only a bra.
“Do you like this, jerk?”
A new gunshot sounded and filled the silence of Central Park. This jerk saw that I wasn’t a
zombie, at least as far as he knew, and he still tried to shoot me?
This was not funny, not a bit. The pain was not bad, but I just lived for like one day, and this ass
was about to blow out my candles. Not with this bitch!
The wind shifted, and I caught his scent. I wasn’t even aware I could do that shit. The scent
smelled like a man. His pheromones filled the air each time I inhaled deeply, triggering me badly. He
was clean, smelling like soap and gun oil. My head leaned in the direction of the scent and I inhaled
deeply. It tickled the inside of my nose and kicked off an instinct that was as old as time because I am
that Bitch!
It was bothersome, but I needed to find him. The freaking fuck had tried to freaking kill me!
My feet moved, pistoning against the moist earth. The scent took me to a tree, a big one that stood
at the edge of the park, its roots entwined with stone. A rifle lay on the ground. I moved closer, picked
it up with two fingers, and sniffed at it. It was still warm and smelled like him. I could see where he
held the rifle. As I raised the gun to my nose and sniffed at it, my tongue darted out and licked its
edge.
What the fuck was I doing?
I slung the rifle over my shoulder and sniffed the air like a damn bloodhound.
His tracks led me to the edge of the park. A fifty-plus headstrong horde of zombies moved around
but were not agitated. How did he manage to get through them without them giving chase?
A question that burned inside me filled my head.
Was he like me?
Just as I asked again if he was like me, I noticed the manhole that stood half open at the edge of
the fence. My body launched itself as if it had a mind of its own. I felt like a predator, a well-oiled
machine that moved with purpose.
The entrance to the underground smelled like him.
 Why was he hunting me?
Was he merely a lousy shot, or did he aim for my shoulder and leg?
Why would a human hunt another when there were so few humans left?
I slung myself into the underground. The stench assaulted me from all directions, and I stopped
breathing. Not being forced to inhale this stuff just to stay alive was such a damn game-changer.
The little bit of light that followed me could not penetrate the underground, but my vision
accommodated itself quickly. Soon, I found myself stepping through dirty water in the darkness. The
mud sucked at my soles, and I was so happy I had a pair of boots and didn’t have to walk through this
barefoot. Not that it would hurt me, but I would hate to feel the squish between my toes.
Fuck. I forgot my machete and baseball bat. I need to remember to take them with me next time.
Maybe I can tie them to me with belts or stuff, but that was a note for later. My only weapon now was
the empty rifle that hung over my back.
Walking in the dark, I noticed I had pretty good night vision. It was not the same as I had during
the day. This was more about shapes and an overall deeper feeling.
A rat scurried along the side of the wall. I could feel it. It was hungry, looking, feeding, always in
a hurry. Its heart beat so fast, burning its energy, filling its body with need. It was full now, but the
hunger was spiritual, same as mine. It was more than the necessity to satisfy the needs of the stomach.
It was desire, need, fear, and bravery simultaneously. The little fellow was ready to die to satisfy the
deep hunger that controlled his life.
My body pushed against the wall, and I stood calm.
Listening.
Waiting.
The guy who shot me should be close if my nose was not confused. Now and then, I sniffed the air
like a damn bloodhound, trying my best to ignore the stench that surrounded me.
The human noise became obvious as soon as I calmed myself and stopped being distracted by the
rats and other crawlers that filled the sewers. I could hear them. Two men fighting, and a few women
sobbing and whispering. A loud slap and a man yelled at a woman to shut the fuck up made my hands
flex in anger. The women cried in the dark. If I find this place creepy, what must they feel?
The men didn’t give me time to dwell on it because their loud voices sounded again.
“Made a catch, Rick?” one deep voice asked the other, underlining laughter in it.
“No, she took cover. I abandoned.”
“Are you a fucking idiot? The way she looked, she would have brought some big bucks.”
“Sorry.”
A slap sounded, and I heard Rick exhale.
“Bag her. No more excuses.”
What the hell was this? It sounded even worse than I imagined. Why were such things happening?
Were these men out there hunting women? To do what? As soon as I asked myself the question, a
series of answers, one darker than the other, sounded like alarm bells in my head. They used those
women like merchandise.
As I held on to my empty rifle, I kept listening, my fingers hurting from the pressure I put on the
barrel. This was a spot where this operation happened, whatever it was, and I didn’t plan to sit
around here all day.
My night vision was good, but was theirs good, too?
I had no plan. I mean, nothing except go in there and fucking kill ‘em all. One by one. Rage, anger,
and, more than anything else, disgust for the human race rose like bile inside my throat. In the dark, I
could feel their hearts, beating, pumping blood to keep them alive. Fucking mouth breathers.
“Hey, asshole.” My voice was calm because I had decided that the prey would become the
predator. I stepped deeper into the darkness, my feet barely making a sound.
“Follow her!” called the voice of the man I thought of as the boss in my mind. It was the deep
voice of a smoker, laced with contempt and superiority. He was used to giving orders that no one
questioned and having them obeyed quickly and precisely the way he wanted. From the exasperation
in his voice, it was clear the men he had to work with were not professionals. He probably had some
military or police background.
As soon as I heard the steps of the men around me in the tunnel, I tried to find a hiding spot. They
had guns. All I had was a gun with no bullets to use as a bat. Even so, I didn’t plan on experiencing
getting shot again. The burning pain reminded me of a bee sting. Looking to my left and right, I
climbed up inside a small opening meant to bring rainwater from outside.
“Where are you, fucking bitch?” called the man who shot me. Who is he calling bitch? A
comeback itched to be released, but that would tell him my position.
Two men ran past me. They had no goggles and used their hands to find the edge of the tunnel. One
flashlight bounced up and down but didn’t do much except make the darkness deeper, and so much
more disturbing.
I inhaled.
One of them was the one who had hunted me. He didn’t smell like the sewer, so he didn’t spend
much time here. Maybe this was just one place they ran their operation from. The sewer was
relatively zombie-free and, as far as I knew, the New York City underground was a maze.
I should leave. They didn’t know where I was, and this whole thing was complicated, bigger than
me. Maybe if I had my weapons, but all I had was the gun to use as a club.
But then, I recalled Darlene’s embrace and that she was being sweet to me and warm, like the
mother I never had, or that I couldn’t recall.
In my mind, Darlene took that spot.
Those women who cried in the sewer maintenance room could not make any choice. I’m a freak, a
mutant, but maybe I can help the humans who don’t have my powers.
The two men still looked for me, but the sound they made walking was too loud, and they shone
the flashlight in all directions except the small drainpipe I hid in.
“Why do we need to get this bitch?” one of them asked.
“Boss wants her, and we’ll deliver. What the hell.”
He pulled his leg out of the water. A rat climbed on his pants, clawing its way up, attracted by the
warmth of the living.
Even though they sloshed in the dirty, stinky water, I could still smell them and feel their
heartbeats as I walked behind them, unsure what to do next.
Boom, boom. Boom, boom.
The hunter guy’s heart was more agitated. He tasted fear because he sensed I wasn’t what he
believed I was. I was dead and still walking, hunting, and tasting their blood and warm flesh on my
tongue as I bathed in the loud sound of their beating hearts.
They walked ahead of me. I was so close. My shape almost melted into their shadows. Long
streaks of darkness peeled off the walls and reached toward them, but I was the only predator stalking
them in the night.
My hands moved fast, faster than I could order them to, and grabbed the other man’s head. His
flesh felt warm under my icy caress. My fingers pushed into his warm cheeks, and I experienced the
stubble he would never get to shave.
I twisted with a strength that slumbered inside me and was rewarded with a loud crack. His body
went limp before he had time to call out, to say something. I caught his fall and let him down gently
into the dark water sloshing around my ankles.
“Man, what’s wrong? You’re so silent.”
The kill happened slowly in my mind, like a dance of our bodies entwined. In reality, I killed him
fast and pulled back into a hiding spot along the wall. I could take his weapon but couldn’t recall if I
knew how to shoot. The last thing I needed was to shoot myself in the ass or my foot or something.
“Jim, man. Where the fuck are you?”
The wannabe hunter called out. I stood there, sensing his blood running with high speed through
his body, smelling his fear, the smell so sour and intoxicating it almost made me dizzy.
With my weapon in hand, I ran toward him, making sure he could see me. He didn’t know my gun
was empty.
“Hands up where I can see them!”
“H-hey, who are you? Wh-what do you want?” He slurred the words.
“I’m the one with the gun, and I ask the questions.”
He nodded. His hands shook slightly. This new position made him highly uncomfortable.
“Who are the women? Why did you take them? What are you doing with them?”
“I don’t know who they are.”
Rage colored my sight red, and I swung my rifle, hitting him with it in his gut. A sharp exhale and
cry of pain left him as he doubled over.
“You fucking bitch!” he called out and ran at me with his head low.
His face made a painful acquaintance with my knee, his broken nose splashing blood all over his
face.
“This is not the way you talk to a lady. However, if you start singing and tell me why you trapped
those women, I’ll take mercy on you.”
“Have it your way. They’re meant to be exchanged for weapons. It’s all I know.”
“Who wants them?
“Some dude I don’t know.”
“To do what?”
“The only thing women are good for. He wants to use them in his brothel to attract guys and build
an army.”
He tried to catch the upper hand, grabbing the barrel of the rifle and yanking it from my hands. I
decided to let him. He pressed my body against the wall. I released a small cry. Fuck, my acting skills
sucked, but he was too high on his new power and adrenaline to notice. I rolled my eyes as he
pressed me hard against the wall.
“You, on the other hand,” he said, his nose bleeding from the hit. “You’ll bring a nice little pile of
guns for us.”
He had that predatory glare in his eyes as he rubbed himself repeatedly against me, making
himself hard.
“I could have a taste. A hot bitch like you is no virgin.” He licked my throat from the base to my
chin. Disgust moved inside me. He was so sure he had me. It was fucking hilarious.
“Tomorrow at the Brooklyn Bridge is where we do the exchange. I am so sick of all these sluts
inside our camp.”
Just as the hunter rubbed himself on me, I picked up more footsteps. Fuck, what did I get myself
into here?
“Will, what are you doing, you idiot?”
“Nothing, Captain.”
The older voice was the one that had the man move away from me. Cold, hard steel pressed
against my head. That was not fun. If I have the anatomy of a zombie, a headshot could kill me.
Another man stood to my left.
“What do we have here?” the older guy asked, deep smoke in his voice. He yanked my hair, and
the man next to him shone a flashlight in my eyes.
“Such a pretty blonde girl trying to be bad?”
He moved fast and punched me in the face with his fist. There was metal on his fingers, and the
impact shook my brain. Darkness and cold entered my body.
You’re a dumb bitch, Letty.
I woke up bound. They had used zip ties on my wrists and ankles and had me kneeling. We were
not in the open part of the sewers anymore but in a room. It looked like a maintenance basement
somewhere under a building. At least the ground was dry, even though it was cold.
The women were huddled in a corner. One of the men called out.
“She’s awake.”
The man who held me at gunpoint was there. “Who are you?”
I shrugged. He slapped me. The pain was not intense. He must have hit my head hard before when
I passed out, probably giving me a brain trauma that a normal human would not have lived through,
but I’m not normal. I’m not even sure if I’m human.
“I’ll ask again. Who are you?”
“The bad bitch from your nightmares.”
I tried to pull at the zip ties, but the plastic only cut deeper into my wrists. Something wet trickled
down my fingers.
He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You’re a cute one. If we clean you up,
you’ll fetch a pretty penny.”
I spit in his face, and he laughed.
“Feisty, eh? I’ll have to break you.”
I wish I could say he had evil written all over him, but he didn’t. His face was average, with a
soft chin and boring, blank features. There was nothing special about this man, nothing that would
make one look twice. He was probably in his late to mid-forties and wore his hair cropped short. His
upper arms showed that he exercised regularly without making him too muscular.
“Hold her,” he called to the other two men.
They came over. One grabbed my shoulders and the other pulled my hair. I swore to myself that if
I escaped this place, I’d do something about my blonde, soft, shoulder-length hair. People should
know I’m a hunter and not prey.
The man opened his fly and unbuckled his belt. His dick wasn’t big. It was regular, like
everything about him.
“Now, if you show me how good you behave, I’ll allow the boys to untie you.”
I stared into his eyes. “Fuck you!”
He threw his head back as he massaged his dick. My fear and anger made him hard. The next thing
I knew was that one of the men forced open my lips , and average guy shoved his thing in my mouth.
I want to say I remembered what I did, but I don’t.
Ines, one of the women they had caught and beaten badly, later told me what had happened. I bit
off average guy’s dick. Blood ran down my throat as I chewed it. I can’t remember. All I know is I
felt my restraints snap and, when I was myself again, I took a few bites from the bodies of the men
that lay bloody and broken around the basement. My body was covered in red, and it felt like being
reborn, my baptism of blood and anger.
EPISODE SIX
 “A MONSTER AND HER YELLOW CAT.”

Two months later

I assume that two months had passed since I freed the women from the group that wanted to trade them
for more weapons.
Sadly, I didn’t find out anything more about who the people were who took the other women, no
matter how much I searched. What I knew was that I was a monster and that I was dangerous. Even
though the women I freed were scared, beaten, and bruised, they snapped back fast.
They lived in the underground place they took from the men and thrived. Even though I wanted to
stay with them, that was impossible. They were building a community and had a few gardens they
tended to on the roofs of buildings. And they stayed away from men. I could go up on the roofs and
help them if needed, but I was not delicate enough with the plants. Still, the women’s territory was
under my protection, and I would make sure they were safe, even though I couldn’t stay with them in
the underground tunnels.
The smell of humans made me lose myself in a maze of red, bloody rage. It’s not as if they
smelled like steak. But they smelled so alive and, after I took a bite from that man, I craved that. I was
hungry for their warmth, for their energy, for the fact that, after I bit a human, I felt less alone, less
lost, as if my body was filled with electricity for a few hours. As if the blood and flesh tethered me to
the earth again.
I wanted to take a bite from someone, to taste flesh that still quivers, and that side of me was one I
never wanted to meet again.
Ever.
Even so, that part of me never left me. She returned to me, showing me my real face, night after
night. That’s why I don’t sleep at night anymore. I sleep during the day, wherever the morning and the
feeling of fatigue catches up with me.
The darkness is my friend. I see everything in it. The more I use my night vision, the more I like it.
It is an in-depth vision that gives everything more shape and color.
I see life right away.
I can taste it.
Walking down Fifth Avenue, I stepped around the thick horde of zombies I work on keeping
together. After the women helped me barricade the alleys and smaller streets, I played shepherd with
the zombies. I have them running down the main streets, which gives my friends more places that are
safe. Now and then, I get into a frenzy and kill the fresher zombies, but it’s barely a needle in the
haystack.
Sadly, I couldn’t find other survivors around here.
Each time I saw a thick group of zombies around a building, I made it my job to enter the place
and look for the living, but mostly they were gone already. Or about to turn, slick with sweat and
delirious. Those that I found that way, on the brink of turning, I freed with my knife.
I didn’t tell the women about one group I did meet. One night, I went to look for Darlene and her
sons and to check out the community they were building, but all I saw was blood. Empty places,
covered with thick, old, dried blood. I took the few chickens they had caged and gave them to the
women. They didn’t ask me how I got them, and I didn’t tell. The chickens were better left with the
women than to wander alone on the streets.
One of my watch posts was a tall building on Fifth. I knew every nook and cranny, and the place
felt like home. Still, I kept my first place, the one that once belonged to Gita. I even gave her a nice
funeral in Central Park under a blooming bush I couldn’t name.
Her house was now mine, but I didn’t sleep there often. My territory stretched all over the city,
and I felt obligated to herd my hordes and thin them down.
Now and then, I would enter a horde and thin it, killing one zombie after the other until my arms
hurt. However, tonight was too peaceful. I couldn’t make myself bathe in death.
Late fall made the leaves turn brown and rusty and dance over the pavement. The pieces of
discarded shoes and clothing mixed on the ground, creating a pretty tapestry ripped apart like the
bodies that once owned them.
As time passed, I noticed the zombies didn’t decay, even during the summer. Even after I killed
them, the corpses dried like raisins, and the skin would lose moisture and shrink, but that was it.
There was no stench and no bloating. The women would help. We would use small delivery trucks to
load the discarded dead and burn them on big funeral piles.
The zombies didn’t care for fire. They watched it, like a spectacle from another world, but didn’t
do anything about it.
It was a distraction for the living. I knew that by offering the women free passage through the city
and killing the zombies, I gave them faith. We all need faith.
It gave me purpose.
The women never asked how I managed to kill zombies all on my own. They accepted me. An
older woman who barely spoke English told me I was either an angel or a devil, but she was grateful
for me and would pray for me because I saved her granddaughter and herself from a destiny worse
than death.
Greta became the leader. She eventually stopped pressing me to live with them. She understood
that I was grateful for them and that, even though I wasn’t with them, I still had someone out there. She
knew I wasn’t human because she was the one who watched me kill those men in the sewer and rip
apart zip ties. Each time I walked in the tunnels, the younger women would look at me with a mix of
awe and fear that I found amusing. Could they see what was under the persona I created?
Letty was not a sweet blonde anymore. I shaved a part of my head and dyed the rest of my hair
pink, like blood that is half washed out. I styled my hair in a mohawk and completed the look with
leather pants and an Alice Cooper t-shirt. I was poison, the poison that ran through the veins of the
city. Tonight, I wore a pink leather jacket one of the girls wanted me to have. She said it matched my
hair, so I took it. At first, it was silly, but it grew on me after a while. I was the pink death.
A chuckle escaped my lips.
 As I reached the roof, the sight of a cherry-red burning cigarette surprised me. It shouldn’t have. I
smelled her as I climbed the steps, but I had let my guard down.
“Hey,” I whispered.
Greta shrugged and tightened her hand around her Mossberg shotgun.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she replied in her thick voice with that touch of a German accent
she couldn’t or wouldn’t shake.
Greta was everything I wasn’t. She was ex-military and had put up a good fight when the men
trapped her.
I sat on the ledge of the building with my feet dangling down. This was such a rush to feel the cool
air around me. Sometimes, I asked myself if I would survive the fall from the twenty-fifth floor.
Would I be only a pile of broken bones, or would I be a talking head?
“How’s the training?” I asked. “Are those weapons any good?”
“Ja, Ja. The girls do well. A few are great with a weapon. I think about taking them out tomorrow
and making them shoot some fish in the barrel.”
“Be careful. Need me for help?”
Greta didn’t say a word. After a few seconds, she handed me a paper bag.
“Here. Mama Bianca sent you some. We took a bakery.”
“Thanks.” I opened the paper bag. Soft pieces of pastry smelled delicious.
Greta took another hit from her cigarette.
I pointed to the cigarette. “You know, these aren’t good for you.”
She laughed. “Yeah, cause lung cancer is so high on my list of shit I’m afraid will kill me.”
I nodded and stuffed my mouth with a piece of the soft, fragrant pastry. It melted in my mouth as
soon as it touched my tongue. I released a soft moan.
“Honestly, I’m glad to help with the girls.”
“They need to learn to watch their ass,” said Greta. “And to know that you can’t always be there.”
I nodded.
Greta knew more than others. Even though I never told her, I knew she understood I was not fully
human.
“Your eyes shine in the night like a cat.”
“Contacts,” I replied.
“Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
I took another mouthful of pastry. I relished the taste. It reminded me of things that were long lost
for me.
Greta lit another cigarette and offered it to me.
“Listen, you and I know we’re not the same, but it’s not like they are either. What I try to say here
is, if you need to talk, I can be a friend. And I can shut the fuck up.”
I nodded, knowing that she understood.
“And those are no fucking contacts,” she said.
I smiled in the dark, giving the large, muscular woman an appreciative look.
“Here,” Greta offered me a walkie-talkie.
“What’s this?” I asked around my fourth piece of pastry, my voice muffled by the food and the
wind.
“A walkie. You can call us, and we can call you.”
“Wasn’t that the one good thing about the apocalypse, that we don’t call or text anymore?”
“Come on, take it. Maybe one day you need us. Or maybe you don’t. Listen, you are not alone.
That’s all.”
I took the walkie and swallowed. “If you guys call me to offer food, I’ll be grateful.”
Greta pushed my shoulder lightly, then offered me a bottle. “Want some?”
I sniffed it. The bottle indicated it was tequila. I took a sip. The light burn of the strong alcohol
had a way of making me feel warm, more alive.
“It smells like snow.”
“Think so?” I asked as I slushed the rest of the pastry down with the booze, not sure anymore it
was tequila , before giving her back the bottle.
“Do you like snow?”
“Hmm, I… I can’t remember.”
Greta took a hard, good swig before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Snow is
heaven, but I’m afraid. Not sure how we will stay warm.”
“I found a few houses with fireplaces. I can clean them, and you can move in.”
“But won’t they notice us?”
“Not if I clean the area.”
“Thanks, Letty.”
“Sure thing.”
Again, that silence. She wasn’t asking how I could clean the perimeter alone or how I knew of the
houses. She accepted it, and that made hanging out with Greta easy.
“Don’t you miss a good dicking?” Greta asked.
I choked on air as I laughed at the same time.
“You know. Getting dicked well. I don’t mean love and shit. But the good old wild, dirty, sweaty
fucking.”
I inhaled. “Aren’t you…?”
“Yeah, most people think I’m a lesbian cuz I look butch, but for me, both ways go. And after a
good fight, I need the aggression. I need a guy to blow my brains and take me hard against the wall.
Women are soft, made for romance. But men, they can fuck hard.”
“Okay.”
“Too much information. Sorry.” Greta took another puff from her cigarette and released a smoke
ring into the night air.
“We are low on dick here. That’s a fact,” I added with a half-smile.
“What if we are the last? What if that’s it ? We take care of the chickens, forage, and grow food. I
mean, that’s all good, but that’s no life.”
“I know. I wish I had some answers.”
“I’m not blaming you. Not a bit. You help so much. This community couldn’t exist without you, but
shit. You know what Illana wants?”
I just shrugged, knowing Greta would keep talking no matter what I said.
“She wants us to meet and talk about our feelings. That’s what they do tonight. I don’t want to sit
around and talk and cry. I never did. I’m more a woman of action.”
“I understand,” I said because, really, what else could I say? I leaned back and looked at all the
stars twinkling in the sky.
“Letty, if you fucking leave, please take me with you, girl. Okay?”
“I wasn’t planning to leave.”
“I’m not saying you are. But even for you, New York will become boring one day. I don’t ask for
you to take care of me. I got your back, too, even though I don’t have your abilities. But I want out. I
want to see what’s out there. Maybe there are others, and all they do is wait to be saved.”
Greta took another swing of tequila and offered me the bottle. “I’m a caged animal.”
“The group needs you.”
“I freaking love those bitches, but damn, I can’t spend my life here. I’ll stay for a while, but in the
spring, I’m gone.”
I nodded. I understood.
Greta sat with me longer, and we looked down at the city.
The streets were covered in darkness, but I could see everything. I could sense the cats that hunted
rats at night. I could hear the pack of stray dogs howling at the moon. Each creature, alive or dead,
felt some hunger. We were all slaves to our needs and desires. It was like a steady burn that made it
hard to breathe. A madness that came to my ears like a whisper.
Greta left the roof later that night, and I had a weird feeling I’d never see her again. I didn’t say a
word. What was there to say? In this world, each time you see something or someone, it could be the
last time you lay eyes on them.
It hurt, but it was life.
The cold wind bit at my skin as I stood on the roof, but it didn’t bother me, cold was weird for
me, I didn’t enjoy it but wasn’t affected by it either. The leather jacket and the pants kept me at a nice
temperature.
Was there any memory I had of snow? I had read about it in books and saw it in pictures, but I
couldn’t recall if I ever touched it. Closing my eyes, I leaned on my back and imagined snow. How
would it be? Would it be hard, like shards of glass cutting my skin, or would it feel like a soft, icy
caress?
With that in mind and the bottle of tequila that Greta left, I made my way toward the library. The
library was my place. Greta and a few of the women knew it. I took many precautions to keep that
place dry and sealed off. The first thing I did to ensure its safety was to clean out the rodents, and by
that, I mean killing all the zombies and pulling out their bodies.
Two large trucks blocked the main entrance, but I didn’t need to use that to get in. In two swift
jumps, I was up on one of the vents, my fingers grabbing for a barred window.
Greta was right. The air was getting cooler. A icy gust of wind slapped me over my ass as I
pulled the bars away and wiggled inside.
The library was perfect.
My feet hit the ground with a thud, and I stood in the darkness, inhaling the scent of books. There
was no better place. My night vision took in everything. Line after line of shelves, all waiting for me.
If I couldn’t remember my own life, there were so many others that I could pick and choose from in
these books.
The reception area was empty, and sometimes I wondered how this place looked before the end.
An oil lamp stood there. The light was enough to illuminate the pages and allow me to read. My
night vision relied more on warmth and cool surfaces, which is why reading could be difficult in the
dark and wouldn’t be pleasant. My reflexes are fast enough for me to catch the lamp if it falls, and it
won’t be a fire hazard for my perfect library.
One more hit from the bottle had the warmth of the alcohol running down my throat, warming my
fingertips as I turned on the lamp and headed toward my reading nook. I had brought one of the
couches I found in an office upstairs and placed it in a corner that allowed me to see the entire space
and stay hidden. The snack machine still supplied me with everything I needed.
Tonight, I craved something salty, and the bag with salty chips was there to satisfy my craving.
 The book on my lap told me the story of a girl who worked in an asylum and fell in love with a
patient.
As I turned the pages, my conversation with Greta stuck with me.
“Don’t you miss a good dicking?” she asked in that joking tone of hers.
I don’t know if I ever had sex or had even been kissed.
Days, weeks, and months passed, and I recalled random pieces of life, but nothing personal. I
knew I liked chocolate and potato chips, but I had no idea if I liked guys. I had never considered it
because the only guys I met tried to kill me. There was nothing much to like about them in that case.
Mama Bianca sometimes winked with her old wrinkled hands, covered in signs of the years that
passed, and said hombre with a smile. She believed her girls didn’t miss much, but I could tell that, in
this case, she was wrong. A few of them made weekly runs to bookstores just to read and escape.
They ached for a taste of adventure and of real life.
Greta wants to leave. Just thinking of that made my heart ache. She was as close as a friend could
be. Was she that?
Could she be a real friend if she had no idea what I was? Well, she had an idea, but we tiptoed
around that subject like ballerinas who avoided the floor during a spectacular jump.
Would she understand if I told her I crave the taste of life and that I felt strangely alive and
energized by eating human flesh, the flesh of the living? That this is the only moment in my existence
when I feel the sparkle of electricity building inside my cells, calling out to me, singing the song of
real life? Would she understand?
Or would she think I was a monster?
The light in my lap flickered, a dance making it move with the air that slid around the huge room’s
door. It was getting cold, but it didn’t bother me even though I felt it. My mind registered the cold, but
my body didn’t care.
The night was silent. There were no screams, no pain. I could as well live inside a tomb with all
the dead who mingled on the streets and saw me as one of their own.
A new page in the book showed me a scene when the two lovers must share a room. She’s cold
because they stood outside in the rain, and he is undressing her slowly.
I shiver again. How would I experience what she felt? This was why I loved reading. It allowed
me to slip into another world and, even more, into another one’s mind. I took another breath, tasting
the scent of old books on my tongue.
The heroine’s clothes are wet and stick to her skin, and her lips quiver from the cold, but she
experiences a desire she has never known before. And his eyes… well, his eyes move from her lips
to her neck. The book shows both sides of the story, and I see his thoughts, too, but I don’t believe
they’re real.
The man that I bit, the one who had his hand wrapped around my neck, and who was bringing out
his dick and wanting to take me against my will. He spoke about making me scream and beg, and
about hurting me. My pain made him hard.
And his death made me feel alive. The taste of his flesh inside my mouth made me release a moan
even now. My private area was getting hot and slick. I slid two fingers under my waistband, allowing
myself to enjoy the feeling of pressure on my throbbing bud. My exhale of pleasure was combined
with a sense of pressure on my chest.
Two yellow eyes looked at me. Yellow laid on my chest, cleaning his paws in silence.
“Hey, you rascal.”
A meow greeted me from the cat I called Yellow. The name was not particularly creative. She
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This is the variety of Struthiola ciliata promised in the last number. It varies
from the other in the largeness and incurvation of the leaves, and colour of
the flower, as well as, in the growth of the plant; in this, the stem rises to
three feet; in that, it seldom exceeds one. With rather less difficulty it is
increased and preferred than the red variety, and makes a very handsome
figured plant, flowering in the month of August, at which season, last year,
our drawing was taken from a plant in the Hibbertian Collection. This Var.
has the advantage of the other, in having the blossoms extremely fragrant, in
the evening.
 PLATE CL.

GERANIUM PRÆMORSUM.

Bitten-leaved Geranium.

CLASS XVI. ORDER IV. of Suppl. Syst. Veg. 1781.

MONADELPHIA DECANDRIA. Threads united. Ten Chives.

ESSENTIAL GENERIC CHARACTER.

Monogyna. Stigmata quinque. Fructus rostratus, penta-coccus.

One Pointal. Five summits. Fruit furnished with long awns, five dry
berries.
See Geranium grandiflorum, Pl. XII. Vol. I.

SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Geranium foliis inciso-lobatis, reniformibus; lobis cuneiformibus,

præmorsis; floribus subsolitariis, heptaudris; caule flexuoso, subcarnoso.
Geranium with leaves deeply cut into lobes and kidney-shaped; lobes
wedge-shaped, and bitten at the ends; flowers generally solitary, with seven
fertile tips; stem grows zig-zag, rather fleshy.

REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.

1. The Empalement cut open, to shew its tubular structure.

2. The Chives and Pointal.
3. The Chives spread open.
4. The Pointal and Seed bud.
The Geranium præmorsum offers a most beautiful addition to this already
very extensive genus, but is without doubt a true species. It is a native of the
Cape of Good Hope, and was introduced to us, from thence, in the year
1798, by Captain Quarrel; brought in seed, and communicated to Mr. J.
Colville of the King’s Road, Chelsea; who informs us, that it flowers from
March, till November, that he keeps it in rich dungy earth, and that it is
raised, pretty freely, by cuttings; requiring the heat of a dry stove in the
winter months. Our figure was made at the nursery, Chelsea, about the
beginning of March this year.
 PLATE CLI.

PITTOSPORUM CORIACEUM.

Thick-leaved Pittosporum.

CLASS V. ORDER I.
PENTANDRIA MONOGYNIA. Five Chives. One Pointal.

GENERIC CHARACTER.

Calyx. Perianthium pentaphyllum, inserum, deciduum.

Corolla. Petala quinque; ungues concavi, in tubum urceolatum
conniventes; laminæ ovato-oblongæ, patentes.
Stamina. Filamenta quinque, subulata, receptaculo inserta. Antheræ
sagittatæ, erectæ, filamentis dorso affixæ.
Pistillum. Germen ovatum, superum, compressum. Stylus brevissimus,
cylindricus. Stigma capitatum, planum.
Pericarpium. Bacca subglobosa, 2-5 locularis, 2-5 valvis; loculamentis
pulpa resinosa scatentibus; dissepimenta valvulis contraria.
Semina, tria seu quatuor, angulata, oblonga, obtusa, ossea.
Empalement. Cup five-leaved, beneath, and falling off.
Blossom. Five petals; claws concave, closing into a tube pitcher-shaped;
the borders oblong egg shaped, spreading.
Chives. Threads five, awl-shaped, inserted into the receptacle. Tips arrow
shaped, upright, fixed by the back to the threads.
Pointal. Seed-bud egg-shaped, above, flattened. Shaft very short,
cylindrical. Summit headed, flat.
Seed vessel. A roundish berry 2-5 cells, 2-5 valves; the cells filled with a
resinous pulp; partitions contrary to the valves.
Seeds, three or four, angulated, oblong, obtuse, and bony.
 SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Pittosporum foliis ovalibus, obtusis, glaberrimis, coriaceis, integerrimis.

Pittosporum with oval leaves, blunt ended, very smooth, leathery, and
quite entire.

REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.

1. The Empalement.
2. A Petal of the Blossom.
3. The Chives and Pointal.
4. The Pointal separated from the Chives.
5. A Berry of the size when ripe.
About the year 1763, this plant was first raised in Britain, from seeds
which had been received from the Island of Madeira, by Messrs. Lee and
Kennedy, Hammersmith. It forms one of the most decorative and
conspicuous plants, either in the Conservatory, or Green-house; and if
encouraged in its growth, by being planted in the border of the one; or kept
in rich earth, in a large pot in the other, will attain the height of from 6 to 8
feet. The finest specimen we believe, in England, of this plant is to be found
in the elegant Conservatory of the Right Honourable Lord R. Spencer,
Woolbedding, Sussex. The flowers, which grow in clusters from the ends of
the branches in May, have the flavour of Jasmine; but are rather transitory. It
is propagated but slowly and with difficulty, as it does not perfect its seeds
with us, and it is not to be increased by laying: the only method is cuttings,
which should be taken whilst very young and tender from the plant, about
April, and put from 6 to 8 in a pot, fixed very tight, in stiffish loam; they
must remain under a hand-glass on a shady border till Autumn, when they
may be removed into the hot-house and plunged into the bark bed, where
they will begin to grow the ensuing spring.
 PLATE CLII.

GERANIUM SPATHULATUM.

Spatula-leaved Geranium.

CLASS XVI. ORDER IV. of Suppl. Syst. Veg. 1781.

MONADELPHIA DECANDRIA. Threads united. Ten Chives.

ESSENTIAL GENERIC CHARACTER.

Monogyna. Stigmata quinque. Fructus rostratus, penta-coccus.

One Pointal. Five summits. Fruit furnished with long awns, five dry
berries.
See Geranium grandiflorum, Pl. XII. Vol. I.

SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Geranium foliis integerrimis, spathulatis, glabris, obtusis, radicalibus;

calycibus monophyllis; staminibus quinque fertilibus; radice tuberosa.
Geranium with quite entire leaves, spatula-shaped, smooth, blunt, and
growing from the root; cups one-leaved; five fertile chives; root tuberous.

REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.

1. The Empalement cut open, to shew its hollow structure.

2. The Chives and Pointal natural size.
3. The Chives spread open, to shew the number and situation of
the fertile ones, which are alternate.
4. The Pointal magnified.
The greater number of Geraniums which have been introduced of late, are of
the tuberous herbaceous kind; drawings of 14 we have, independent of those
already figured; constituting a distinguished, and distinct natural branch of
this extensive family. For the most part, they have only five fertile chives
with tubular empalements, some only two, and others seven, with the
footstalk of the flower solid up to the bottom of the cup. This species is as
yet, we believe, only in the Hibbertian Collection, Clapham, where our
drawing was taken in April this year. The roots had been received in the
autumn of 1800 from the Cape. It appears to require the same management
as G. punctatum, and like it, may be increased by the root.
 PLATE CLIII.

VIOLA PEDATA.

Bird’s-foot-leaved Violet.

CLASS XIX. ORDER VI.

SYNGENESIA POLYGAMIA MONOGAMIA. Tips united. Flowers simple.

GENERIC CHARACTER.

Calyx. Perianthium pentaphyllum, breve, persistens; foliolis ovato-

oblongis, erectis, apice acutioribus, basi obtusis, supra basin affixis,
æqualibus, sed dispositione variis: quorum duo fulciunt petalum α; singula
singulum petalum β. γ.; unicum duo petala δ. ε. simùl.
Corolla pentapetala, irregularis, petalis inæqualibus; quorum.
Petalum α. supremum rectum, deorsum spectans, latius, obtusius,
emarginatum, desinens basi in nectarium corniculatum, obtusum, inter
calycis foliola prominens.
β. γ. Lateralia paria, obtusa, opposita, recta.
δ. ε. Insima paria, majora, sursum reflexa.
Stamina. Filamenta quinque, minima, quorum duo petalo α. proxima
appendicibus annexis intrant nectarium. Antheræ sæpius connexæ, obtusæ,
membranis ad apicem auctæ.
Pistillum. Germen subrotundum. Stylus filiformis, extra antheras
prominens. Stigma obliquum.
Pericarpium. Capsula ovata, trigona, obtusa, unilocularis, trivalvis.
Semina plura, ovata, appendiculata, valvis affixa. Receptaculum lineare,
per singulam valvulam lineæ instar excurrens.
Obs. Stigma vel in hamum simplicem reflectitur, vel capitulum est
concavum apice perforato.
Cup five-leaved, short, permanent; leaflets oblong-egg-shaped, erect,
sharpish at the point, blunt at the bottom, joined together above the base,
equal, but variously disposed; of which, two support petal α. one each petal
β. γ. and one the two petals δ. ε. together.
Blossom five petals, irregular, unequal petals, of which
The upper petal α. is upright, bent back, broader, and blunter than the
rest, notched at the end, terminating at the base in a blunt horn-shaped
honey-cup, protruding between the leaflets of the cup.
The lateral petals β. γ. grow in pairs, obtuse, opposite, upright.
The lower petals δ. ε. grow in pairs, larger, and reflexed upwards.
Chives. Five threads, very small; of which the two nearest to the petal α.
have small appendages which enter the honey-cup, Tips generally united,
blunt, enlarged by skinny substances at the end.
Pointal. Seed-bud roundish. Shaft thread-shaped, projecting beyond the
tips. Summit oblique.
Seed-vessel. Capsule egg-shaped, three-sided, blunt, one cell and three
valves.
Seeds many, egg-shaped, having appendages, fixed to the valves.
Receptacle linear, running like a line along each valve.
Obs. The summit is either reflexed into a simple hook, or a concave small
head perforated at the end.

SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Viola acaulis; foliis pedatis, septempartitis; laciniis dentatis.

Violet without a stem, leaves formed like a bird’s foot, with seven
divisions; segments toothed.

REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.

1. The Empalement.
2. One of the upper Petals of the Blossom.
3. One of the lateral Petals.
4. The lower Petal, with its Honey-cup.
5. The Chives and Pointal with the Appendages that fall into the
Honey-cup from the two hinder threads.
6. The Pointal magnified.
The Bird’s-foot-leaved Violet is a native of North America near
Philadelphia; and (according to the Kew Catalogue) was cultivated by Mr. P.
Miller, in 1759, at the Physic Gardens, Chelsea. It is a hardy herbaceous
plant, but is sometimes destroyed by the wetness of our autumnal months:
the flowers, if kept in the open air, expand about May, or the beginning of
June; but if kept in pots they, with a slight protection from the Spring frosts,
will be produced in April. Peat earth is the soil it approves most, and it
should not be exposed to too much wet, whether planted in the borders or in
pots. The roots may be parted in March.
 PLATE CLIV.

ECHIUM ARGENTEUM.

Silvery-leaved Viper’s-Bugloss.

CLASS V. ORDER I.
PENTANDRIA MONOGYNIA. Five Chives. One Pointal.

ESSENTIAL GENERIC CHARACTER.

Corolla irregularis, fauce nudâ.

Blossom irregular, mouth naked.
See Echium grandiflorum, Pl. XX. Vol. I.

SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Echium foliis lanceolatis, acutis, sericeo-villosis; spicis terminalibus;

corolla violacea, subæqualia.
Viper’s-bugloss with lance-shaped leaves, sharp-pointed and silkily-
hairy; spikes terminate the branches; blossom violet colour, nearly equal.

REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.

1. The Empalement.
2. A Flower cut open, with the Chives remaining attached.
3. The Seed-buds, Shaft, and Summit.
This fine species of Echium, was raised from seeds received from the Cape
of Good Hope in the year 1789, at the nursery, Hammersmith; where our
drawing was made, last year, from a plant which had been planted in the
open ground, for the summer months; and where it had grown to the height
of four feet. It is a hardy green-house plant, and grows best in light earth,
either peat, or leaf mould; and flowers about July. It is as difficult to
propagate as either, the E. grandiflorum, or E. ferocissimum; but only to be
increased, like them, by cuttings.
 PLATE CLV.

IXIA POLYSTACHIA.

Many-spiked Ixia.

CLASS III. ORDER I.

TRIANDRIA MONOGYNIA. Three Chives. One Pointal.

ESSENTIAL GENERIC CHARACTER.

Corolla 6-partita, patens, equalis. Stigmata 3, erectiusculo-patula.

Blossom 6-divisions, spreading, equal. Summits three, nearly upright and
spreading.
See Ixia reflexa, Vol. I. Plate XIV.

SPECIFIC CHARACTER.

Ixa foliis linearibus; scapo spicis pluribus; floribus oppositis, spicatis;

corollis albidis.
Ixia with linear leaves; flower-stem with many spikes; flowers grow
opposite and spiked; blossoms white.

REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.

1. The two sheaths of the Empalement.

2. A flower cut open to shew the situation of the Chives.
3. The Pointal natural size.
This is the plant which is figured by Miller, in the coloured plates which
correspond with the dictionary, 104, t. 155. fig. 2. under the specific title it
here bears; and, says the Kew Catalogue, was cultivated by him 1757. Since
this is the first which bore the title of Polystachia, and being of the colour we
think is mostly primitive in flowers, we have given it the preference; and
shall confider all the other 18, (of which we have drawings and decidedly of
this species) as varieties from this. The flowers of this species are more
lasting than most of the others; and are in general, especially this sort, very
hardy. It propagates freely by the root and by seed. Our drawing was made at
the nursery, Hammersmith, last year, in the month of May.