[ WP ] The Zombie Apocalypse is on its 3rd week . You expected them to be dangerous but you never expected them to be able to talk .

He was staring at me, and I knew those eyes - I knew that face. The eyes of my best friend, my partner and my companion through life. He had disappeared three weeks ago at the beginning of the infection spreading. I had never thought he ’ d be alive, though in all reality I knew he wasn ’ t. They were mindless beings, drawn to the places they knew in life, but dead by any other meaningful feature. 
 I rolled my chair through to the kitchen and brought out my pistol. He was slow enough that I wouldn ’ t have to kill him yet. I stared at the table, the slow groans resonating as he stepped forward and followed me to where I sat. He stared at me and he pulled out the chair opposite, before seating himself as he might at the end of an exasperated day. 
 His arm reached out towards mine, and I flinched away, tightening my grip on the gun. 
 “ You don ’ t need to be afraid. ” He said. 
 I stared at him. I ’ d only seen rumours of them speaking. Echoes of their former selves. His hand slowly brushed against mine, and I made eye contact with him. Their skin didn ’ t rot, their bodies didn ’ t decay, they moved and breathed and… they talked. 
 “ I thought you were dead. ” I whispered. 
 “ Not when I still have you to look after. ” 
 “ I don ’ t need looking after. ” I rolled my eyes, “ I ’ m a full grown human, you know? ” 
 He laughed. “ I ’ ve missed you while I wandered the past few days. ” 
 “ Are you here for me to kill you? ” 
 “ I ’ m here to tell you I love you. ” 
 “ Then… ” I gestured at the pistol. 
 “ Only if I get hungry. ” He stood up and walked to the kettle. I tightened my grip on the gun. 
 I glanced at his legs, there were deep bite marks on his jeans; blood had seeped through and now clung dry to the fabric. It explained his slow walking at least. I watched him as he made my tea as I liked it. He made the jokes he always did, he spoke as he always would. His hands felt warm to my touch. 
 “ I must go. ” He finally said. 
 “ You will kill people. ” I told him. 
 “ I will eat other people like me. ” He said. “ I ’ ve seen the news. We are not considered people. ” 
 I grabbed his hand before he left, pulled him down to kiss me. I reached for the pistol and pulled it to his head. He pulled away slightly. 
 “ I love you. ” He whispered, I could see a tear forming in his eye. 
 My heart felt heavy as my hand lay on the trigger. My memories of life with him flashed before my eyes. I knew it was wrong, but I let him go. I didn ’ t see him again for another month. Part of me had hoped that he ’ d been killed, another part had hoped that those he killed had been those who wouldn ’ t be missed, and deep down there was a part of me that wished beyond my wildest dreams that he had done whatever it had taken to come back to me. At the time I never felt like that made me a bad person, but then I didn ’ t know what I did now.
