GIRL Z: My Life as a Teenage Zombie. This shows some of Becca's feelings. She's part-zombie, but still conflicted.
An old lady Z in a ratty housecoat, the puffs of hair left on half of her head still sporting pink curlers, her mouth ringed with blood like she'd missed while applying her lipstick, limped toward us from the opposite direction.
She stumbled along, taking mincing steps in dirty pink slippers. A small plastic handbag dangled from a chain around her arm. I watched her progress, unable to shake the thought of somebody's grandma heading to a tea party before she went missing.
Carm's poke at my arm barely registered, my focus solely on Grandma Z shuffling along. "Bec? You good?" my cousin asked.
I shook my head, but didn't trust myself to answer. My eyes blurred and got a little moist. I'd never expected this sudden stab of emotion. Up until now the Zs hadn't bothered me, but this little old lady was different. She could've been anybody's charming little grandma who unfortunately had somehow become infected.
I couldn't do it. Not this time.
As if she sensed my hesitation, Grandma Z gave another little growl and reached for me with chubby hands, her fingers pocked with rot, bits of bone sticking out. I stared at her and screamed when Carm pushed me aside. "Bec, watch out!"
Carm pumped her gun, the paintballs hitting the senior Z full in the face. She made mewing sounds like a baby and grabbed at her dripping flesh.
It was too much for me. I averted my gaze. The sight of her agony and the reality of her body falling to pieces bothered me like it never had before.