Free The Dead Survive by Lori Whitwam

wrapped him in a small canvas tarp he was carrying.
    “I kept his head out, but when we hit that booby trap, I guessed there would be marauders nearby, and I know beagles. They bark. So I had to cover his head, hoping he’d be quiet till we were safe.”
    All I could do was thank him over and over. And maybe kiss him a few more times.
    Leaving Skip to rest, we went out to the kitchen to find Quinn something to eat. I made him a hardboiled egg sandwich, and he settled down with a can of warm beer to enjoy his meal. He popped the top, took a sip, and muttered something about what he’d give for a functional mini-fridge. I shook my head. Refrigeration seemed like a minor thing, until you didn’t have it.
    I was looking in the pantry, deciding if we’d have dinner at home or go to the communal kitchen today, when Melissa passed us and went into my room. I left Quinn at the table and followed her, wanting to make sure she didn’t accidentally jostle Skip’s injured leg.
    What I saw—and heard—when I entered the room stopped me in my tracks. Melissa was sitting by Skip, his head nestled carefully in her lap. And she was talking.
    “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? I know you’re hurt and scared, but it’s going to be okay.” Her delicate hands stroked over his head and down his back, avoiding the bandage. “You’re safe now, I promise. Nobody will ever hurt you again.”
    I stuck my head out the door and hissed, “Quinn, come here! You have to see this.” I hoped my voice carried to the kitchen, but wasn’t so loud it disrupted Melissa’s one-sided conversation with Skip.
    Quinn joined me in the doorway and stared in amazement. “Does she know who he is?”
    I nodded. “I think so. When I wasn’t reading to her, I told her stories. I told her about Skip, and made up versions of how I’d find him again someday.”
    “Listen to her,” he whispered. “She’s saying all the things people have said to her, trying to help her.”
    I was thrilled, grateful, and for the first time since we realized something had gone terribly wrong with the world, I thought I might be happy .

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
    The next few weeks flew by. Quinn didn’t take any more assignments outside the Compound, and he spent a lot of time with us. Melissa continued to talk to Skip, and eventually started giving one-word answers to our questions, such as her age—fifteen, as I’d guessed—and that her last name was Donato.
    There were occasional skirmishes, but I barely noticed the smaller clashes anymore. There was one troubling rumor, though. Some of the scouts thought a few of the zombies they saw were different. They seemed to be faster and more clever than the ones we were used to seeing. If true, that was very disturbing. It could be the slower zombies, or ones who were for one reason or another less capable hunters, were more easily killed off by our patrols, leaving larger numbers of the quicker, more predatory ones. I didn’t know, but I was sure our scouts would monitor the situation closely.
    Regardless, life went on. Skip healed, his limp improving every day. It was such a delight to have him with us, his white-tipped tail held high and waving as he accompanied us around the Compound, and sleeping on my bed at night.
    Quinn and I did a lot of talking. He’d taken to holding my hand as we walked, and there were quite a few more kisses. He didn’t push me for more, and I appreciated his sensitivity more than I could say. Although I was finally seeing who he was, rather than who he appeared to be, I wasn’t yet ready for anything more intimate.
    I did tell him everything I’d gone through at the hotel, though, and he listened. He showed anger at hearing what had been done to us, and sympathy, but he never displayed the one reaction which could have derailed my emerging trust. Pity .
    He also told me about his early life, including some of the bad choices he made, and I began to