A Single Girl's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse by JT Clay

fragrant spray,” Q said, glad she had made the effort this morning. “It’s called Ocean Flowers.”
    â€œLike algae?”
    â€œOh,” said Q. “I guess.”
    â€œCool. I like algae.”
    They dangled and they sat. Q, not used to being in the wilderness without a map icon to click on, tried to orient herself. They were a long way west of Sydney, high up in mountain country. The air was cool and rich and full of earthy scent. The ground poured into gullies and choked on shrubs. There were no power lines, no roads, no straight lines from anything man made. They were in someone else’s land.
    The quiet of the morning was interrupted by Q’s regular slap! whack! at mosquitoes and ants. After a while, Rabbit intercepted her hand.
    Her face burned and her belly flipped. He was holding her hand!
    â€œThey’re part of the bush,” he said. He let go of her hand and turned back to the stream. “Let them be.”
    Q sighed. It was nothing after all. “Things are biting me,” she said. “Anything less than extreme self-defense would be weird.”
    Rabbit grinned and steered away an inch ant with a stick. “She’s all right,” he said. “You have to be— ow!” He sucked his finger and breathed through his nose. Q giggled.
    A movement on the bank downstream caught Q’s eye. She couldn’t make sense of the image at first. Something large and brown lurked in the trees, hunched over the edge of the water. Was it drinking?
    No. Not drinking. Another color poured from the creature into the stream. Red. The brown shape was the heart of an expanding pool of red.
    Q tapped Rabbit on the shoulder, put a finger to her lips and pointed at the shape. He didn’t see it at first.
    â€œWhat’s there?” he said. Q waited for the image to make sense, then decided she preferred the abstract version.
    â€œIt’s creepy old caretaker guy,” she said. “He’s washing something in the river. Something bloody.”
    The man stood up and disappeared into the bush. Q waited until he had gone, then walked downstream to the spot where he had been. There were footprints and blood on the river stones, but the creek itself had washed clean. She didn’t like that man. He reminded her of Chapter Seventeen, The Survivor Type and how to avoid being eaten by one. She returned to Rabbit and scribbled in her little black book.
    â€œAre you writing about our walk in your diary?” Rabbit asked.
    â€œNo— yes— sort of.” She put the notebook away.
    â€œWhat do you write about? Your fears and doubts?” Rabbit asked.
    â€œSometimes. Like, have you ever noticed that the things that scare us the most aren’t just monsters, but monsters that can turn us into one of them?”
    â€œI know exactly what you mean,” Rabbit said.
    Q grinned. He understood! “Vampires and werewolves and zombies,” she said.
    â€œLawyers,” Rabbit said, shaking his head. “I’m surrounded by them every day. All I want to do is sing folk and make the world a better place and I’m terrified that one day, I’ll forget all that and start overbilling on my time sheet.” He looked so sad.
    â€œCheer up,” Q said. “I reckon that fear is more common than you think.”
    â€œKate does not agree,” Rabbit said. “She says I’m wasting my life. She thinks I’m a failure.”
    â€œYou? Nah. Anyway, how do you measure success? Your first job? Your first house? Your first stalker?”
    â€œI don’t need to be the best at anything,” Rabbit said. “I just want to be a better person.”
    â€œMe too,” Q said. “I just want to be a person.”
    Rabbit’s fingers drifted to a piece of cord at his throat and he pulled out another wooden snake pendant, almost identical to Pious Kate’s, except that this one had glinting green eyes instead of