My Zombie Honeymoon: Love in the Age of Zombies Book One by James K. Evans Page B

headed toward the bathroom and started the shower.
    “In here!” I shouted over my shoulder. “I have a shower!”
    When I turned around, Michelle was trying to take off her blouse. I said “Wait, let me do that. Raise your arms.” I grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt and carefully pulled it up, turning it inside out in the process so all the dead tissue remained with the blouse instead of getting all over her. Examining her body (and I must admit I enjoyed this part), I couldn’t see any sign of cut, bite, or injury.
    She had a lovely body, at least from the neck down. Not the fake, plastic, flat-bellied model kind of beauty, but the all-American, healthy curvy kind of beauty. She was voluptuous. The kind of woman who feels soft in your arms, not hard and bony. Women should feel soft.
    After I peeled her blouse off, she was standing in front of me wearing only jeans and her bra. And zombie guts.
    I noticed it was a pretty purple bra. Pretty, purple, and big. She reached back and unhooked it, turning her back to me as her breasts spilled out.
    Despite everything, I could feel myself getting hard. Not having sex for ten years will do that to a guy.
    “I’ll get a garbage bag for these clothes,” I said as she unbuttoned her jeans. I glanced back as I left the room and saw her pulling them down and stepping out of them, wearing only a pair of purple panties with little ribbons interwoven into the elastic. They matched the bra.
    She closed the door behind her, then shouted as the room grew dark. She hadn’t realized there were no lights in the room. She opened the door a crack as I said, “I’ll get a trash bag and a lantern.”
    I heard her open the shower door and get in, despite the darkness. I got a trash bag and the LED lantern, then went back into the room. Between the relative darkness and the opacity of the shower door, I could barely make out her figure in the shower. I picked up her blouse and jeans, making sure the part I touched was clean of zombie, and dropped them into the trash bag.
    I thought I heard the sound of sobbing. “Hey, are you okay in there?” I asked.
    “I’ll be okay. I’m just freaked out. And I stink like zombie,” she said through her tears. I remembered what I felt like when I’d had my close encounter of the zombie kind.
    “Listen, you’re okay. We’re both okay. You take a nice hot shower and get yourself cleaned up. I’ll have a drink waiting for you to help calm you down,” I said, “unless you’d rather have a pharmaceutical.”
    “I could really use a Xanax,” she said. “I’m shaking like a leaf! And I think I might . . .”
    I heard retching sounds, and quickly left the room figuring she’d rather puke in private. At least she was in the shower and I wouldn’t have a mess to clean up.
    I went back to the first aid box and rooted through it until I found the Xanax. One milligram. Not a strong dose. I shook one out of the bottle, grabbed a glass of water and went back into the bathroom. Michelle seemed to be done puking.
    “Here’s some water,” I said, “and the Xanax.” She opened the door and stuck her hand out, taking the tablet and then the water. Without saying a word, she closed the door, and I vaguely saw her take the pill and drink the water. Then I guess she started scrubbing and shampooing again. I would have liked to stay and watch, but decided to use discretion and left the room.
    I didn’t know what to do with the bag of soiled clothes. Eventually I took them upstairs—all the way to the second floor, where I put them in an empty closet. Maybe at some point I can burn them. I left the bra in the bathroom since it had no zombie guts on it.
    Eventually I had to knock on the door and tell her she needed to get out, the hot water heater was draining the batteries. As she turned the water off, she asked me to get her bathrobe out of one of the boxes. Once I found it, I opened the door a crack and hung it on the hook mounted on the inside of the