HOPEFUL

By: Melissa Zeigler

“Let me out of here!”

“I can’t do that.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, it didn’t bite me.”

“And I’ve told you I can’t take the risk!”

They were the only ones in the restaurant. He paces in front of the freezer door as she stares at him from the inside. Both are filthy. Their clothes, their skin, nothing has seen soap in days.

“So you’re just gonna leave me here?”

“No.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait.”

Even through the dirt and dim lighting he can clearly see each tear flowing from her lilac eyes. I love you, he wanted to announce (for although he’s felt it for some time he’s never had the courage or the right time to say it) but as he struggles to command his lips and voice to speak he knows it will never be the right time.

“I-“

She stares at him - he doesn’t have to finish - she knows exactly what they mean to each other. She places her hand on the glass.

“We’ll wait.”

This was in a small town in California eight months after the outbreak began. She was certain she hadn’t been bitten. Or at least she thought she was certain. The restaurant, once full of life and vibrancy, is now just another dark reminder of a bygone reality. Her stomach churns, rumbles - suddenly all she can think of is one thing - she wants fresh, raw meat.