Rom-Com Zombie Apocalypse

The darkness was thick. Like, "did someone spill ink in here?" thick. Elliot's voice cut through it, way too cheerful for someone who'd just barricaded a door with a toaster oven. "Check the kitchen drawers. Candles, matches, anything."

I fumbled blindly, hands slapping at drawers. "Y-Yeah, because I definitely keep emergency supplies next to the spatulas-" My fingers brushed something cylindrical. "Wait, found one!"

"Great! Now don't drop i-"

Clatter. The candle rolled off the counter and hit the floor.

"...t," Elliot finished.

"Sh-Shut up," I hissed, crouching to feel around. My hand smacked into something solid. Warm. Firm. Alarmingly not-zombie.

Inner Monologue Panic Mode Activated: IS THAT HIS CHEST. OH NO. OH NO. WHY IS IT SO HARD. STOP NOTICING. STOP IT. WE'RE ABOUT TO DIE. THIS ISN'T A ROM-COM.

I yanked my hand back like I'd touched lava. "S-Sorry!"

Elliot chuckled, his voice low and way too amused. "Relax, it's not like I'm gonna turn into a zombie from physical contact."

"M-Maybe it's airborne!" I blurted, scrambling to stand. Outside, a guttural screech echoed, followed by the sound of shuffling feet dragging against pavement. My breath hitched. "If it is, we're already doomed. My p-parents are in Switzerland. Y-Yours are in… wherever. They're safe. We're… not."

Elliot struck a match suddenly, the flame painting his face in flickering gold. "Airborne? Doubt it. We'd be shambling by now, and you're still…" He gestured at me. "...you. Just more jittery."

"Gee, th-thanks," I muttered, crossing my arms as another chorus of moans rose outside, clawing at the silence.

He lit the candle, and the room glowed softly. "Our parents being besties doesn't mean we have to be, y'know. But here we are. Apocalypse buddies."

"Yay," I deadpanned. A blood-curdling scream tore through the night, closer this time. The zombies were converging, their screeches building into a cacophony. "B-Besties who don't talk at school. Real… bonding experience."

He shrugged. "You're the one who texted me. Admit it, I'm your only contact."

"N-No! I just… d-deleted everyone else after the… the…"

"The Cafeteria Incident?"

"Shut up about the Cafeteria Incident."

Police sirens wailed suddenly, cutting through the night. We lunged for the window, pressing our faces to the glass.

A sleek, self-driving smart car, stuffed with zombies in uniforms, careened down the street, lights flashing. One undead officer's hand flopped out the window, middle finger raised.

Elliot snorted. "Even zombies hate traffic cops."

"H-How is the car driving?!"

"Smart AI, dumb zombies. Match made in hell."

The sirens faded, but the zombies outside reacted violently. Shrieks erupted as decaying hands slapped against the car's windows, their milky eyes reflecting the flashing lights. I watched one lurch into a lamppost, its jaw snapping mindlessly.

"It's not fair," I murmured, my voice trembling. Elliot shot me a sideways glance. "They didn't choose this. What if… what if there's still something human in there? What if we're just… murdering people?"

Elliot groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Seriously? Now you wanna debate zombie ethics? That thing—" He jabbed a finger at the window where a zombie in a bloodied nurse's scrubs stumbled past. "—would rip your throat out because it smells like a Lunchable. There's no philosophy here. Just survival."

"B-But what if we're wrong?" I pressed, my throat tight. "What if they're still… them? Trapped, screaming? We don't know—"

"Mira," Elliot interrupted, his voice sharp. "That 'nurse'? It's missing half its face. The cop in the car? His intestines are hanging out the window. They're gone. All of them. And if we start crying over every corpse, we'll end up just like them."

The candle flickered, casting shadows that made his expression unreadable. Outside, the screeches grew louder, as if the horde could sense our debate.

"Y-You're being heartless," I whispered.

"I'm being alive," he snapped. "Now grab the—"

THUD.

Something slammed against the window. We froze.

A zombie in a business suit stared back, jaw unhinged, milky eyes locked on us. It reared back and smashed into the glass again. The window held… but a crack splintered across the pane.

Elliot slowly raised the baseball bat. "So. Wanna test that 'aim for the head' theory?"

The zombie roared, bloody fists pounding. Behind it, three more figures emerged from the shadows, their guttural cries harmonizing into a nightmare chorus.

I grabbed my broom. "Y-You take the left. I'll… distract it with my clumsy charm."

"Deal. But Mira?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"If we die… this was the best first date ever."

"N-NOT A DATE!" I squeaked, but then the window broke and he was already lunging forward, bat swinging. The zombie's skull crumpled with a wet crunch, and I tripped over my own feet, jabbing the broom handle wildly at another's chest.

"Still think they're misunderstood?!" Elliot shouted over the chaos, kicking a zombie grandmother in the ribs.

"I'M BUSY NOT DYING!"

"Good! Stay that way!"

As the last zombie fell, he turned to me, breathless and grinning. The candlelight caught the sweat on his brow, and for a stupid, reckless second, I forgot about the screeching, the cracks in the glass, the blood on his bat.

Then the entire horde answered in the distance—a hundred voices, hungry and echoing.

Elliot's smile faded. "We need to move. Now."

I nodded, clutching the broom like a lifeline.

The last zombie fell with a wet thud, and Elliot wiped his bat on the edge of his shirt, grimacing. "Okay, that was gross. I'm officially never eating spaghetti again."

I clutched my broom, my heart pounding like a drum solo. "W-We need to move to the second floor. We can lock it from inside. It's safer up there."

Elliot raised an eyebrow. "Safer? Mira, the second floor is a death trap. We'd be locking ourselves in the worst possible place. No exits, no way out, just us and a bunch of zombies playing 'guess who's for dinner.'"

"B-But it's higher ground!" I argued, gesturing wildly. "Zombies can't climb stairs, right? They're, like, super uncoordinated!"

"Have you seen them?" Elliot pointed out the window, where a zombie in a tracksuit was doing a weird limbo under a mailbox. "That one's basically an Olympic gymnast. Besides, look - " He grabbed my arm, his touch sending a thrill through me, and pulled me toward the broken window, where the night air carried the scent of rain and adventure.. " - there's someone else out there. Fighting zombies. Right in front of your house."

I squinted through the cracked glass. Sure enough, a figure in a hoodie was swinging a crowbar at a small group of zombies, their movements frantic but effective.

"See?" Elliot said, grinning. "We should group up with them. Strength in numbers, or whatever."

"W-What if they're worse than the zombies?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "What if they're, like, a serial killer or a really bad cook?"

Elliot snorted. "Worse than zombies? Mira, I'd take my chances with a serial killer over a zombie any day. At least the killer might have snacks."

"You're impossible," I muttered, but he was already heading for the door.

"C'mon," he said, holding out his hand. "We'll stick together. You can hold the broom, and I'll swing the bat. If the hoodie guy turns out to be a psycho, we'll just… run really fast."

I hesitated, glancing back at the stairs. "B-But the second floor-"

"Is a zombie buffet waiting to happen," Elliot interrupted. "Trust me. I've seen enough horror movies to know how this ends. Spoiler alert: it's not with us sipping tea on the second floor."

I groaned. "Fine. But if we die, I'm haunting you."

"Deal," he said, grinning. "Now let's go before Hoodie Guy gets eaten. I kinda like his style."

We crept out the door, the night air thick with the stench of decay and the sound of distant screeches. The figure in the hoodie was still fighting, their crowbar connecting with a zombie's skull with a sickening crunch.

"Hey!" Elliot called out, waving the bat. "Need a hand?"

The figure turned, and for a split second, I thought they might actually be friendly. Then they screamed, "LOOK OUT!"

I spun around just in time to see a zombie lunging at me, its mouth wide open like a broken jack-o'-lantern. I swung the broom on instinct, hitting it square in the face. It stumbled back, tripping over its own feet and crashing into a trash can.

"Nice shot!" Elliot said, clapping me on the back. "You're a natural."

"I'm gonna throw up," I replied, clutching the broom like a lifeline.

The hoodie guy ran over, panting. "Thanks for the assist. Name's Alex. You guys got a plan, or are we just winging it?"

"Winging it," Elliot said cheerfully. "But we're really good at it."

"Great," Alex said, deadpan. "Just what I needed. A comedian and a broom-wielding maniac."

"Hey!" I protested. "The broom works!"

"It does," Elliot agreed. "But next time, maybe aim for the knees. Less… splatter."

The night screamed again, a chorus of guttural cries that sent shivers down my spine. I tightened my grip on the broom and took a deep breath.

"Okay," I said, trying to sound brave. "Let's do this."

Elliot grinned. "Now that's the attitude! Let's move before the zombies figure out we're the all-you-can-eat buffet."

I, the quiet one, suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream,

"AAAAAAAAARGH, YOU FCKERS!"

Alex and Elliot, expecting silence, practically jumped out of their skins and screamed too.

And on that fateful Tuesday night, the world wasn't the only one screaming—I was too.