Also human instinct to pretend that things that were clearly happening in front of them weren't happening. Of course, she'd also never seen a zombie puke itself to death -- hell, she'd never seen one puke in general. She kept thinking she'd seen this before, but it was the result of bad food. Rotting food. Or poison.
But. He was dead. This shit didn't happen to corpses. They didn't get picky about who they are. Obviously.
A shiver ran up her spine as the zombie grasped her fingers, the tips freezing cold, lacking that distinct human moisture. This was taking cold and clammy to another level. Still. She didn't pull away. Fuck if she could. Somewhere in her head, she'd accepted that, for whatever reason, her zombie was dying.
When he was gone, slumped over and lifeless -- hah, a lifeless corpse -- she released a shuddering breath, wiping her eyes with an elbow. For a crazed minute, she wanted to throw a tantrum. How fucking fair was it that he could try to tear her apart and then die afterward? How was that right?
"Fuck, R." He'll come back. Sure. She believes that. Enough to hook her arms under his and drag the heavy, decaying body after her.
Julie distinctly felt like this Arena was delicately planned out to really get on her fucking nerves. The cute colors, the singing. The zombie trying to kill her.
She blinked away tears -- of irritation, of course -- and pulled the body into a shaded place of trees. He felt dead. Like, completely. Looked dead. No one was gonna care about him out here. Just another corpse out of plenty others. (Why wasn't there the normal explosion in the sky?)
Whatever. She was stupid enough to care about a zombie (she wasn't thinking about the idea he might not come back), but not stupid enough to stay and cry by its corpse. She smoothed his hair from his brow, covering his open eyes with a few colorful gumballs. She recognized them for what they were; her mind didn't process it.
"Fucking corpse." She grabbed her bat, lugged her bag back between her shoulders. It felt heavier than before. Still. She took the burden and shot out of there, ducking under the huge, rounded head of a standing lollipop. She was on Candy goddamn Mountain covered in zombie ooze, and she was almost thankful for the rotting sludge that covered up the smell of sugar.
Fucking corpse. Once he showed up in the Capitol, he was going to wish he was dying all over again.
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But. He was dead. This shit didn't happen to corpses. They didn't get picky about who they are. Obviously.
A shiver ran up her spine as the zombie grasped her fingers, the tips freezing cold, lacking that distinct human moisture. This was taking cold and clammy to another level. Still. She didn't pull away. Fuck if she could. Somewhere in her head, she'd accepted that, for whatever reason, her zombie was dying.
When he was gone, slumped over and lifeless -- hah, a lifeless corpse -- she released a shuddering breath, wiping her eyes with an elbow. For a crazed minute, she wanted to throw a tantrum. How fucking fair was it that he could try to tear her apart and then die afterward? How was that right?
"Fuck, R." He'll come back. Sure. She believes that. Enough to hook her arms under his and drag the heavy, decaying body after her.
Julie distinctly felt like this Arena was delicately planned out to really get on her fucking nerves. The cute colors, the singing. The zombie trying to kill her.
She blinked away tears -- of irritation, of course -- and pulled the body into a shaded place of trees. He felt dead. Like, completely. Looked dead. No one was gonna care about him out here. Just another corpse out of plenty others. (Why wasn't there the normal explosion in the sky?)
Whatever. She was stupid enough to care about a zombie (she wasn't thinking about the idea he might not come back), but not stupid enough to stay and cry by its corpse. She smoothed his hair from his brow, covering his open eyes with a few colorful gumballs. She recognized them for what they were; her mind didn't process it.
"Fucking corpse." She grabbed her bat, lugged her bag back between her shoulders. It felt heavier than before. Still. She took the burden and shot out of there, ducking under the huge, rounded head of a standing lollipop. She was on Candy goddamn Mountain covered in zombie ooze, and she was almost thankful for the rotting sludge that covered up the smell of sugar.
Fucking corpse. Once he showed up in the Capitol, he was going to wish he was dying all over again.