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(As he writes, The protagonist is a zombie!
He falls in love with a human!
is only cute once.)
Ok, hes alive… now what?
Hes still a man with no history, no identity, and very poor social skills.
This wasnt the kind of sequel where I could just repeat the original with slightly higher stakes.
The protagonist is a zombie!
isnt a joke with legs.
He falls in love with a human!
is only cute once.
What are you without your past, even with all its stains?
And how can you fight a plague thats ingrained in humanitys bones?
Its a big leap.
By the time I reached the end of this story, the starting point felt miles away.
This is my favorite excerpt because it links the two stages of the journey.
Its time to grow up, stand up, and fight.
Excerpt fromThe Burning Worldby Isaac Marion
Hey, guys!
M bellows with a friendly wave.
The horde goes still.
A few snap their teeth at us once or twice, then resume their shambling.
But most remain motionless, regarding us with inscrutable expressions.
I feel a surge of emotion for these lost creatures, pity laced with love.
I was one of them.
Im still one of them.
Yet somehow I escaped this place, and they remain trapped.
Not easy, but simple.
Our effect on the Boneys had been immediate and dramatic.
But my fellow Fleshies?
The Dead who had yet to cut that final thread?
But our attempt to go forth and evangelize was disastrously naive.
They are not impressed.
They are not convinced.
They are waiting for something more.
M strides ahead and begins to mingle, shaking hands and slapping backs.
The Dead stare at him with furrowed brows, like they dont understand what he is.
So their uncertainty is not the age-old question of to eat or not to eat.
Its something more complex.
I follow M into the swaying, stinking crowd.
Are you sure about this?
Maybe find some blood to smear on us?
Nora says with a cringe.
Like you did with Julie?
I shake my head.
Wasnt just the blood.
It was me going with you.
Because Im not Dead anymore.
I plunge into the crowd.
Youre insane, Abram shouts from his chosen position far back in the hallway.
Where are you even going?
I point toward the distant end of the hall, over the heads of a thousand zombies.
I press further in.
, she greets them through gritted teeth.
just dont eat me .
Lets go, Daddy, Sprout says.
She tugs on his hand, but he remains rooted to the floor.
Julie calls back to him.
Im not dragging my daughter through a zombie horde.
Use your eyes, man.
You dont know what theyre going to do.
She throws up her hands.
You dont know whatanyonesgoing to do!
Any person in any crowd could be a murderer, a rapist, a suicide bomber.
You dive in and hope for the best.
Like her, Im putting on a brave face, but I cant pretend Im not scared.
Fighting off the plague didnt make me immune to it.
A suicidal runaway showed us the dismal answer: what happens now is what happened then.
We rejoin the Dead.
We lose it all.
And just as dependent on the whim of the mob.
Perhaps by accident, a woman stumbles behind the counter.
The crowd instinctively forms a line.
I watch all this with great interest.
Is it just the lingering echoes of old instincts, or a sign of recovery?
A stiff body stretching its limbs, testing its reflexes?
I remember my first real meal.
Id been trying for weeks.
I didnt want her to share my worry that I wouldnt survive my transformation.
But then, after about a month, it happened.
I felt a stirring of theoldhunger.
The kind that didnt demand human sacrifice.
I watched Julie frying potatoes from our garden, drowning them in hot sauce, and my stomach grumbled.
I didnt want to suck the lightning out of a human soul; I wanted to eat hash browns.
And I ate them.
But that moment gave me hope that I didnt know I lacked.
It was a step.
I will them to take the next step.
Julie says, standing on tiptoe to see through the crowd behind us.
She hops up on a bench.
I dont need the bench to see that theyre no longer in the hall.
Did they seriously ditch us?
She cups her hands to her mouth.
Keep it down, he says, emerging from a service door with his daughter in tow.
Youll wake them up.
I hope you feel stupid taking the long way around now that you see were all fine.
I dont take risks with my family.
He fixes me with a stern glare.
Wheres your safe space?
To Abrams reliefand mine, if Im being honestour route doesnt take us through the bagel crowd.
Behind us, the overhead sign promises baggage claim and restrooms.
The book store is called Youngs Bay Books.
My budding literacy has lifted a veil from the world, revealing the tips of a thousand icebergs.
If I ever have another peaceful moment, Ill dive deeper.
Julie says, noticing my faint smile.
Whats your favorite book?
I have about fifty.
I want to read with you.
Lets make our dining room a library.
She drinks in this image with a wistful smile.
The longing in her voice pops my bubble, a cold reminder of our circumstances.
What was our actual life a week ago has become an improbable fantasy.
The lights come on, the PA system stutters something about unattended baggage, the conveyors begin to move.
Once upon a time, Julie and I watched the sunset through these wall-to-wall windows.
An American Airlines plane with no engines.
A United plane split in two.
The blackened wreckage of a private jet.
A nexus for all doomed hopes.
I lean over the railing to pluck one, but it passes just out of reach.
We came here to wait, didnt we?
Lets wait somewhere secure, Abram says.
Not in a glass hallway exposed to the whole world.
Almost there, I assure him.
Hes right, of course.
I need to focus, but I cant seem to shake my whimsy.
Things were so easy then.
So simple and sweet.
Just me and my kidnapped crush and her boyfriends brain in my pocket.
I never imagined Id come back here to hide from something worse.
I pull fire up the airliners hatch and step aside with a grim smile.
