I can almost hear the trill of seagulls as I gaze at the mural on the wall across from my bunk. A calm ocean meeting a distant horizon, like one would see from a balcony view on a luxury cruise liner. It was painted for Val and me when we came aboard five years ago—a gift from the welcome party to boost morale and make us feel more at ease.

But right now, my stomach knots and my mind won’t settle. I groan into my pillow.

“He’s just so,” I fumble for the words, my frustration boiling over. Asher’s latest comment has sent me on a downward spiral. His cocky attitude, the incessant needling, the way his eyes pierce through mine like he can see into the deepest recesses of my brain. It all sends a shiver down my spine.

“Hot?” There’s a smirk in Val’s tone.

I roll and peer down at her. She lay sprawled on her bunk, a Sudoku puzzle obscuring her face. “I was going to go for arrogant.”

She shrugs a shoulder; her focus never leaves the book in her hand. “Same thing.”

“It is not.” I lay back on my bed. Heat creeps up my cheeks. Of course, she’s right. Asher is hot. His chiseled chest is on full display during weapons training, highlighting his well-defined six-pack. It’s hard not to notice, even when he catches me staring.

Val stands, folding her arms across her slim frame, and frowns at me. “You should tell him, Izzy.”

I turn to her, propping myself up on an elbow. “What exactly? That I suck so bad at fighting these things because of the paralyzing dread I experience every time I’m near one? Or that he’s hot?”

“He has to know the latter by the way you ogle him during training.” Val rolls her eyes. Grasping my fingers, she offers a small smile. “Your fear, silly. He might help you.”

I want to protest, but close my mouth and sigh. “Fine.”

“Promise?”

I swallow. “Cross my heart.”

Val nods and lies back in her bunk. “You’ve got the potential to be an amazing fighter. You put that head of yours to it.”

I sink further into my sheets. Panic wells in my throat, and I shove it aside. What will he do when he finds out? Can I be kicked off the team?

“You got this, Iz,” Val says with a yawn. “Believe in yourself.”

I inhale a shaky breath and close my eyes. I wish it were that easy.

***

My sword drops to the floor with a loud clink. I stand on unsteady legs, blinking at my opponent.

“Again.” Asher barks. He nods for me to pick up my weapon. “This time, don’t forget to block.”

Heaving a sigh, I grab the hilt- the uneven leather pressing into my palm. In a proper stance, I narrow my eyes and watch Asher as he circles me, his unwavering glare tracking my every move.

I draw my blade the moment he pounces, swinging my blade in a dramatic arch above his head.

His lips twitch. “That’s better, but maybe don’t wait until it’s three inches from your nose.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” I wipe sweat from my forehead and chew my bottom lip. Glancing at the clock, I flinch. We’ve been at this for close to an hour, and I still haven’t worked up the courage to bring it up. I had to make that promise.

“What is it, Izzy?” Asher grabs his water and sits on the edge of the mat. “You’ve been eyeballing the time for the last twenty minutes. Got something better to do?”

I grimace and sit next to him. “I wanted to talk to you.”

He cocks his head to the side, a mix of confusion and concern crossing his features. “Okay?”

“It’s about my performance.” My eyes wander anywhere but to his, settling on the wide gymnasium that houses all training sessions.

Asher frowns. “I’m listening.”

Exhaling a breath, I blurt, “The reason for my crappy fighting skills is I’m so terrified of zombies; the mere thought of them makes me freeze up.”

I glance at him and watch the realization dawn on him. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry?” I blink.

He laughs, long and hard. The laughter that comes from deep in the belly and has others questioning your sanity.

I gape at him, which prompts another fit of giggles. And then my face flames. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry.” He sobers, taking a few slow breaths. “It’s not funny. It makes so much sense now. Why didn’t you say something before?”

I scowl. “Oh, yeah. Tell the man that’s been shoving it in my face how horrible I am and how I don’t deserve to be on this team?”

A light pink touches the edge of his cheeks, and he stares at the ground. “You’re right. I haven’t been fair to you.”

I nod. “You think?”

“I’m sorry. I really am.” Asher offers me a smile. “I was hoping it was pushing you to be better.” He lifts a shoulder. “The tactic has worked in the past.”

I glower. “Well, it isn’t for me.”

“I see that now.” Asher quirks a brow. “We can help you.”

“We?” I frown.

Asher stands, offering me a hand up. I take it – his grip is warm, not clammy, and firm. For a beat, he hesitates before letting go. I shake myself; clearly I’m imagining things.

I follow him toward the elevator, the sparring room fading behind us as we walk. Asher presses the down arrow. The doors chime open, and we step inside. Leaning over, he pushes the button for deck one. “You’ll see,” he mumbles.

The elevator hums to a stop, and the doors slide open. I step into an area I’ve never visited: a glaring white room lined with tables. People in lab coats hover above microscopes, their hands busy prepping petri dishes and scribbling minor notes on Post-its.

“I’ve never been to this area.” I scrunch my nose as ammonia slaps me in the face.

Asher shrugs. “Most haven’t.”

A brunette looks up, her frown turning into a grin. Jamie waves. “Hey guys! What are you doing here?”

Asher strides to her and gestures to me. “This one is ready to confront her fear.”

Jamie stretches as she slides off her stool, motioning for us to follow her. We walk down a dimly lit hallway, the temperature dropping with each step.

We stop in front of two thick steel doors labeled “restricted,” and Jamie types in a code on a keypad. There’s a soft click of the locks, and the door pushes open.

Four glass cages line a long corridor, and contained within are Rabids. Each in a different stage of the rabies virus, it’s difficult to imagine they were once like me: living, breathing human beings trying to survive a world overrun. The one closest to us watches with feral bloodshot eyes, its breath coming in rapid pants.

“What the fuck?”

Editor: Lucy Cafiero