Rom-Com Zombie Apocalypse
Chapter 16: A Sudden Confession and Don’t Look Outside

Chapter 16: A Sudden Confession and Don’t Look Outside

Dashing out of the school was like playing Whack-A-Mole with rotting moles. These zombies had the survival instincts of a potato. A moldy potato.

And for some reason, it seemed like something had changed in them.

"S-Seriously?" Jake stuttered, smacking a zombie in the face with his blunt sword. "Th-They’re j-just... s-slowly walking over to us now. D-Did they g-get tired?"

"Don’t jinx it!" I yelled, jamming my broom handle into a zombie’s open mouth. It bit down, realized it couldn’t chew splinters, and spat it out indignantly. "See? Even they hate my cooking!"

Elliot swung his bat like he was auditioning for Zombie Baseball Pro 2025. "Hey, Mira! Think they’ll let us keep score?"

"Only if you count how many times Ben says ’sorry’!" I shouted back.

Ben, paused mid-swing. "S-Sorry? Why would I—oh." He accidentally whacked a zombie in the ribs with his crowbar.

"SORRY"

The zombie groaned and stumbled back, clutching its side like it had just been scolded by its mom.

Lila rolled her eyes, her pink hair flashing as she drop-kicked a zombie grandma. "Ben, quit apologizin’ to the undead! They ain’t gonna write you a thank-you note!"

Ben turned to Lila, his Southern drawl dripping with guilt. "S-Sorry, Lila. They still... they still feel human, y’know?"

I smirked, panting as I leaned on my broom. "You were so into it when we were smacking the shit out of Wrestler. Why the hell didn’t you say sorry to him?"

Ben scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "I-I was too full of fear and motivation at the time. Didn’t wanna ruin y’all’s mood."

Elliot snorted. "Priorities, man. Priorities."

We plowed through the horde like it was a Black Friday sale at a mattress store. Slow, chaotic, and full of people who clearly didn’t know what they were doing.

Finally, we reached our destination, a big ass house. A normal, boring, not-on-fire house.

Ben sprinted ahead, knocked on the door, and—I kid you not—politely waited.

"Uh... hello?" he called, adjusting his unbroken glasses. "Anyone home? We’re, uh... fleeing zombies? No? Okay, cool, we’ll just—"

I grabbed his collar. "BENJAMIN. We’re in a ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. You don’t knock. You break in

"O-Oh! Right! S-Sorry!" He rammed his shoulder into the door.

It swung open instantly, nearly sending him face-planting into a welcome mat that read GO AWAY.

Alex shoved past us, crowbar in hand, and slammed the door shut. She slid down against it, breathing hard. "Next time... someone else... gets to be... the polite one."

All of us took some deep breaths and relaxed our body against the wall and on a dusty couch.

Elliot got up and peered out the window. "Coast is clear. For now. Unless you count Steve."

"Who’s Steve?!" I hissed, panic rising.

He pointed at a zombie across the street, tripping over a fire hydrant. "That guy. He’s been face-planting for the last 2 minutes. I named him Steve."

We all stared as Steve ate pavement. Again.

Lila snorted. "Y’all. We’re gettin’ outsmarted by Steve."

Ben wandered into the kitchen and screamed.

We all froze.

"WHAT? WHAT IS IT?!" I yelled, clutching my broom like a security blanket.

He emerged holding a moldy loaf of bread. "S-Sorry! False alarm! Just... expired sourdough."

Elliot collapsed onto the dusty couch. "Great. Our biggest threat is gluten."

I flopped down next to him.

"So... now what?"

Alex tossed her crowbar onto the table. "Now? We relax. Then we loot. Then we figure out how to survive the next five minutes."

Jake raised a trembling hand. "C-Can we... n-not d-die?"

"Seconded," Lila said, rifling through a drawer. "Also, who keeps 17 pairs of scissors? Apocalypse prep much?"

The room fell silent. Too silent.

Then we all heard it.

A creak. From upstairs.

Elliot slowly stood, bat raised. "Please tell me that’s the house settling."

Another creak. Closer.

I swallowed. "Houses don’t... settle like that."

A low, wet growl echoed down the stairs.

"Oh, come ON," Alex groaned. "We’ve been here FIVE MINUTES."

Ben backed toward the door. "S-Sorry, but maybe we should—"

And then he appeared.

Bathrobe Bob.

He sauntered down the stairs like he was on a leisurely stroll, his fluffy bunny slippers squeak-squeak-squeaking with every step. His bathrobe was tied neatly, and he even had a cup of what looked like coffee in his hand.

For a moment, we all just stared, frozen in disbelief.

"Uh... hi?" I said, waving awkwardly.

Bathrobe Bob stopped mid-step. His milky eyes locked onto us.

And then he snapped.

"BAGAGHAGHAGA!" he screeched, his voice a horrifying mix of a tea kettle and a dying walrus. His coffee cup went flying, and one of his eyes popped out of its socket, dangling by a thread.

"OH MY GOD!" I screamed, scrambling backward.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HIM?!" Alex yelled, grabbing her crowbar.

Bathrobe Bob lunged at us, his bathrobe flapping open to reveal... absolutely nothing we wanted to see.

"SMACK HIM! SMACK HIM NOW!" Elliot shouted, swinging his bat.

We all went full Whack-A-Zombie mode.

WHACK! Elliot’s bat connected with Bob’s head.

THUD! Alex’s crowbar smashed into his shoulder.

BONK! My broom handle jabbed him in the gut.

"S-SORRY!" Ben yelled, kicking Bob in the shin.

Even Jake got a hit in, stuttering, "T-TAKE THAT, Y-YOU P-PERVERTED M-MONSTER!"

Two minutes later, Bathrobe Bob was lying on the floor, panting like he’d just run a marathon. His face was swollen,his bathrobe was torn, revealing more than anyone wanted to see, and his bunny slippers were missing.

"Okay," I said, breathing hard. "What do we do with him?"

Alex smirked. "Tie him up. Obviously."

We dragged Bob to the nearest room, his limp body leaving a trail of drool and regret. Lila yanked the curtains off the kitchen-to-living-room separation, and we tied him up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

"Hands behind his back," Elliot instructed, tightening the curtain-rope. "Legs curled backward. Make sure he can’t move."

"S-Sorry, Bob," Ben muttered as we secured the final knot.

Bob groaned, his one remaining eye glaring at us.

"There," I said, stepping back to admire our handiwork. "Now he’s just a fluffy, angry burrito."

Lila crossed her arms. "Y’all think he’ll stay like that?"

Elliot shrugged. "If he doesn’t, we’ll just smack him again."

And then the power went out.

"Great," I muttered. "Just great."

Elliot grinned. "Welcome to the apocalypse, Mira. It’s not all bad, though."

I raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

He shrugged. "At least we are not alone this time."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling. Maybe the apocalypse wasn’t so bad after all.

And then Bathrobe Bob started growling again.

"Shut up, Bob" we all said in unison.

****

And then we heard it.

Voices. Outside the window.

"Hey, are you sure this is the house?" a man’s voice asked.

"Yes, I saw them going inside," a female voice replied.

We froze.

Elliot slowly peeked out the window, then turned back to us, his face pale.

He hesitated, then peeked again, squinting like maybe his eyesight was the real problem.

His expression darkened. "WOW... hey Mira... something’s wrong."

I frowned. "What do you mean ’something wrong’? and did you just WOW?"

He turned to me, his voice low but hurried "They’re... different..."

He stole another glance before snapping back instantly, whispering hurriedly,

"Oh no. One of them just licked the brick wall."

"Umm by the way Mira, i think i like you"

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words sinking in.

huh licked... the wall? wait... what did he just say

And then, from outside, we heard it.

"Max, no don’t lick the wall"

"BAGAGHAGHAGHA!"