“Am I going to be a zombie?” Jeremy asked, holding up his forearm. His skin was swelling around the angry wound, red and purple. Abe’s teeth marks were clearly visible, blood seeping from the punctures.

“No,” Frank said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“But you need to get that bandaged,” Adelia said, leaning in to examine his arm closely.

“But his blood… or saliva, or whatever, mixed with mine.” Jeremy felt lightheaded and slightly nauseous.

“It ain’t the movies, white man. I saw those Hollywood pictures, too, in town before the people left. But that’s not how you make a zombie,” Frank said. He sat down in front of them, crossing his legs, and gazed down at the hole in his own stomach. Jeremy looked away. How could he complain about a bite when Frank had a hole clean through him? The hole in his stomach made his permanently black and blue, swollen neck less hideous.

“Does it hurt?” Jeremy asked.

Frank shrugged without looking up and prodded at the corner of the hole with his fingertip. “It’s more like a memory of pain. A dull ache.”

“But yours is in the physical,” Adelia said, lifting her bloody hand in front of him, palm up. Jeremy flinched, expecting to see Abe’s heart. Instead, he saw three coins. Spots of gold glinted under congealing blood. “I had him until you dove in like a hero.”

“You were in trouble,” Jeremy said.

“I wasn’t in trouble until you dropped the bag. He controlled me then. I don’t know how with just three coins, but he did. Maybe because these were in his chest, next to his heart.” She rubbed the coins with her thumb, smearing blood across her palm. “Once you disconnected, he willed me into the coins. It was dark and silent, and you could have died, and Abe would have…” She shuddered and rubbed her hand in the tall grass. “I have to clean these.”

“But I didn’t die, and you have the coins. So, we’re done—”

“Except for our deal,” Frank said.

“Except for that, we’re done.”

“It doesn’t feel done,” Adelia said. “I need to rinse these in flowing water. It’s the only way to cleanse Abe’s foulness from it. Then we put them in the bag. But first, we find a bandage for your arm. We can’t let it get infected.” Adelia stood, motioning for Jeremy to do the same. As they walked around Abe’s corpse, Jeremy couldn’t tear his eyes away from the hole in his chest.

“Why is there so much blood if he was already dead?”

“Zombies have to feed on the living to keep their organs moving. He was probably keeping livestock,” Adelia said.

“Everybody feeds on the living. It’s called eating,” Jeremy said.

“No, I mean, he had to eat raw meat, full of blood. Preferably alive when the first bite is taken,” she said. “It’s the blood and nutrients as it flows through the body that they really need.”

“I thought that was vampires?” Jeremy said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, vampires aren’t real,” Frank said.

Jeremy snorted. “He drank blood, and you’re a ghost! How are vampires ridiculous?”

“He didn’t drink blood, he had to eat it in the flesh, it’s something about the composition of it in a living body that keeps their organs squishy,” Frank said.

Jeremy made a gagging sound and turned away from the corpse.

“In my native country, I think Abe might have been called a vampire,” Adelia said. “It depends on how they’re made and how much power is used to do it. He was strong and in one piece. But from weaker power and lesser methods, limbs fall off, hair doesn’t stay. Those are zombies. One creature, two myths, same thing, really.”

Adelia climbed into the wreckage of the mobile home, shuffling around in the dim light until she found the bathroom. Trash covered the floors and broken furniture, dishes, and clothes lay everywhere. Jeremy wondered who lived here before or if Abe had been the sole occupant. Maybe he murdered the homeowner and buried them in the fields.

The only empty space was in front of a stained yellow recliner tucked into a corner of the living room. Jeremy imagined Abe sitting in the chair for years, staring into nothing. What else would he do out here all alone for so many years? There was no electricity or even running water, and the stale air was laden with a stench he couldn’t name.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

As Adelia rummaged through the bathroom, Jeremy stepped outside and took a deep breath. Walking around the corner, he discovered three scrawny chickens circling in a small pen. Only a few feet away, he saw the corpse of a fourth chicken outside of the wire. Its head was missing, and the bird had been partially devoured. He lifted the wire and set the chickens free.

“Coyotes will eat them before nightfall,” Frank said.

“At least they’ll be free.”

“Sometimes that’s more important than living.” Frank lifted his gaze up to the setting sun.

“This will work,” Adelia said, walking around the corner carrying a soiled white washcloth, a bottle of what looked like cheap whiskey, and a faded blue bungee cord.

“Um,” Jeremy said.

“It’s all we have.”

“That washcloth is filthy,” Jeremy said.

“The alcohol will sterilize it and we’ll get something proper at the cabin,” she said, tilting the bottle over the cloth. The smell of cheap spirits made his eyes water. Splashing more on his arm, she pressed the cloth onto his skin. He cringed but managed to not pull away. She wrapped the bungee cord tightly around his arm.

“That will do for now,” she said, turning to the algae-covered pond. He followed her to its edge, adjusting the make-shift bandage as he walked. “Here, it’s fed by a creek. It’s not flowing strong, but it should do.” She plunged the coins into the shallow water and splashed it up her forearms, wiping away blood and bits of flesh. The gold’s gleam matched the setting sun as she opened her palm. He held the bag out. She looked at him, took a deep breath, and dropped the three pieces in with a clink.

“Well?” Jeremy said after a moment of silence.

“I don’t feel any different,” she said.

“Try,” he said.

“Try to feel different?” Adelia said.

“I mean, magic it or mojo or whatever. Aren’t you supposed to go into the gold and un-fuse or something?” he asked.

“No, I can’t separate from the gold unless I’m back at my original Sanctuary where the gold is from.” She glared at him sideways. “You know that. It’s a short trip across the sea.”

“I remember,” he said, shaking the bag. “But what about your power?”

“I should be able to manifest fully,” she said, concentrating. “I need to talk to Sinta at the cabin.”

“Let’s go then,” Jeremy said. “Get it over with, I want to be free like a chicken.”

Adelia raised an eyebrow toward him as he lowered the gold bag.

“Never mind,” he said.

“Our bargain, seer,” Frank said.

“Yes, there is that,” Adelia said. She looked longingly at the road, as if about to break into a run, but sighed deeply and let her shoulders droop. “We must fulfill our agreement.”

“You didn’t make a deal. I did. For you,” Jeremy said, feeling a surge of anger from deep inside. It was sudden and visceral. His hand shook and the gold coins rattled. Why had he made such a deal? Why would he agree to any of this? Was it just to help Adelia? Did she have some power over him? Something he couldn’t sense? Something coming through the gold, maybe? Why hadn’t he just picked up his bag and run from the cabin that morning, even if she kept appearing on the porch? All he had to do was walk away. Get back on the road. Back to his peace. It was too hard to clear his head when other people were around. Too hard to separate your thoughts from theirs. Your pain from theirs.

“Why didn’t Adelia make the deal?” he asked, heat creeping into his face, like when he was a boy and his father looked down on him. Except this time, he wouldn’t be silent. He wouldn’t take the beating quietly, wondering what he’d done wrong. “Why am I saving everyone?”

“Hey, if I’m not mistaken, I dealt with Abe and saved you,” Adelia said, with a half-smile.

“You… I just needed shelter from a storm!” He gestured wildly with one hand and she flinched away. “One that you created.” He pointed at Adelia, and she took a step backward, eyes wide.

“Jeremy, what’s—”

“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have to fight zombies, I wouldn’t get bitten and I wouldn’t make deals with ghosts.” He shook his head and paced back and forth. His arm throbbed and blood streamed down, dripping from his fingertips onto the grass. “Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’m standing in a field talking to myself right now. There is no ghost town, no ghosts, no zombies.”

“Jeremy,” Adelia raised her hands, palms out, “you’re here with us.” She looked at Frank, who nodded toward his bleeding arm. “Your wound is getting worse. You are a seer, no matter what you do, you will always be a seer.” Jeremy made a guttural sound deep in his throat as he paced back and forth, leaving a trail of blood on the grass. “We need to get you back to the cabin so Sinta can take a look. Something’s not right. Just follow—”

Jeremy screamed and wiped his forehead, leaving a bloody trail. “It’s mine, though! Even if it’s not real, it’s all mine.”

“You’re lucky Adelia and her Folk found you, Jeremy, and not some others,” Frank said in a calming tone. “They’ll take care of you.”

“It’s mine,” he said, quietly this time, lifting the bag of gold in front of him, staring at it. “But I don’t want it. I don’t want to be a seer. I just want to walk by myself. I can’t do this… I’m not, I’m just…”

Adelia jolted forward, reaching for Jeremy with a panicked look on her face. He dropped the bag. As it fell, she faded away, dissolving into the darkening twilight. He turned and walked away, toward the road.

“Jeremy, you can’t—”

“You’re right, Frank, I can’t. I can’t save anyone,” Jeremy said.

“It’s your bite, Jeremy. You have to get it treated.” Frank looked at the bag of gold lying in the tall grass and back at Jeremy’s back. “We made a deal.”

“Tell Pinta to come get her, or somebody. She’s better off without me. I almost got her killed, and if any of this is real, I’ll screw it up.” He was almost on the road. His arm throbbed, but he knew, that if he could just make it to the road and get away from that bag of gold, it would be fine. One foot in front of the other. Don’t stop.

“Sorry,” Frank said.

Jeremy turned his head slightly at the sound of Frank’s voice so close to him now. “I’m not stop—" he started to say but froze as Frank dove toward him. At first, Jeremy thought he was going to tackle him, but he passed into him instead. A nauseous, churning fire crept up from his stomach and his vision blurred. Was this part of his madness? The world slid down all around him, like paint on a wet canvas. Would he wake up in his bed, having dreamed his escape? Years on the road a figment of his imagination. The autumn leaves melted into brown tree trunks and the twilight sky pooled into the dusty gravel road. Would his father’s booming voice ring up from below? The light faded, taking the melting paint of the world with it.