Page 35 of Zinnia and the Zombie
For the first time he allowed a flicker of hope to break through his despair. After all, he’d never expected to find her, perhaps it wasn’t impossible that other miracles waited for him.
“Now,” she said, giving him a teasing kiss as she slipped out of bed. “I am going to feed you and we’re going to watch the sun set over our new home.”
While she wentto gather vegetables, he set to work on the cooking unit. He disassembled the panel and reconnected the power coupling to the backup system. A soft hum rewarded his efforts as the cooking surface illuminated with a pale blue glow.
“You did it!” she exclaimed, delight brightening her face. “Real cooked food, not just raw fruits and vegetables.”
He found himself smiling in response to her enthusiasm. “It appears their technology was designed to be adaptable to power fluctuations. Likely a precaution against grid failures during their civilization’s decline.”
As she prepared their meal, experimenting with the alien tubers and leafy greens, he turned his attention to the windows. Thick vines obscured much of the view, growing between the seams in the transparent material.
“These should be cleared,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Better visibility improves security.”
“And the view wouldn’t hurt either,” she called from the kitchen.
He began carefully removing the vegetation from the windows. The vines were stubborn, their tendrils having worked deep into the seams, but he was strong enough to make the task manageable. As the greenery fell away, more of the city revealed itself.
When he reached the far end of the windows in the main living space, he discovered a door mechanism concealed behind the vines. When he activated it, a section of the wall slid open with a soft hiss to reveal a small balcony overlooking the plaza below.
“Zinnia,” he called. “I’ve found something.”
She appeared at his side, wiping her hands on a piece of fabric. Her eyes widened as she took in the discovery.
“Oh, it’s perfect,” she breathed, stepping out onto the balcony. “We can eat out here.”
The air was warm, carrying the scent of growing things. Below, the fountains glimmered in the late afternoon sun. Avians soared between the buildings, their calls echoing across the empty city.
“It’s ready,” she said after a moment. “Let’s have our first proper meal in our new home.”
Our home. The words settled into him, unexpectedly weighty. He had not had a home since his ship, and before that, his quarters in the Zathix military compound. Neither had felt like this—like a beginning rather than a temporary shelter.
They sat cross-legged on the balcony, the meal spread between them on a decorative piece of fabric she’d found. The tubers had cooked to a creamy consistency, and the greens offered a pleasantly earthy alternative.
“Not bad for alien cuisine,” she said, licking her fingers with unabashed pleasure. “We can actually do this, can’t we? Live here, I mean.”
He nodded. “Yes. The garden provides food. The water system is functional. The building’s environmental controls still operate on the backup power. Shelter, sustenance, and security—the fundamentals of survival are present.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She looked at him directly, her gaze unwavering. “I meant us. Together. Building a life here.”
He set down the fruit he’d been eating, suddenly aware of the significance of this conversation.
“I want that,” he said simply. “But I will not lie to you, my Zinnia. A part of me still hopes to find a way to search for my people. To fulfill my duty to them.”
She nodded, her expression thoughtful rather than disappointed. “I understand that. And I think we should look for a way off this planet—not immediately, but eventually.” She reached across their makeshift picnic to touch his hand. “But whatever we find or don’t find, I want to be with you.”
“And I want to be with you. We will need to expand our exploration,” he added, already considering the options. “Map the city systematically. If I recall correctly, this civilization was capable of interstellar travel, so there should be spacecraft or communication devices we can salvage.”
The possibility stirred something in him—not quite hope, but its cautious precursor.
“We should also find some proper clothes,” she added practically. “And more medical supplies. Maybe tools for growing food if we want to expand beyond what’s in the garden.”
Her pragmatism pleased him. She wasn’t dwelling on what they’d lost but focusing on what they could build.
As the sun began to set, the city underwent a transformation. Lights—dim but distinctly artificial—began to appear throughout the sprawling metropolis. Not many, but enough to create constellations of life across the darkening landscape.
“Look,” she whispered, pointing. “Automatic lighting systems?”
“Perhaps,” he said, studying the pattern of illumination. “Or emergency power reserves activated by darkness. Either way, it suggests that significant infrastructure remains operational, despite the apparent abandonment.”
