In two weeks, Zombie will be released. In its honor, I will post an excerpt 
———–
Josh required a weapon with which he could strike quickly and irrevocably. A knife or a piece of glass would slice through Kir’s throat before the boy—the monster Josh had once hunted—could speak and bend Josh to his will.
Kir fed Josh to keep up his strength and he didn’t want to think why, didn’t want to think Kir had plans, like Brad’s plans.
The kitchen would have a knife. Kir had sliced vegetables. The soup hadn’t come out of a can.
Josh slid off the bed without letting it creak. He walked quietly. There were no city lights to guide him. The moon wasn’t shining. In the dark he moved, taking care not to bump into anything. The crucial thing was not to rush.
Despite his painstaking efforts, a board creaked under his weight. He froze. From elsewhere, a bed’s spring creaked in reply and, to Josh’s horror, he heard Kir rise. Quick-footed and sure, Kir strode towards Josh. Kir was everything Josh wasn’t—powerful, healthy, autonomous.
Kir flipped the switch and blinded Josh with light. He was caught in the kitchen and couldn’t move. He could barely breathe.
“Hey.” Kir’s greeting disconcerted Josh. He squinted, confused by Kir’s friendliness. Josh was bracing himself for an assault—he would fight, no matter the odds. But Kir didn’t speak. He merely walked to the fridge to pull out juice and bread.
As if he thought Josh needed a snack. As if he knew Josh was terrified of Kir’s words. Josh wanted to think these contradictions through, but he didn’t have the luxury of time or clear-thinking—his trembling body betrayed him in a way he despised.
While Josh looked on, Kir put a sandwich together, all but ignoring Josh and his turmoil. Josh couldn’t take his eyes off the knife Kir used to slice the bread. It was sharp, serrated, and Josh could use it against Kir’s dusky throat. It wouldn’t be the first time Josh had killed in such a way. He’d sliced open Snow’s throat when Kir had ordered him to.
After Snow had attempted to rape Kir. No, don’t think of that. Don’t think of anything but the knife.
Kir offered Josh the sandwich. Did Minders feed their sacrifices? The boy’s innocent goodwill freaked Josh out, so he didn’t look directly at Kir as he passed the plate over. Josh watched the boy’s steady hand place food down.
What Josh needed was the knife. He edged around the counter, leaned on it, then forced himself to look up.
Kir smiled briefly in encouragement and, oblivious, turned to wash his hands. Now! Josh’s brain screamed. He threw his body forward, grabbed the knife and lunged at Kir’s throat, his movements clumsy, but accurate.
The surprise on Kir’s face was momentary. He shifted, arm snapping up to block Josh’s thrust. Thrown off-balance, Josh stumbled back, keeping a death grip on the knife. Adrenaline shook him so hard, his teeth chattered. A second attempt now would fail even more spectacularly.
Stupid. He hadn’t even cut Kir’s arm. Josh was weak, confused. Panicked. He should have planned an attack, not taken the first poor opportunity. But there was no time and now it was over. Kir would speak and Josh would worship him as a god to love and protect. Terror seized him, coating his eyes with tears.
The boy remained silent, his dark gaze on Josh. At the very least, Kir should compel Josh to drop the knife. Instead, the knife remained in his hand while Josh vibrated with fear. It was an illusion, he told himself, that he had the power to hurt Kir.
And still Kir stood there, eyes black and fathomless, watching Josh like one would watch a wild, unpredictable animal.
Why didn’t he speak? Disarm him? Josh’s head ached and, transfixed by his confusion, he couldn’t move.
Very slowly, so as not to startle, Kir approached him. Kir spoke no words, yet Josh was rooted to the spot and vulnerable. Damaged. He was damaged and Kir knew it. Kir gently extracted the knife from Josh’s hand without touching him, for which Josh was pathetically grateful. After Kir backed away, Josh leaned down on the counter, dizzy, pulling in breaths.
“Why don’t you sit and eat?” Kir said, as if Josh hadn’t just tried to kill him.
Josh searched the words for compulsion. A useless exercise. A Zombie never recognized compulsion. He justified every thought forced upon him. For God’s sakes, Josh had thought Brad was his boyfriend. Josh rested his head on the back of his hands, trying not to gag, appalled at his helplessness, waiting for Kir to say more. He couldn’t understand why Kir wasn’t talking all the time. He couldn’t make sense of the quiet.
His brain was ruined, so Josh gave up thinking. He dragged a stool to the counter and, with trembling hands, fed himself. He made a mess of his sandwich, but he ate most of it. Kir politely looked elsewhere.
When he was done, they regarded each other. Kir appeared worried.
“I don’t want your fucking concern.” Unable to control his voice, Josh sounded histrionic. “I want to kill you.”
“Um, yeah. I noticed.”
“I really do.” Josh whispered so his voice didn’t quaver. He expected Kir to laugh. Fool, fool. Don’t engage in conversation. You’ll lose.
“You’re exhausted,” said Kir in his strange matter-of-fact way, as if Josh was recovering from a bad case of the flu. “You’re better off if I cook for a few days before you kill me.”
Josh laughed, though the laughter went wild. So little control and his shoulders shook. He wanted to weep again.
“I’m kinda hoping you’ll change your mind by then,” Kir added.
“You can change my mind any time you choose.”
Kir crossed his arms and leaned back against the sink. “Listen to me. I am not going to manipulate you.”
Josh’s face arranged itself into a sneer. Otherwise he might fall apart. “I’ll never know, will I?”
“You will know.” Kir’s quiet conviction scared Josh. “Your body will feel different. You won’t get better if I’m working on you. So, I won’t.”
