Tainted Blood

I don’t fear the walking dead like most people, but that may be because I grew up playing Red Rover with them. Once they begin to decay, they’re not very fast, but they’re guaranteed to break through the clenched fists of the other team when they run through them. Sometimes they break those fists off completely.

When you’ve watched a dead man do the chicken dance upon your order, it’s hard to take them seriously. So death is the one thing I don’t fear. Not when the living are more terrifying.

I grew up with a certain set of rules that my dads and mom instilled inside of me. 1. Always be aware of my surroundings. 2. When shit hits the fan, stay calm and keep a cool head. And 3. Never reveal my secrets. Keep them guarded closely or risk the interest of those that would seek to use my power for their own gain.

Those rules used to be easy. They were what I lived and breathed. That was until I met Nate. Ever since I fell into his dark eyes, nothing has been the same. Four years have passed, and guarding my secrets has only become more difficult, especially when I have the world’s biggest crush on my boss and have grown as close as family to the crew I work with day in and out.
Yet even though guilt is a bitter pill I swallow each time I lie to my crew to cover up some oddity of mine that’s surfaced, it's what must be done.

And I could have continued to do so. The dead don’t tell my secrets, so confiding in them is cathartic, until everything changes, and everything I thought I knew is tested.
You see, dealing with the living is tough, but the problem with the dead, is that sometimes, they don’t stay dead.