Undead Don’t Make For Good RunnersView OnlineUndead Don’t Make For Good ColtfriendsUndead Don’t Make For Good Runners The cold bit into him as he raced uphill past thick copses of icy pines weighed down by blocks of ice. Snow piled up to his chest as he plowed through, desperation and hope pushing him onward as he carved trenches into the pure white field. A blizzard raged with a torrent of snow and wind, stinging the exposed parts of his body through his heavy winter attire. He kept his wings firmly affixed to his side, a liability in the raging winds that would send him careening back down the hillside should the wind catch them. Frost coated him in a layer of ice as he continued his climb, abandoning his want to return to the relative safety of the walled Canterlot community. It was far too late to turn back anyways. He was in the foothills of Vanhoover and returning would be pointless without finding his quarry. Foalhood promises of meeting at the cabin in the pines outside Vanhoover should a crisis ever arise. Made when they were younger, but he needed to believe that they still held even in adulthood. Love sustained him through this horrid winter, allowing him to fight past the monsters that roamed Equestria. As his Captain had said the day he told him that he needed to leave for Vanhoover, what better motivation was there, but that of the heart? A wooden structure appeared in the distance, worn logs stacked atop each other amongst an open clearing. Through a glass window, a lantern burned brightly illuminating the path to the cabin in a warm ethereal glow through the flurries of snow. Relief and joy flooded him as he mustered the last of his strength to gallop to the door, bursting into the cabin with glee. Surveying the living area, he took in the massive woven rug before the fireplace. A weak fire blazed within flooding the homestead with warmth. The lantern he had seen before was placed on a dining room table pushed up against the front-facing window alongside several wooden chairs. Removing his clothes and discarding them onto a nearby stand, he moved towards the fireplace, warming himself before the flames. Once the worst of the chill had left him, he ventured further into the cabin. “Seafoam?” He called out. “Seafoam, are you here?” A groaning sound emanated from a room down an adjoining hall. Racing toward the source, he found himself before a solid door that, according to his memory, led to the master bedroom. He swung open the door and entered the dark room. “Seafoam?” He called out again, stepping into the room slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust. Another groan answered him, emanating from the bed that he could barely make out in the dim lighting spilling from the hall. He spied a shock of teal blue mane peeking from the covers. Recognition caused him to move quickly as he reached forward and pulled back the bed sheets with a wing. “Seafoam! I’m so glad—” In mere moments, any joy he felt at the reveal of his beloved died. Resting in the bed, back to him, was a dark blue pegasus with a teal mane and cutie mark of seaspray. But his fur was paler than his memory, mane paler still as if the colour was slowly draining from his body. Seafoam’s head turned to him at an unnatural angle. The fur of his face was translucent, the skull underneath peeking through. He was too late. His foalhood love was just another one of those monsters now. “No, no, no, no!” He cried out, stumbling away from Seafoam. The newly undead arose from his bed, tripping over the sheets and landing with half his body splayed out on the floor. He groaned as he lay there, not dead long enough to have recovered his motor function. New tears sprung from his eyes as his resolve hardened. Though he was too late to be there for him when he was still a pony, he would do what he needed to now before his beloved Seafoam could become like the monsters outside. He withdrew a knife that he had tucked under his left wing. In a single fluid motion, his mind blank, he killed Seafoam. He stared at the corpse as it gave its last breaths, leaving this place and joining the many in the plains beyond. Emotionally spent, he collapsed to the ground and sobbed, his tears flowing freely down as he mourned the loss of the stallion he loved. As he did, the bedroom window burst, letting the cold penetrate into the cabin. It chilled him in place, freezing the tears on his face instantly into a permanent trail. Ice burrowed into him, heightening his grief. What was the point in continuing? What was there left for him without the one who made it worth suffering through? The cold bled deep into him, grasping his heart as it began to freeze solid. Numbness coursed through his veins as the snow became nothing more than the vaguest hint of feeling. He watched as his own fur began to desaturate, vibrant orange becoming a duller yellow. He was changing. It was over for him. But, despite the chill, a warm core of emotion stayed within him. Even though he was to become a zombie, at least he would be there with his beloved.
Undead Don’t Make For Good Cabin MatesView OnlineUndead Don’t Make For Good ColtfriendsUndead Don’t Make For Good Cabin MatesZephyr was having a bad day. A massive understatement in light of the blizzard that howled around him, barraging his barely covered body with snow and wind which caused him to shake from the cold. Even worse, he was in the woods, which, for some sun-forsaken reason, was uphill. To add insult to injury, the aforementioned weather made it impossible to just fly over and skip the whole upward climb altogether. He had tried that once and got blown face-first into a tree for his trouble. This, of course, reminded him of the pine sap that stuck to him in uncomfortable places. Oh, then there were the monsters. Ponies who froze to death and then came back as flesh-hungry zombies. Really put the icing on the proverbial three-tier trash cake. All he’d wanted to do was get beautician certification from the most prestigious beauty school in Equestria, Vanhoover Beauty School. Instead, he’d wound up trapped in the literal snowpocalypse. Said flesh-hungry zombies were also the reason he was in these dumb upward woods in the first place. Flying was out of the question in this kind of weather, the paths out of Vanhoover had become blocked, no boat was gonna sail through this mess, and staying in a town overrun by zombies was less than ideal. Thus a'hiking Zephyr went until he hopefully stumbled upon some miracle shelter out in the pines. He had tried his luck at worse things in the past and came out fine, so he was sure he’d find something. Probably. Maybe. To say Zephyr was having second thoughts was also an understatement. As he sneezed for what might have been the hundredth time, he looked up at the obscured sky trying to discern how long he’d been out in the woods. On failing to do so, his mind once more concernedly brought forth the idea that he would soon collapse and turn into one of those ugly, gross zombies. But thankfully, as if fate itself was listening, he spied a strange brown blob in the distance through the blanket of snow. Squinting his eyes to focus, the blob resolved into something more box-like and, with rising excitement, an actual building. Practically tripping over himself as he plowed through the snow, he pushed his way to the front door and shoved his way in. The interior was, to put simply, drab as he slammed the door shut with a back hoof. There was a wooden table shoved against a nearby wall with an empty lantern on top surrounded by chairs, a brick fireplace filled with wood waiting to be burned, a large rug laid before it, and a single, worn dresser near the entrance. Zephyr did the first logical thing he could think of and checked the nearby dresser for any personal hygiene products. The blizzard and his coat hood had done a number on his normally perfectly done-up mane and he planned to fix that as soon as possible. To his utter dismay, there was nothing useful to be found. He couldn’t understand why any sane pony wouldn’t have at least a mane brush near the front door in case of a beauty emergency, but, alas, the prior residents clearly weren’t as cultured as he. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an attached kitchenette and made his way over. It was a small space with a sink, cupboard, fridge, and icebox. Twisting the sink tap on, he noted the stream of water coming out of the faucet and, more excitedly, the telltale emittance of steam signifying that he had hot water. It would work well for washing himself if he was desperate and definitely before the tree sap stuck to his fur and became a permanent fixture. Ignoring everything else, he left the kitchen and returned to the living room, trotting up to the fireplace and looking for some way to light a fire. He found a firestarter on the mantle, a weird can opener-looking tool with a sack of oil attached to one of the handles, and grabbed it with his hooves. He glanced at the wood in the fireplace and figured it would probably light up if he could get the firestarter to work. Grasping the can opener shakily with both hooves and, while keeping his head turned far away from the future blaze, he squeezed the handles together. Nothing happened. Turning back with a confused expression on his face, Zephyr squeezed the handles again. No fire happened. Zephyr tried again. For a third time, the wood did not become alight. Growling in frustration, he began to squeeze the handles together over and over again in rapid succession with his head dangerously close to the ignition. With a spurt, oil shot from the firestarter and ignited on the sparks shot out by the tool. The wood burst into flame nearly singing a startled Zephyr who fell back with a yelp, thumping onto the floor. Gasping for breath, Zephyr chuckled nervously then with more confidence as the flames continued to burn brightly. He raised his hooves in triumph and gave out a loud victory cry at his accomplished task. And just when things had started to look up, he heard a heavy creak. Whipping his head toward the noise, Zephyr jumped away from it. It had emanated from the dimly lit adjoining corridor that led further into the cabin. His ears perked up as he shakily drew in breaths, alert for any recurrence. As another creak echoed through the house, Zephyr gulped and backed up until his rump impacted into the wall behind him. Several more creaks followed before a massive black shape appeared at the end of the hall, blocking out what little light came in from a faraway window. The something began to move toward Zephyr, each step producing a thump alongside a creak. Whimpering as he cowered in place, Zephyr brought his wings up to shield his face, his eyes peeking through gaps in his primary feathers. The mountainous being drew closer, the flames finally revealing their form in stark lighting. It was a large pegasus with dull yellow fur and a pale blue mane swept back in a crest. A myriad of scars crisscrossed their barrel. More alarming was their translucent fur. Their skull, spine, and chest bones peered through as well as a glowing blue heart encased in ice. Two glazed-over blue eyes peered down at Zephyr, frozen tear tracts tracing down from the corners to their chin. The zombie leaned down toward Zephyr. Zephyr screamed.
Undead Don’t Make For Good ConversationView OnlineUndead Don’t Make For Good ColtfriendsUndead Don’t Make For Good ConversationThe zombie stopped just short of Zephyr’s screaming face. It snorted once, lifted its head and trotted back down the corridor, a thump and creak resounding with every step it took. Zephyr’s screams died down to a prolonged ahh before stopping altogether. He was thoroughly confused as to why he had not been ripped to pieces by the flesh-hungry monster. A quick check over his body with his wings confirmed that everything was attached and in the right place which only caused him to become further confounded by the situation. Zephyr couldn’t figure out why the zombie hadn’t eaten him. Then he wondered if it was because he didn’t taste good. Then he became offended that he apparently wasn’t good enough for the zombie’s clearly unrefined palate after which he decided that he would take his complaints up with the monster in question who refused to eat his yummy self. Following the sound of the zombie’s heavy hoof falls, he rounded the corner and watched his quarry slip into a room on the far end of a second hallway. Trotting quickly down the hall, he stopped before the threshold of the room the zombie had entered. Said zombie faced away from him, their head hung low, wings folded tightly to their side. They were focused intently on something Zephyr couldn’t see past their large bulk. “Excuse me!” Zephyr called out. “I have a complaint about your taste buds!” The zombie ignored him, which only further encouraged him. He took a confident step forward only to flinch as he heard a crack under his hoof. Looking down, he stared at the strange red ice that had broken which covered the entire floor. It was weird but did nothing to deter Zephyr. Pushing onward, Zephyr moved himself to be beside the zombie. He raised a wing to give it a piece of his mind but stopped as he saw what the zombie was staring at. On a large bed was the corpse of another zombie, covered by several thin stained sheets. Shattered glass lay scattered across them, presumably from the broken window above the bed that cold air billowed through. Its eyes were wide open as it lay motionless on the mattress, its throat— Finally cluing into the source of the red ice, Zephyr stumbled out of the room in a panic, racing back to the living room at full gallop as the stupidity of his actions finally came to bear. He huddled by the blazing fire holding onto himself, shaking in fear as he waited for the zombie to follow after him. It never came. And thus began Zephyr’s strange time living with an undead. Despite living with a flesh-eating monster, things were surprisingly peaceful for Zephyr inside the cabin. Once he had managed to acquire a mane brush from one of the spare bedrooms, he gathered up all the blankets and formed a nest in the living area by the fire. His next step was to bathe, however, the water stream froze when leaving the shower head both creating a very pretty spear of ice and making him incapable of using it. He instead settled for manually washing the sap out of his fur and drying off within the confines of his fabric nest, sipping at hot water due to the uncultured swine that lived there not having any hot chocolate mix. As for his cabin mate, Zomcolt, the nickname Zephyr came up with for the zombie, would periodically wander about the cabin listlessly checking on the windows and rooms before returning to stare at the dead corpse in what Zephyr determined to be the master bedroom. This suited Zephyr just fine since he didn’t want to die, and he found a sensible way to use this to his advantage. Whenever he needed something heavy moved to the living room from one of the other rooms, he would just put it in the way of Zomcolt while he was doing his rounds who would happily push it all the way toward his living space. Sure it might be dangerous, but mattresses were heavy and he had a hulking zombie to move them for him. And Zomcolt was in fact a colt as far as Zephyr could tell. Or rather a stallion between the squared-off jawline and hulking body. He hadn’t met a mare yet with that kind of physique so he felt safe in presuming the gender of the zombie in question without having to really pry into his biology. Thus this uneasy coexistence continued for a time Zephyr didn’t know due to a lack of clocks and the ability to see the sun. Things would have continued this way for a long time if not for one thing. Zephyr wanted cheese. Specifically, the block he found wedged into the ice box under some useless bags of frozen brussel sprouts. It was a perfect square of gouda and Zephyr was determined to eat it. After he thawed it out. A quick bite test that nearly broke his teeth had determined that it would need to unfreeze first and thus he had set it out before the fire. A slow process made slower by the cold wind that blew into the cabin through cracks in the walls undoing some progress every time it did. He had promised himself to wait, but patience had turned to impatience and Zephyr wanted cheese now. So he placed the block on a cutting board in the kitchen and held it down with a hoof. A long newly sharpened knife was clutched in his wing as he eyed the block with his tongue stuck out in concentration, trying to discern how much cheese he wanted to start with. His portion size decided, Zephyr swung the knife down. As was inevitable for an inexperienced pegasus with a weak grip, the blade bounced off the frozen block and sliced through his hoof. “Yow!” Zephyr yelped, dropping the knife and stumbling back onto his rump. He sucked on the wound as the knife clattered onto the counter, whimpering all the while. A heavy thump caused Zephyr to look up, seeing Zomcolt having stopped his usual rounds to loom over him. Following his gaze, Zephyr realized in a panic that Zomcolt was staring directly at his wound. Zephyr backed away, slamming his back into a kitchen cabinet with his hoofs raised to protect his face. “I know I’m delicious, but please don’t eat me!” He pleaded. A cabinet slammed open. There was a light tugging sensation on his wounded leg as something soft was wrapped around it. Then, Zephyr heard the sound of heavy hoof falls as Zomcolt presumably left. Risking a peek through an opening between his hooves, Zephyr caught the flick of Zomcolt’s tail as it rounded the corner. Thoroughly confused, Zephyrs dropped his hooves and noticed that his wound was now loosely bandaged up with gauze. A glance upward confirmed that the upper cabinet he had backed into had been full of medical supplies he had never found. Looking back toward where Zomcolt had left, he tilted his head to one side in confusion. That was one weird zombie.
Undead Don’t Make For Good PillowsView OnlineUndead Don’t Make For Good ColtfriendsUndead Don’t Make For Good PillowsZephyr observed Zomcolt as he trotted down the far corridor towards the bathroom and spare bedroom. He was huddled up in his blanket nest and sipping at a cup of hot water with narrowed eyes. His hoof was still bandaged up from the cheese incident and he was left with a lot to think about. Now, a different pony may question the sentience and awareness of Zomcolt. Perhaps wonder if there was still a pony’s consciousness somewhere inside, waiting to be let out. But those ponies were not Zephyr. He was thinking that Zomcolt looked really hot. Honestly, how could Zephyr have not noticed it before? Especially after Zomcolt had bandaged up his hoof, which basically meant that Zomcolt probably liked (or at least tolerated) him. What better basis for a romance than casual undead acquaintanceship during the snowpocalypse? Besides, Zephyr had a lot to like about Zomcolt. He was super muscular, could push a mattress halfway across a cabin, and had the kind of wings a stallion could bury himself in. Seriously, Zephyr had brushed up against those wings once on Zomcolt’s rounds and it was like being touched by the sun princess herself. Those scars were also really working for him. Everypony loved permanent nonfatal wounds. Made him look distinguished. He could go on, but the point was that the whole package was well up Zephyr’s alley and the weird translucent fur that showed his insides was quickly becoming less of a turn-off and more of a fun quirk. So, as Zomcolt entered the main living area to continue his usual rounds, Zephyr left his nest and saddled up next to his new potential romantic interest. “Hey, Zomcolt,” Zephyr greeted. “How are ya?” No response. “I hear ya, I hear ya,” Zephyr agreed. “Found anything interesting on your patrol today?” No response. “Ah, the same old daily grind, huh? Well, hey! Maybe this time, I’ll keep ya company while you do your rounds. Ever heard about the intricacies of mane styling?” No response. Zephyr took that as a sign to continue indefinitely. They were on their fourth patrol around the cabin since Zephyr had started talking to Zomcolt and he showed no hint of stopping. “—So, I had to tell him that he was committing a crime against pegasus culture. I mean, really? A lightning bolt for a mane? I know he was just some colt barely into his teens, but that’s just tacky and it was my duty as a beautician to tell him that. Of course, instead of understanding that I was saving him from public embarrassment, he took it as an insult to his very—” They were in the bedroom with the corpse of the other zombie. Zephyr chose to ignore the third wheel and continue talking to his (maybe) stallion. “—And my sister doesn’t even take my advice. I mean, she could really use some tips on getting that literal rat’s nest under control and I do mean literal. I once saw her keep three possums in there and I didn’t stop screaming until the next day. Of course, I’ll have to take another stab at it when next I see her because I mean, of course, she’s still alive. She’s the toughest pony I know. She even has a bear for a friend!” Zephyr’s breathing became ragged, his heart pounding in his chest. He forced himself to calm down with a gulp and continued on. “And there’s also Rainbows who is major hot, but like not as hot as you, or at least a different kind of hot since you’re—” They sat before the living room window, staring out at the vast white expanse outside. “—So I was looking at your mane and thinking that you could totally rock a pompadour. Give me ten minutes and I could make you look even better than you already do!” No response. “Just gotta say the word, big guy.” No response. “A single word and we can have you looking fierce.” No response. “Wish I had at least your name, Zomcolt.” Zephyr sighed. “Much as I gave you the perfect nickname, I’d prefer using your actual name instead.” A grunt. Zephyr stopped and perked his ears, somewhat disbelieving that he’d heard anything from the undead stallion. “Did you say something?” He asked. “Fla—” Leaning forward to look at Zomcolt’s face with a stunned expression on his own, Zephyr was amazed to see the zombie’s throat muscles contracting as he tried to speak. It was a clear struggle as Zomcolt let out small pants between contractions, but the effort was clearly bearing some results. “Oh dang, you’re really trying to talk right now. Wait, are you trying to tell me your name?” Zephyr squealed in delight. “That’s amazing! Come on, you can do it!” “Fla— sh,” Zomcolt forced out. “Flay shoo?” Zephyr scrunched up his face. “That doesn’t sound right. Maybe if I repeat it a bunch I’ll figure it out? Flay shoo. Flag Shoot? Flashoo? Wait. Flash! Your name is Flash!” A grunt. “Tartarus, yeah!” Zephyr exclaimed, pumping his wings up and down in excitement as he danced in place. “Zomcolt’s actual name is Flash!” Another grunt. Zephyr interpreted the reply as excited. “Well, Flash. You are in the amazing company of Zephyr Breeze, which I hadn’t told you before now for some reason.” Zephyr chuckled nervously before he extended a wing to and, on realizing Flash wasn’t moving, shook the undead stallion’s wing directly. “Nice to meetcha!” “Nigh. Cee.” Flash answered. “Me. Eet.” “You said more words! That’s—” Zephyr yawned “—oh shoot, your boy Zephyr is getting tired.” Another yawn. “Make that very tired. Guess I need to catch some z’s.” Zephyr patted Flash (his name!) on the back and flopped into his nest. He pulled the covers around himself leaving Flash to stare out the window. He knew Flash would be returning to the corpse room soon. Sure enough, several thumps resounded signifying the departure of Flash from the room. Feeling a strong sense of companionship toward the newly speaking zombie, Zephyr called out, “Night, Flash.” After doing so, he shivered, the cold penetrating his fortress of fabric. He wrapped himself up tighter but it did nothing to stop its advance. Unwelcome thoughts began to come to mind as he felt himself get colder. The colt with the dumb lightning bolt for a mane. His sister. Rainbows. A single question at the forefront. Were they okay? He felt a hard spasm run through his body as unbidden scenarios came to mind. How they could have died from either the cold or a zombie. That they could have become zombies themselves, wandering Equestria, and looking for flesh to devour. His breath hitched as he felt himself become overwhelmed with panic, trapped in his own thoughts. Abruptly, it all stopped as he felt something soft cover him. Getting up from his nest, he noticed first that he had tossed off his blankets while trying to sleep and that a massive wing of yellow feathers now covered him in their stead. Following the limb to its source, he saw Flash laying down near him, his wing outstretched over Zephyr. It was confusing, but Zephyr was touched by the gesture. “Thanks, Flash,” He said. Tucking himself back under his new feather comforter, Zephyr drifted off to sleep, pleasant dreams filling his mind as he felt a feeling of warmth envelope him.
Undead Don’t Make For Good ProtectorsView OnlineUndead Don’t Make For Good ColtfriendsUndead Don’t Make For Good Protectors“Goo. Dee. Moor. Ing.” Flash intoned. “Morning, Flash!” Zephyr greeted as he trotted out of the kitchen and to Flash’s side. “How’s the cabin looking today?” “Is. See. Cure.” “Sure is, stud,” Zephyr jabbed Flash playfully in the side with a wing as he took his usual spot at Flash’s side. It had been a while, or at least Zephyr thought it had been since Flash had first talked. He was speaking more and more every day, but still only in disjointed monosyllabic words. Zephyr, in a very rare exercise in patience, always gave Flash the time he needed to respond despite the long pauses between syllables. He’d also gotten very good at assembling the parts Flash spoke into his full response. Flash also stuck close to Zephyr as much as possible. He would cover Zephyr with a wing when he shivered or when his breath hitched due to some horrid thought that passed through his mind. Zephyr didn’t know why he had these weird and sudden panic attacks, but Flash’s proximity helped and he was extremely grateful for it. Their closeness had also brought forth the odd observation that Flash was very warm which went at odds with his ice zombie aesthetic. Something that Zephyr didn’t bother thinking too deeply about since there was no way a unqualified beautician was gonna figure out what was going on with Flash’s undead body. They had also laid down together every time Zephyr needed to sleep, Flash’s wing wrapped protectively around him. The regular patrols had, of course, continued with Zephyr’s constant babbling with it, now with the fun addition of infrequent, slow responses. The corpse room had also mostly been removed from the path since then with Flash checking in briefly every ten rotations. However, even during those times, should Zephyr call for him, Flash would immediately come shambling back from the room. This was a good thing as far as Zephyr was concerned since he was pretty sure they were going steady and had no need for a second corpse in this relationship. Both stallions sat down before the living room window, the table and lantern still untouched since the first day Zephyr had arrived. It was the end of the current patrol which meant Zephyr got to start his speech lessons with Flash. “Okay, let’s try a fun one this time,” Zephyr said. “Say ‘Cuddle’.” “Kuh. Do. Ull.” Flash intoned flatly. “Close, but not quite there yet, stud. Let’s try again, but this time with the whole word. Repeat after me. Cuddle.” “Kuh. Do. Ull.” Flash repeated. “Cuddle.” “Kuh. Do. Ull.” “Cuddle,” Zephyr said again, overexaggerating his mouth movements and pronunciation. “Cuh.” Flash’s face scrunched up the barest amount. “Dual.” “Hey, you did it!” Zephyr cheered. “Well, not completely, but you got the last part down!” A grunt. Zephyr interpreted it as excited agreement. “That was great, but let’s try another one before we go back on patrol. So, repeat after—” A loud crash interrupted their lesson causing Zephyr to jump with a yelp. Flash remained seated but slowly turned his head to look in the direction of the noise. “What was that?!” Zephyr exclaimed. Several wet ripping sounds echoed from deeper in the cabin setting Zephyr’s fur on edge. Silence followed then several heavy thumps as whatever made the initial sound began to approach the living room. Flash stepped in front of Zephyr, placing a wing in front of him. Zephyr glanced toward Flash and noticed his eyes appeared more focused than before, the mist dissipating partially. “Uh, you okay?” Zephyr asked. His attention was then brought back to the problem at hoof when a low growl emanated from the other side of the room. Stepping around the corner, another zombie appeared. An earth pony stallion of similar size to Flash with pale brown fur and a paler brown mane. Like Flash, his fur was translucent but only around the skull and top of the neck. They gnashed their teeth together, a trial of saliva dripping from their mouth. Flash growled in answer, baring his teeth at the intruder. Zephyr had never noticed before, but Flash’s teeth were sharp. He wasn’t worried, though, since it was Flash and he would never hurt him. Plus, this whole situation could be easily resolved with a few words from Zephyr. He had this. “Okay, boys,” Zephyr said. “No need to get riled up.” He pushed Flash’s wing out of the way, and, in an uncharacteristic display of speed, Flash whipped his head toward Zephyr, his aggressive expression faltering at Zephyr’s actions. He tried to drag Zephyr back with his wing but failed due to a rare display of nimbleness as Zephyr approached the salivating zombie. “Hey, dude. Let’s chill. Parlay, ya know?” Zephyr greeted with a wide grin. “Look, I know you’re probably out of it, but I can fix you right up. See, me and Flash here have been doing this thing where—” Zephyr’s reflexes proved better than his words as the zombie lunged toward his neck and he managed to push the zombie’s jaw back as he slammed into the floor. “Okay, never mind! I don’t got this!” Zephyr cried out. Roaring, Flash grabbed the zombie by the neck with his teeth and flung him against the wall. The zombie lifted itself off the ground, growling at Flash and Zephyr. Flash planted his hooves overtop of Zephyr, answering the threat with a snarl. “Get. Back.” Flash commanded flatly. “You got it, stud,” Zephyr replied shakily. As the zombie lunged, Flash jumped forward to meet him as Zephyr scrambled away from them both. Both zombies devolved into a violent scuffle of teeth. The intruder managed to bite into Flash’s neck and shove him off before charging after Zephyr. Screaming in panic, Zephyr tried to get away from him but was too late to avoid the zombie’s lunge. He sunk his teeth into Zephyr who tripped and fell hard onto the floor, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. A shallow bite bled from his barrel. The zombie attempted to lunge at Zephyr again but was stopped by a freight train named Flash. Red pumped from his heart as Flash roared at the assailant. It mixed with the frigid blue, causing his bones to be dyed in both colours. Zephyr noticed he seemed bigger than before, his teeth sharper as his heart pounded through his see through fur. Both undead became embroiled in a vicious battle that ended quickly as Flash overpowered the other stallion and ripped into him with his teeth. The zombie managed to get a few more wounds in before dropping to the floor dead with Flash standing overtop of him, panting heavily from the exertion. Zephyr watched in rapt attention as Flash moved toward the fire, twinges of pain flaring from his own wound. Flash collapsed onto Zephyr’s blanket nest, dyeing the fabrics red and blue. Uncertainty raced through Zephyr as he considered what to do. Did he grab medical supplies? Would they work on a zombie? Did he check on the other zombie to make sure it was dead? Could he even tell if he did? Should he go to Flash? Was it even safe to in his current state? As his whirlwind of thoughts froze him in place, a single word managed to pierce through. “Zephyr.” Flash called out. Scrambling over to him, Zephyr landed next to Flash. “Hey, stud, what do you need?” He asked, a few errant tears falling from his eyes as he took in his wounds and heavy breaths. “H-how do I help?” “Cuddle,” Flash intoned flatly. Rolling Flash gently onto his side, Zephyr maneuvered himself to be in between his hooves. Flash pulled him in tightly, pressing Zephyr against the bulk of his chest as he wrapped him tightly up with his wings. Zephyr stared at Flash’s heart through his fur, the previously dormant organ pumping rhythmically in a semblance of a heartbeat. He clung to Flash, hoping desperately for the best as Flash’s warmth lulled him to sleep.
Undead (Maybe) Make For Good ColtfriendsView OnlineUndead Don’t Make For Good ColtfriendsUndead (Maybe) Make For Good ColtfriendsZephyr woke up with a snort, grogginess making it hard to keep his eyes open. The first thing he saw once some form of wakefulness came to him was that Flash’s heart had once more become inert. The second thing he noticed was how cold he was. He shivered violently in place as he tried to remove the wing covering him to grab any nearby blankets to cover up with. He was stopped by the firm press of Flash’s wing against his body. “Don’t.” Flash intoned. “Will. Get. Blanket.” “Oh, hey you’re using big words now,” Zephyr joked. There was the barest uptick at the corners of Flash’s mouth before he reached over top of Zephyr and dragged an unbloodied blanket over. He bundled Zephyr up in the fabric, but it, unfortunately, did little to stop the cold from seeping into his skin. “H-hey, sorry, stud, but I don’t suppose you could light the fire or something?” “Can’t.” Flash replied. “Hold. Still.” Uncertain of what Flash planned to do but trusting him regardless, Zephyr braced himself for whatever he planned to do. In one fluid motion, Flash grabbed Zephyr, brought him up onto his hooves, tucked him tightly under his bulk, and shielded him from the cold using his wings. Almost immediately, Zephyr wanted to throw up. The quick motion had given him a bad case of vertigo and the only reason he wasn’t back on the floor was because Flash held him firmly in place. A quick glance around the living area revealed why he was in such a state. The fire had long gone out, buried under piles of snow that had flooded in from the deeper reaches of the cabin. Whatever way the zombie had come in had brought the snow with him. “I-I need—” A cold gale blew across him, derailing his train of thought. “I-I can’t remember. It’s s-so cold.” Keeping Zephyr protected within his embrace, Flash maneuvered both of them to the nearby dresser. Opening the top drawer, Flash removed Zephyr’s winter clothes and dressed Zephyr in them as quickly as he was able. After bundling him up, Flash enveloped him in his warm embrace. After a time, feeling returned to Zephyr’s body. “Okay, that’s much better.” Zephyr breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced over Flash’s body and excitedly exclaimed, “Oh, hey! You’re all healed up!” “Zombie.” Flash stated. “Zombies can heal fast?” Flash grunted. “Right, of course. Speech still a problem, huh?” Zephyr chuckled lightly. “No worries, we’ll work on it later. For now, what do we do? I guess we could start by fixing the holes?” “Leave.” “The Cabin?” A grunt. “To where?” Zephyr asked. “Pretty sure the backwoods of Vanhoover isn’t the only place under a death blizzard right now.” “Sun. Spot.” “Where’s that?” “Mountain.” Zephyr wracked his brain for a moment. “Canterlot?” Another grunt. “Well, that sounds promising. Can’t go wrong with a place called the sun spot.” Zephyr scrunched up his face. “Wait, but how are we even going to get there?” “Outside. Together.” “Wait, you mean we’re gonna trek through the snow?!” Zephyr exclaimed. “That’s miles away! I’m weak-willed and boned! It’ll take us—” His hysterics were momentarily interrupted by Flash leaning in and kissing him full on the lips. It was a long sensual kiss that told Zephyr everything he needed to know about the journey ahead. Flash pulled back leaving a somewhat red and flustered Zephyr. “Together.” Flash repeated. Which meant that Tartarus or high water, Flash was gonna get them both there safely. “Okay, yeah, okay!” Zephyr said, excitement rising as his confidence grew. “We’ll go to Canterlot. I mean, come on. This is like the dream team. Zephyr and Flash! Nothing can stop us when we’re together, right?” The corners of Flash’s mouth flicked up for a moment. Understanding the meaning, Zephyr returned his smile with a wide one of his own. “Right. So, we just pack some supplies before heading out?” Both stallions turned to look at the kitchen to see the entire room buried under snow and a newly shattered window indicating the source of said cold invasion. “A quick stop in Vanhoover then.” Flash grunted in agreement. “Well, I’ll just grab my mane brush and we can be— hey!” Dragging Zephyr after him with a wing, Flash made his way toward the front door, ignoring his protests. He eventually relented and trotted the rest of the way, a pronounced pout on his face. They stood before the threshold to the outside, side-by-side. Zephyr turned to Flash. “Before we go out into the cold and those stupid trees, I just want to clarify something. Are we dating?” Flash leaned over and kissed Zephyr on the lips again. “Woo! Okay, yeah, that’s what I thought. Just wanted to check that I wasn’t reading the mood wrong on that one.” Zephyr puffed himself up and took a step out of the cabin. “On—” He tripped over the bottom edge of the door frame and landed head-first into the snow. Flash was quick to pull him out, dust the snow off, and then wait patiently for Zephyr to finish. “—ward!” Zephyr finished. Thus Zephyr and his undead colt friend began their journey to the Sun Spot. Together surely nothing bad would happen. Surely.
