The Walking Dead Are Coming

It was seven in the morning. Thick black clouds covered the sky, making it look like night. I nudged my boyfriend, who was sleeping beside me, to tell him it was time to get up for work. But he didn’t move. He lay there like a corpse. I touched his arm again. It was cold and stiff. “Qinghe, Qinghe.” He seemed to hear me. His chest rose and fell like waves. “Get up, or you’ll be late again today.” I turned around and got out of bed, pulling back the covers. Suddenly, Qinghe clamped both hands around my neck and shoved me back onto the bed. He roared, as if a pain so intense it felt like being torn apart had seized his whole body, as though he were trying to break free of something. His grip choked off my breath. I stared at him in terror. Qinghe’s eyes were bloodshot, and his black pupils shrank in an instant, like smoke collapsing into a single point.