Andy let his thoughts drift, but this time he didn't sink down into unconsciousness. He was dead, returned as a wight, maybe barely able to disguise himself as a living person if he took in enough of other people's... how had Steve put it? Youth. Vitality. Life force. Something like that. His family thought him dead -- rightly -- and his only allies were monster hunters and government caretakers. His first and only girlfriend was dead, and -- if they were to be believed -- not reborn as a monster. From what he remembered of the werewolves, he could believe that. They were supposed to be at their most infectious when they delivered a bite but failed to make the kill.
Like that one did to me, he thought, remembering the pulsing wound in his shoulder, the shivering and loss of control even as he struggled to fend it off, the waves of heat and cold sweeping through his bone.
But then the hand had come down over his face, and he'd woken back up as a wight instead.
He held himself still, let himself relax into the movie. Some guy with a Gatling gun in his passenger seat was trying to kill two girls and a guy in an armored car, while they tried to figure out how to shoot back without getting cut in half. One of the girls was returning fire, while the other cowered, obviously out of her depth...
Action movies. Action movies are normal. He kept watching, waiting to see what happened next. At this point, he needed as much normal as he could get.
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