Court of the Walking Dead

Elena served the padel ball with a violence that surprised her. The glass walls of the court vibrated. Across the net, Marcus didn't even try to return it. He just stood there, racquet hanging limp at his side, staring at nothing.

"You're not even trying," she said, chest heaving.

"I'm tired, El."

"Tired of what? Padel? Or everything?"

He didn't answer. They'd come to this resort in Marbella to save their marriage, or at least determine if it was worth saving. But Marcus had been moving through the weekend like a zombie—eyes glazed, responses delayed, the man she'd loved for seven years reduced to something that wore his skin and spoke his words without meaning behind them.

"Is it her?" she asked, though they'd promised no questions about the affair. "Or is it just—the grind of it all?"

Marcus ran a hand through his hair. "Both. Neither. I don't know anymore. I wake up and I'm already exhausted. I trade stocks for twelve hours, come home, drink myself to sleep, repeat. I haven't felt like myself in years."

Elena walked to the net. "And she makes you feel alive?"

"She made me feel something."

"A bull market feels like something too," Elena said softly. "Then it crashes."

Marcus laughed—really laughed, for the first time in days. "Remember when we met? You threw a padel ball at my head because I wouldn't shut up about cryptocurrency."

"You deserved it. You were insufferable."

"And now I'm a zombie," he said. "Like all of them. The guys at the firm, the traders, the executives—walking dead in expensive suits. We chase numbers that don't matter,拼命 accumulate, and wonder why we're empty at the end."

Elena stepped closer, gripping the chain-link. "So what do we do?"

Marcus met her eyes. Something flickered there—recognition, maybe. Or desperation. "I don't want to be dead anymore, El. I don't want us to be dead."

"Then pick up your racquet."

He stared at her, then slowly bent down, fingers closing around the handle. The ball sat between them on the court surface.

"Play?" Elena asked.

"Play," Marcus said.

And as he returned her serve—awkwardly, but with something like intention—Elena thought maybe zombies could learn to be human again. Maybe they all could.