Life now usually meant moving from camp to camp trying to keep ahead of the undead. Sometimes people would wake up in the night when a zombie had entered their campsite. Other times they didn’t wake up at all. For a few years I had been one of the lucky ones, but now it looked like my luck was running out.
Indeed, luck had everything to do with my current situation. My good fortune meant that I would go days without seeing a flesh eating cannibal. The rare time I did, they were in groups of one or two. The dim witted ghouls shuffled slowly towards their prey, and were easy to dispatch with a swift blow to the head. Good luck meant that I only needed to carry one weapon with me, a Louisville Slugger that had seen me through the best days of my life. The ash club that had made me a baseball hero in my small town had been my most trusted ally after the apocalypse. I had named her Lucille.
The rigors of this savage new world that ended with either painful death or bare survival had proven too much for Lucille. Today, when confronted by a pair of ghouls shortly after I broke camp, Lucille finally quit on me. The stout piece of wood that had been my friend had broken like a mere branch after I had felled the first zombie. Left with just the handle in my hands, I was faced with a grim decision: fight or flight. Without a weapon, I would only be food for the undead, so I had chosen to flee.
Several hours on the road had made me regret my decision. Unarmed, I had no choice but to flee directly away from my undead pursuers. Originally, I had run through the woods that I had been camping in. However, a short time of scrambling through the thicket had caused me to trip over a root. At the time, the adrenaline made me unaware of how I had hurt myself, but soon I realised I had turned my ankle when I fell. The dislocated bone had swollen, making it both difficult and painful to walk.
My flight had soon taken me to a road, which I had decided to follow considering my injury. Even though the end of the world meant the end of road work, an abandoned highway was certainly smoother sailing than an unpaved forest. I had passed a fleet of abandoned vehicles, cars and trucks that the panicked citizens had trusted would see them to safety shortly after the outbreak. Now they stood, abandoned on the road and long since picked clean by scavengers.
What I hadn’t expected was that the highway meant more zombies. The undead had been here too, like the scavengers, looking for a meal. On more than one occasion I had interrupted the flesh eaters picking their way between parked cars. While the adrenaline was still with me I had put on a burst of speed to make my way past them, unable to turn back since that would put me back into the jaws of the first zombie to pursue me.
As the hours passed I had found myself in a few narrow escapes. My ankle was slowing me considerably and giving me a shuffle akin to so many of the stiff corpses that chased me. I held on to the hope that I would somehow find a way to elude the monsters, but it soon dawned on me that escape was impossible. In my condition, I was only able to keep a few paces ahead of those that would kill and eat me. It would be impossible for me to run free of them.
Soon the road turned into a suburban neighbourhood. Here people had once purchased their quarter acre of the American dream. Children no longer played in the streets and back yards; this was undead territory. It wasn’t long before I encountered my worst nightmare. A sizeable group of some twenty zombies lurched from one of the side streets. A handful of pursuers became a few dozen in an instant, and I knew that the sound of scraping flesh on asphalt and the moan of the ravenous dead would only draw more attention.
Looking frantically about, I had to find a place to hide. The houses on either side of the road looked like the cookie cutter promises of the middle class of the first world, but one stood out to me. At the end of the block was the house that I prayed would allow me to escape my doom.
The house was a modest single storey structure, with a dark shingled roof and an unattractive yellow vinyl siding. Someone had hastily spraypainted the outside walls with the message “Alive inside”, perhaps hoping that someday someone would rescue them. Scrap lumber had been used to board the windows shut, but it looked sturdy enough. A small garage was attached to one side of the house, the door securely shut. Only one thing kept this home from being a veritable bastion against the undead: the front door was slightly ajar.
Fortune smiled on me once more, so I didn’t stop to consider why this fortress had been abandoned. I only cared that it would serve to shelter me from the cannibalistic monsters on my heels. Redoubling my efforts, despite how my ankle pained me, I hurried to the open door. The zombies were only a few steps behind me when I slammed the door shut on them. Affixed to the wall beside the door frame I found the owner had installed a pair of brackets to seal the door shut. Finding a nearby two by four, I guessed at its intended purpose and barricaded the entrance.
I was exhausted, but I didn’t consider myself out of the woods just yet. I didn’t yet know if the building was free of zombies, or if there were any entrances that weren’t yet barricaded. At the moment, it seemed safer than being outside, but I needed to hurry to make sure it stayed that way.
The front door had led me into a large room. On my left was a mostly empty room that I assumed was originally the living room, as well as a hallway that must lead to the bedrooms. An untidy pile of furniture was placed against the wall next to the main window in the living room. A wall was on my right, but I knew the garage was on the other side. The wall on my right terminated and the room beyond was a kitchen. I was pretty sure the back door would be on the kitchen side of the house, so I began to shuffle across.
As it turned out, I was right. The door leading out was in the kitchen, and was nailed shut from this side. A few barricaded windows allowed some small amount of light into the kitchen. Peering between the slats, I could see that their back porch had been dismantled, which explained where they had found so much lumber for barricades.
Through the window I also spotted more zombies lurching towards the house. No doubt they had been drawn by the commotion caused by my narrow escape. It didn’t help either that the horde that had chased me in here were noisily pounding and scratching at the doors and front picture window. The large window in the living room concerned me, as it was the weakest point in the building’s defenses. However, the homeowner had diligently barricaded the window as best he could, and had piled furniture from their living room and bedrooms over their handiwork.
If more zombies were coming, I had to be sure to check and see if there were any vulnerabilities in the building’s defenses. They would soon surround the house and exploit any entrance they could find. I tried the door to the garage, located in the kitchen, and was satisfied to find it locked. Remembering that the door to the garage had been closed when I entered the building, I saw no need to investigate further. My next stop would be the bedrooms, down the hall from the living room, but an obstacle in my path gave me pause.
Propped up against the wall near the hallway was a legless corpse. This new world had prepared me for the unpleasant sights and smells associated with death, but this guy was a mess all the same. His legs had been torn off, no doubt by the ravenous dead, and his shirt had been ripped so they could disembowel him. They hadn’t stopped there either, as the foul dead had cracked his ribs apart to reach his organs. His arms had been chewed to the bones, and I could make out toothy gouges taken from his face and neck. His eyes were open, somehow spared from the gluttony of the animated dead, and I noted that they were tracking me as I moved around the house. Despite everything that he’d been through, the foulness of undeath had still saw fit to give him new life.
Dispatching this crippled zombie would have been a simple task if I had a weapon. I was sure I could find a suitable improvised weapon from the kitchen I was standing in, such as a chef’s knife or a frying pan, but I had more important things to do. This zombie wasn’t going anywhere, that was certain. Even without legs, the undead would chase a man by crawling if they had to. Yet, the undead man didn’t have enough muscle left on his arms to drag himself around, his killers had seen to that. He wasn’t an immediate threat to me.
The scratching and pounding at the front door reminded me that I had to be absolutely sure nothing could get inside. I hobbled across the living room, giving my zombie roommate a wide berth as I passed. His head turned to follow me, but otherwise the ghoul made no move to follow me. Using the wall to help support my weight, I half hopped and half shuffled down the hallway. There were only three doors to investigate.
I came to the first one and tried it. The door opened easily, unlocked and unobstructed. Finding myself looking into a bathroom, I was relieved to see that there weren’t any more surprise zombies inside. A very small window allowed some natural light through, but was too small to allow anything else through.
Finding no reason to be unsatisfied with this room, I shut the door and continued down the hallway. The next door opened into an empty room. The walls were painted a soft blue, and spotted with fluffy clouds. This must have been a child’s bedroom. I shuddered to think of what would have happened to them, but found the windows had been boarded shut. Closing the door, I went to investigate the last room.
Like the one before it, this room was empty. I guessed this must be the master bedroom, since it was the most logical choice. Here too the windows were boarded shut. Stepping into the room, I decided to give it a look over for useful items. Hoping to find a gun locker in the closet, I was disappointed to find only clothes and shoes.
Satisfied at least with the security of my hiding place, I left the bedroom and shut the door behind me. Limping into the living room, I watched as the zombie regarded me. Most zombies I’d encountered had a burning hunger in their eyes, yet this one was different. Maybe it was because he was unable to hunt, but I thought he had a more docile look to him.
The relentless pounding of dead flesh against the building and snarling of the ravenous creatures outside reminded me that this was no time to be sympathetic towards the zombie that I shared this house with. Safe for the moment, I turned my mind to the search for supplies. Although I had no food or water, I was chiefly concerned about my ankle. I didn’t think I had broken anything, and I knew that a few days of rest would probably see me pain free again, but I didn’t know that I had a few days on my side. If I was forced to leave in a hurry, I’d like to find some kind of painkiller to ease my passage.
Figuring the bathroom was the best place to find first aid supplies, I hobbled back down the hallway. The mirror over the sink opened into a medicine cabinet, but I found the shelves bare save for a roll of floss and a toothbrush. With a sigh, I shut the cabinet again.
I took a moment to look into the mirror. The man staring back at me was unfamiliar, and honestly didn’t look like he was much better off than the zombies outside. It had been too long since I’d seen a shave or a shower, and my face was hidden behind an unruly beard. Dried mud, blood, and sweat were caked onto my face and beard, making it stick out in wild ways. But the most disturbing feature left to me was my eyes. It had been months since I had managed to get a decent night’s sleep, instead taking short naps while on the run. Deprived of sleep, I was left with a gaunt, haggard expression punctuated by deep bags under my eyes.
Turning away, I decided the mirror was doing my no favours. I shut the door to the bathroom behind me as I shuffled into the hallway. Deciding I’d have better luck finding medicine in the kitchen, as well as food and a weapon, I returned to search. The zombie in the living room continued to follow my movements as I passed him.
The kitchen was a very open room, with no walls between it and the living room. The only thing obstructing the kitchen from the rest of the house was an island countertop in the centre of the room. The counter provided a place to prepare and serve food, as well as having an electric range. Opposite the bedrooms was a wall that was covered in cabinets and counterspace. There was also a fridge, but since the electrical grid had failed years ago, I didn’t want to look inside.
Rifling through the drawers and cabinets, I continued my search for anything I could use. As I threw open cabinet after cabinet, I came to the realisation that either the previous occupants had outlasted their supplies, or some scavenger had picked this place clean. Trying the sink, I found that there wasn’t any running water. After working up my courage, I had even tried the fridge, yet I had found it to be empty as well. The only useful item I had found was a cast iron frying pan, which I might use as a weapon in a pinch.
Coming back around to the living room, I dropped the frying pan on the floor. Sliding down to a sitting position, I leaned against the kitchen island opposite the zombie. Despite the ceaseless scratching and pounding of the undead outside, I was taking a break. I pulled my tattered backpack from my shoulders and took a look inside. The combined total of my worldly possessions was half a bottle of expired aspirin and a cast iron frying pan. With a sigh, I pulled the pills out of my backpack. Wishing I had some water to take the pills with, or indeed to drink at all, I started chewing the bitter medicine.
Across from me, I heard the zombie’s teeth click together. I looked up to see it chomping at the air. “Hungry?” I asked the monster.
My own voice had surprised me. It had occurred to me that I hadn’t spoken to anybody for a very long time indeed, and I had forgotten what my own voice had sounded like. Combined with my haggard appearance, I decided that if I had met myself in a dark alley I would have probably turned the other way.
“You’re not missing much,” I told the zombie, “Nobody wants aspirin for dinner.”
Of course, the zombie was incapable of answering me. For a moment I figured that talking to him would be good practice in case I was rescued from my predicament. A moment later I realised that waiting for rescue was probably how this man had become a zombie. Still, I had to do something to pass the time.
The zombie was leaning against a mantlepiece over a ventless fireplace. On top of the mantle were an assortment of family photos. I squinted at them, trying to make them out. The most recent looking one was a husband and wife along with their son. I tried to decide if the man in the photo was the original homeowner. It was impossible to tell for certain, considering the zombie was in such rough condition.
“Nice place you have here,” I congratulated the zombie on what I decided to be his own home, “Although it sounds like the neighbours aren’t very friendly.
Chomping his agreement, the zombie across from me was a poor conversation partner. With a sigh, I closed my eyes to consider my options. I could go outside and get torn apart by zombies, or I could stay inside and starve to death. I realised I’d actually die of dehydration several days before I starved.
Looking across at my partner, I wondered how long he’d been here. With zombies it was really hard to tell sometimes, they could be days old, or they could be the original infected corpses from the outbreak. The zombies didn’t need any kind of fuel to keep going, even though they hungered for the flesh of the living and recently deceased.
Sitting on the floor, I pondered my situation and the undead. No matter how hard I tried to escape them, they were always there on the horizon. One could elude them for a day or two, but they were an ever present danger in the world we lived in now.
The world we lived in. I considered those words again. “We” implied that there was more than just me out there. I hadn’t seen another living soul for months, only ever the undead monsters that plagued my existence. It dawned on me that like the zombie in the room with me, nobody was coming to rescue me.
Regarding the frying pan next to me, I thought about fighting my way out. I almost laughed out loud at the idea as I realised I’d probably last ten seconds before being torn apart. I had thought I had fled to safety when I found this house, but now I realised I was trapped. The ravenous dead outside were incapable of resting until they had broken through the barricades. I would probably die before that happened, but I realised there was no escaping death.
Up until this point, I’d been denying that I was doomed, but it was impossible to ignore it any further. My predicament made me angry. The undead had taken everything from this world and left me with nothing. My life after the outbreak was one of fear and clinging to survival. I never knew what had caused the pandemic that had ended the world as I had known it, so I had nobody to blame but the zombies themselves.
Rage burning just beneath my skin, I shouted at the zombie across from me, “This is all your fault! You freaks ruined everything!”
After raising my voice, the flesh eaters outside grew more agitated. They clawed and pounded with a renewed zeal. Seizing the frying pan, my new weapon, I leapt to my feet. Suddenly throwing my weight onto my ankle made me see stars, but I held onto the kitchen island to steady myself. The cast iron pan was heavy in my hand, and I was confident it could crack a skull. If I left now, or if the zombies broke inside, I knew I could dispatch two or three of them.
It dawned on me what would happen after I couldn’t swing at the zombies anymore. They would tear into my flesh, literally ripping me apart while I was still alive. I’d seen it happen before, and I swore I’d never go out that way. However, I didn’t see a way out of my situation that wouldn’t leave me in a condition like the living corpse in the living room.
My anger wasn’t helping me, so I pushed it from my mind. Thinking there must be something to help me that I had simply overlooked, I renewed my search. The bare shelves and empty cabinets were still devoid of anything useful. I couldn’t even find another weapon, someone before me had picked the drawers clean of anything sharper than a butter knife.
Raising a cry of frustration, I yanked out a drawer full of flatware. Utensils noisily clattered to the floor, skittering to a rest against the counters or sliding under the fridge. Leaning heavily on the island, I tried to think how I might still save myself. If only I had been here earlier, I reasoned, I might have been able to find something before the scavengers had cleaned this place out.
“It wouldn’t have helped,” I explained to the zombie in the living room, imagining it was following my train of thought, “Even if you did have some knives stashed away, I couldn’t kill all of your neighbours. There’s just too many of them.”
The futility of my quest for survival weighed heavily on me. Allowing the frying pan to slip from my fingers, I buried my face in my hands. I was overwhelmed by feelings of anger, frustration, and fear. Tears flowed freely from my eyes as my body was wracked by sobs. I didn’t feel any shame that I had resorted to weeping, because there was nobody alive to see me. The only creatures to bear witness to my moment of grief were the noisome monsters outside, and the zombie in the living room who was somehow more pitiful than I.
I noticed it was looking at me. “What do I do?” I pleaded with it, desperately wishing it had some hint of salvation to offer me, “You didn’t leave anything for me. Not a scrap of food, not a bottle of water, nothing. I’m going to end up just like you.”
Drying my eyes against my sleeve, I considered what I had just said. No matter what I chose to do, I would die. If by some miracle I escaped uninfected, I would only find myself in a similar situation or worse. At some point down the road, I would die. It was almost certain I would end up a zombie at the end of my life.
Shuffling across the floor, I came to a stop next to the zombie I shared this tomb with. I felt an odd sort of kinship with him, given the similar circumstances we had found ourselves in. Both of us had thought that we would be safe here, and both of us would die in this room. Sliding down against the wall, I put my arm around the zombie who despite its best efforts was unable to turn its head far enough to bite me.
“I guess this is it,” I announced to the ghoul beside me, “I never thought it would end this way. I suppose I never thought it would end at all. I always wanted to live forever, but I guess that wasn’t ever an option.”
Slowly gnashing his teeth together, the zombie next to me had actually found a way to live forever. The unfortunates who were infected by the virus that had ended the world were unique in that they never, ever stopped. They died, in the sense that they stopped breathing and their hearts ceased to beat. Yet still the continued on, walking the Earth and feeding whenever they can.
Everyone I had ever known was dead now. Some of them lay still in the ground, but most of them still wandered as zombies. I wondered if there were even any survivors left. If there were, I decided, they wouldn’t live forever either. Humanity had lost to the monsters. This was their world now.
The thirst was driving me mad now. I never had a chance to find water before I had to run for my very life this morning, and I was definitely feeling it now. All of my limbs ached, and my head was pounding. I had read somewhere that a person could live for about three days without water. I didn’t suppose that meant I’d have exactly three days, considering the exercise I’d had this past day as well as not having eaten for a few days. I knew I’d experience more fatigue, as well as nausea, diarrhea, and a slew of other symptoms that sounded unpleasant.
Dying frightened me because I had so many questions that I didn’t know the answer to. I wondered what would happen to me when I died. So many people believed in an afterlife where everyone was destined to either Heaven or Hell. I found it more logical that the dead were simply dead, that there was nothing more to experience after the moment of departure. But the notion of the oblivion of my consciousness made me uneasy. My memories, my personality, everything that made me the man I was today would forever be lost to the world. It bothered me that all of my experiences would be gone forever, as if they had never happened. It was difficult to fathom what that would be like, and I found myself wondering how I could be conscious of my present self when I would ultimately die sometime soon.
I turned to the zombie beside me, who I now regarded as a friend. Even though he was still trying to eat me, I couldn’t begrudge him. He never had a choice in his situation, nobody was ever truly able to decide when they would die. Everyone was either dead or a zombie, nobody could be an exception.
Comparing the symptoms of the zombie virus to death by dehydration, I found the virus to be a less dreadful way to go. The victim experiences fever, followed by coma, death, and ultimately reanimation as a zombie. It seemed to me that it was a less horrible way to die. Additionally, I wouldn’t have to fear the oblivion of death, because I’d be reanimated in a more primitive state shortly after the moment of my death.
Telling myself I would die no matter what happened at this point, I offered my hand to the zombie. I grimaced as his teeth tore into my flesh, but made no sound as I pulled away my hand. That was enough to infect me, in a matter of hours I would die, but like a phoenix I would rise again reborn. Trapped in this house for the rest of my days, I would never hurt anybody, although I doubted that anyone was left alive.
“You’re welcome,” I told the zombie who was now lazily chewing at the morsel he had taken from me.
Closing my eyes, I felt utterly at peace. I didn’t mind the pain in my hand, as I no longer bothered myself about my twisted ankle. Soon, the fever would take me, but in the meantime I was content to finally get some decent sleep. All around me the zombies continued hammering at the doors, at the boarded windows, at the walls themselves, all the while raising a dreadful groan. I paid them no heed, for I knew soon they would be my brothers and sisters.
I was unable to decide that I would die. Nature demands that everybody die, it’s an impossible to avoid that part of life. Yet, I took some small comfort that I had decided when and how I would meet my end. I didn’t die running for my life, and I did not die while spilling blood. Instead, I had chosen to sleep, to wake up dead before once more waking alive again.
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© Peter Adam 2014, All Rights Reserved
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