Until that zombie bitch shuffled out of the bushes…
Here’s the thing about zombies. You can get the fuck away from them easily enough. They’re usually quiet, but they’re also slow and stupid. You see them coming, so it’s real easy to run away. And like I said earlier, even if you don’t see them, you can usually smell the fuckers. Ever smell roadkill? It’s the same thing, except mobile. But that night, the breeze kept shifting. First it would blow off the Chesapeake Bay and away from us. Then it would switch, but that was no better, because the stench of decay would get so strong you couldn’t tell if it was a zombie approaching you or just the city itself—a giant graveyard full of rotting corpses.
We passed by a small row house with a withered, brown hedge out front. The windows were broken. The aluminum siding was splattered with gore. The zombie must have come from behind the hedge, because that was the only spot to hide. We didn’t see her, didn’t smell her, until she’d latched on to Alan.
He was behind me, talking in hushed tones about getting out of the city and heading for the wilderness—the woods in Pennsylvania or southern Maryland. Maybe even down to the outskirts of Ocean City, around some of the more desolate beach areas. I was against it. Thought we should just stay inside my place. We didn’t know shit about what was going on elsewhere. What if the woods were full of infected animals? I waited for Alan to reply. His shopping cart coasted past me and out into the street. At the same time, he started screaming.
I let go of my cart and whipped around. The zombie clung to Alan, scratching and biting. This close, her stench made me gag. She wrapped her swollen, rotting arms around Alan like an exuberant lover and then clambered onto his back. She held on tightly. He buckled under her weight, but managed to maintain his footing. Her feet dangled off the ground. She wore no shoes or socks and her toes were caked with filth.
Alan dropped his sword. It clanged onto the pavement. Panicked, I could only watch as he hunched over, beating at the harpy clinging to his back. The creature moaned and he shrieked. Her cracked fingernails raked at his arm and neck, ripping his skin. She leaned forward and her teeth snapped shut on his cheek. The dead woman jerked her head back and Alan’s flesh stretched like soft taffy. Alan screamed again, and even in the darkness I could see the blood welling up inside his mouth. His skin stretched even farther, pulled taught, and then tore. His flapping cheek dangled from the zombie’s clenched teeth. His screams turned into a gurgle. Other than her brief moan, the corpse didn’t make a sound.
It was then that I remembered the gun. It had been clenched in my hand the whole time, but I’d been so fucking overwhelmed with shock and fear that I’d forgotten about it. The zombie’s head was thrown back away from Alan’s left shoulder. She was chewing the piece of meat while he thrashed and spun. Blood streamed down his neck, soaking his clothing. His skin looked garish and pale, and I saw his teeth and his tongue flopping around in the ragged hole. Amazingly, he didn’t collapse. He kept beating at her, making gargling sounds in his throat. When he spun around again, I raised the pistol. The zombie’s head darted forward for another bite.
I stepped close, put the gun against her forehead and pulled the trigger. At the same time, I turned my face away, closed my eyes and kept my mouth shut tight, pursing my lips together so that no blood would splatter into my mouth. The pistol jumped in my grip. There was an explosion. Over the zombie’s stench, I smelled burned hair and gun smoke.
The zombie went limp, slumped, and then slid to the asphalt like a sack of cement. Alan collapsed to his knees. He tried to scream again, but the sound was garbled. He sounded like a wild animal. His eyes rolled up at me, wide and horrified. Sweat and blood covered what was left of his face. He tried to speak, but I could barely understand him.
“Shloo eeee…”
“Oh, fuck.” I backed away from him. Alan was dead. Even if I managed to stop the bleeding and somehow patch up his face, he’d been bitten. Hamelin’s Revenge was already coursing through his veins. He’d died the moment she broke the skin.
I heard the sound of tinkling glass from a nearby alley. The zombies were on the move, attracted by the gunshot.
“Laarr,” Alan slurred. “Shloo eeee.”
I raised the gun. My hands trembled.
“I’m sorry, man. I am so fucking sorry.”
I did as he asked. I shot him.
Like I said, things have changed. People have changed. Me included. I didn’t even look away. The gunshot echoed into the night. Somewhere, another dog barked. Another rotting corpse shuffled into sight. When it saw me, it grinned and made a low moaning noise. Blinking away tears, I raised the pistol, and then lowered it again. The zombie was too far away to shoot with accuracy and I didn’t want to waste bullets.
I forgot about the shopping carts and ran home. I saw more zombies but stayed out of their reach. They lurched out of alleyways and stumbled out of houses and apartment buildings. I didn’t see anybody else who was still alive, but I heard a woman screaming. Couldn’t tell where she was, and in truth, I didn’t stick around long enough to see. When a rat skittered by me and disappeared behind a parked car, I nearly screamed. I didn’t know if it was dead or alive. I wondered if I should consider myself lucky to be alive, or cursed because I wasn’t dead yet. Of course, if I were dead, I’d be a zombie. I wondered if they knew—remembered—who they’d been. If there was such a thing as a soul, was it still inside them, conscious and staring out through those dead eyes, unable to act as its body was hijacked?
Then I decided that I wasn’t ready to find out yet.
Chapter Two
Once I was safe and sound back inside my house, I checked to make sure nothing had come in while I was gone. I renailed some thick boards over the front door. It wasn’t totally secure, but it would be enough for one night, as long as I kept quiet and didn’t alert anyone else to my presence inside the house. Too much pounding would allow the zombies or raiders to hone in on my location. In truth, I couldn’t have continued barricading myself inside even if I’d wanted to. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and started crying as I hammered twelve penny nails back into the heavy wooden planks. Delayed shock. Mental breakdown. Maybe a little bit of both. But deep down inside, I knew that I wasn’t crying for Alan or anybody else. I was crying for myself. I’ve never been one for self-pity, but I felt it then.
I was alone again.
Deciding I’d be safe enough, I resolved to finish the job in the morning. I felt exhausted and weak and dirty. I tried to remember the last time I’d showered, and couldn’t. Washing up with a sponge and a bowl of rainwater just didn’t cut it.
In the darkness, I ate a can of fruit cocktail. I didn’t have much of an appetite, but I forced the fruit down anyway, even the chunks of pineapple, which I hated. Why is it that when you open a can of fruit cocktail, regardless of the brand, there’s always too much pineapple and not enough cherries? Of course, I don’t guess there will be any fruit cocktail for a long time. If humanity ever does get back on their feet, we’ll have more important things to worry about first. As I sipped the juice from the can, I thought about all the groceries I’d left behind on the street. Sooner or later, I’d have to go out again. It was either starve or forage. Day or night—didn’t matter when I went. The danger would be the same. Tonight it had been Alan. Next time it could be me. But I didn’t want to think about that just then.
Naked and sweating from the late summer heat, I collapsed on top of the damp, dirty sheets. The pillowcase stank, even with the stench from outside creeping into the house. The pillowcase smelled like me—of dirt and grime, hopelessness and despair. I had no way to do laundry, and water was too precious to waste. I lay there, tossing and turning, thrashing around. I couldn’t read in the darkness, and I didn’t want to risk using the flashlight. There wasn’t really anything to read, anyway, even if I had been willing to use a light. Just a stack of past-due bills and shut-off notices and a few out-of-date magazines for which there’d be no follow-up issues. It’s amazing how the feature articles in
