Survival is a Drag
The dead roam free. The barricades have all fallen, the power grid lies dormant, and I haven’t seen anyone alive in over a year.
The last ten years have shaped me into a survivor, a hardened warrior, and more than a little crazy. I find myself wanting to give in, just accept what the world has become and join in on the fun. Roaming the destroyed cities, empty valleys, and abandoned roads seemed boundlessly more pleasant than fighting for your life every second of every day.
I found a bunker a few years ago on the outskirts of a small town. A large metal hatch in the ground, noticeable only when I tripped over it, breaking my toe for the third time. This place was state of the art, a paranoid survivalist’s wet dream. Must have cost more than five million before the outbreak. And it was brimming with supplies, weapons, riot gear, and what I needed most, a shower. Even the room temp, stale water felt like a miracle on my crusty body.
Unfortunately, I had no experience in rationing supplies. And I had been constantly hungry for years. So I feasted like a king, hibernating in the bunker for months. A year later and I find myself in the familiar predicament of scavenging the nearby abandoned houses and rotting stores. I have been searching them daily for anything edible or drinkable.
One scorchingly hot day as I made my way back to the bunker, I heard a rustling in the trees. There was no wind in the blistering heat but the dead trees wavered anyway as I watched. A pack of angry undead push their way past the dead branches, the familiar groans and snarls close behind. Had to be at least twenty of them shambling towards me. I must smell fantastic the way they increase their drunken gait. But I didn’t have the ammo or energy for war. My brain starts arguing with itself; fight or flight? I hadn’t eaten in days now, and the last of my water was my breakfast.
My feet finally make a decision and they started a slow, reluctant jog to the bunker. My home was only another mile down the road. These zombies were my favorite kind of zombie. Must be my lucky day. They were older, slower, weaker, and sharp as a marble.
I gained a half-mile lead without too much argument from my dehydrated body. My legs growing weaker every second and my lungs on fire. I chance a look behind me to gauge their progress and spot a freshie. Only a few years as a zombie, she’s faster and more alert than her packmates and a helluva lot more dangerous. And she’s gaining on me.
I’d already decided to run so why stop now? I focus every breath on pumping my legs, moving my feet, creating distance. Just a little farther as I make out the circular hatch in the overgrown grass. I stumble as something snatches my ankle, bringing me to the ground. The dead grass feels nice against my face, rough and earthy. I could just lay down and take a nice nap, let her eat what’s left of me. She may even spare my brain. I could join the wandering undead on their lethargic hunt.
Arms grip my legs as I sit up reluctantly. It used to be a woman, a petite thing with long dark hair. At least it was dark now, caked with dirt, blood, and other questionable substances. Her skin was loose and dry, but not falling off, a refreshing change from the older ones I have encountered. She didn’t even smell rotten, a little musky maybe, like an acrid, pungent, and expensive French cheese.
Her grip on my legs tightens as she pulls herself up my torso. Unable to bite through my looted Kevlar vest, she sets her eyes on my throat. That bloodthirsty look did it; the cold black eyes, wide and bloodshot were terrifying. I took a deep breath and threw her roughly aside, leaping to my feet on the exhale. The hatch was right there. Three long strides and I’m turning the metal lock; terrible design for this version of the apocalypse by the way. I hear a groan and shuffling behind me as I wrench open the door and dive inside.
That damn zombie girl dove in after me! Completely missing the ladder and falling fifteen feet to the inner chamber door. Fuck… I did not need a house guest, I hadn’t cleaned since March! The groaning outside reminds me to close the hatch and turn the lock. The pounding starts immediately as I make my way down the ladder.
The woman jumps me before I even reach the bottom, knocking us both to the metal floor. She’s got a vice grip around my neck, her arm digging into my face. Zombie chokehold, had to admire her style. A wave of gratitude and calm washed over me as the air left my lungs. I had to say thank you for ending my suffering before it was too late, my helmet won’t keep her from taking a bite much longer. As I open my mouth, she squeezes tighter and my teeth snap into her flesh, filling my mouth with coagulated blood.
But her arms drop, and I’m able to spit out the coppery, rotten flesh and take a breath. Then another followed by some mild retching. I remember I’m in danger and scurry away from the zombie, spreading zombie Jell-O in my wake. She’s still and quiet, just sitting there, holding her arm as if it hurt. I’ve shot hundreds of these things and nothing causes them pain except a headshot. Maybe that doesn’t even hurt, it just takes them out instantly. She glances up from the wound and meets my eyes.
The bloodthirsty dilated pupils were gone, replaced by bright, alarming hazel eyes. “What did you do to me?” she gasps.
