by T. L. Walker
How To Start Living
(in the
Zombie Apocalypse)
T.L. Walker
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this story are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
HOW TO START LIVING (IN THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE)
Copyright © 2017 by T. L. Walker
Cover Art by Antonio Maldonado
of AZCS Technology/Dark Catt Studios
http://thecucoking.deviantart.com
http://AZCSTechnology.com
http://darkcatt.com
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
This one is for
Jenna, for being one of the strongest women and best friends I’ve ever known.
(And for putting up with me for nearly 16 years.)
Prologue
It's often said that it takes just the tiniest spark to light the largest fire of change - but to this day I can't say I believe that.
At least in my own life, it's taken nothing short of a disaster here and there to push me from complacency into action...and it’s no different now that I’ve witnessed the end of the world as I knew it.
And no matter what I try to tell you, I’m not fine.
Oh, right, I guess I can't just jump into things quite that fast. For someone who used to agonize over every decision that she made, I certainly have come a long way. Shit, some of the people who knew me before would probably say that I'd lost my mind...but then, haven't we all?
Okay, okay, this time I really will take a step back and explain. Granted, I'm not a doctor or a scientist, so don't expect some detailed description of disease pathology. It also doesn't help that when the world started collapsing I was away at a week-long yoga retreat deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains. No television, no cell phone or internet service, just me and a few dozen other women eating bland all-natural vegan meals and forcing our bodies into unnatural positions.
Actually, I'm being overly cynical about that. Had the world not gone to hell while I was busy perfecting my handstands, I would have returned to my daily life at least a little bit more relaxed than usual.
For a short while, anyway.
Unfortunately, no sooner had I eased my car down the retreat's several-mile-long winding drive and pulled out onto the equally winding state road, then I ran into someone. And then ran over them.
Talk about losing your Zen.
Now to be fair, the person had stumbled out into the road right in front of me, leaving me no time to stop. But all I could think was Christ, can I live with the knowledge that I've killed another human being?
(By the by, looking back at it now that seems like a pretty damn hilarious question. Considering how different things are these days. But I digress.)
I hadn't had a true panic attack in years, but you can bet your ass I had one then. Still, I somehow forced myself to stop my car, put it in park, get out and rush toward the body. "Are you all right?!" I cried – or at least, I think I said that...or something like it. In actuality, I didn't even feel like I was part of my own body just then, so I probably didn't say anything quite that coherent. More likely than not it was just a lot of screaming.
Of course, I'm not really sure what was worse – those few moments when I thought I'd killed someone, or the instant when I realized I hadn't.
Because you can't kill what's already dead...or in this case, undead. I wasn't sure whether it was a man or a woman lying there in the road, but when it moaned I felt the strangest combination of relief and dysphoria. I'd like to believe that the latter was due to a concern that this person was suffering, but...well, I won't go there just now. It doesn't really matter. As I approached it (see, even now, I have a hard time thinking of it as a person!) the stench began to overwhelm me. What the fuck? Thanks to the bright afternoon sunlight, I suddenly realized that its clothes were ragged, its skin mottled, its shoulder-length hair tangled and filled with burrs, leaves, sticks.
And then it moaned again and rolled over to face me. I'll admit right now that I've not felt that afraid in my entire life. Sure, I've been scared shitless a few times since then, but come on. The first time you see a zombie, something that's not supposed to exist outside of fiction? There's really nothing like it.
The thing is, what followed was almost a sense of excitement. I don't know, maybe I'm more than a little bit crazy, but suddenly it was as if everything I'd ever read or seen or heard about the undead was running through my mind. As the zombie – which, in case it matters, was a woman - attempted to struggle to its feet, clearly intent on coming after me, I backed toward my car, threw myself inside, and locked the doors.
Yeah, I know, I know. What are the chances of zombies being able to figure out how to open a car door? But hey, one can never be too careful – and I'd realize later that there are several good reasons to always lock a door behind you. (As soon as you know that you're in a safe place, that is.)
I drove away before the zombie woman could even take a step toward me. In that moment, I had no way of knowing that this was anything more than some strange middle-of-nowhere occurrence...but I did know that I needed to get home and take stock of things.
And of course, check on my dog.
PART
ONE
The Beginning
Of The End
Chapter 1
The First Lessons
At twenty-nine years old, I'd made quite the comfortable life for myself. I lived in a beautiful little condo in the downtown area of a small southern city (I'm leaving out the city and state on purpose, here – can’t have anyone knowing too much about me, even – or maybe especially – now).
I was in a stable yet boring relationship, and I had a job that paid the bills and allowed some fun on the side. Pre-zombie-apocalypse, this all seemed like more than I could have ever expected.
Who knew I'd turn into such an adrenaline junkie? (Yet again, that's something I'll get into later.)
I suppose it should have tipped me off, just how 'content' I was with my life, when the first and basically only thing that crossed my mind upon finding a member of the living dead on the road near my yoga retreat was I have to make sure Holden is okay. Holden being my dog, of course. That's right, my live-in boyfriend of three years didn't cross my mind at all – I just wanted my dog.
Says something, doesn't it?
Now, because I don't want you to think I'm too cold, I will admit that after the initial panic and about an hour into my three-hour drive home, I did start thinking about my mother. She was alone, after all, still living on the farm she'd once shared with my father. She and I had our differences, but the longer I drove the more I knew that my condo would be just a short stop on the way to somewhere else.
I assumed that it wouldn’t be too difficult to make it to the farm; even though I was on the road for several hours, I didn’t see much of note. Once in a while I spotted a car speeding north as I drove south; a few times cars came up behind me and sped by, disappearing so fast that I knew there was no point trying to catch up. Yeah, here and there the sides of the highway were dotted with vehicles that had broken down or even clearly been in accidents before being pushed off the road, and while at first I slowed down to look, it turned out that the only bodies I saw had been half-dragged from wreckage and were pulled apart or chewed to pieces. In fact, even those entirely dead bodies were few and far between.
No one else seemed to care about getting a speeding ticket just now, but the car accident wreckage that I saw kept me from driving more than ten miles an hour over the speed limit. I mean, think about it – if
most people are driving like maniacs and there are random zombies and who knows what else stumbling all over the place, isn't it best to keep your eyes on the road and pay attention to how fast you’re going? Whether this was the end of the world or just some freak incident, I was too curious to find out what was going on to want to risk ending up dead – or undead – on the side of the road. Not to mention the fact that I could stop picturing my sweet Holden; if anything I needed to make sure he’d been taken care of before giving in to the insane thoughts that kept popping into my head.
Granted those were three of the longest hours of my life, but at least when they were over I still had a life – at least for the moment.
Drive Safely
*******
As I approached my little city, it became clear that eventually I'd have to get out of my car and walk. I was able to maneuver my little Volkswagen hatchback to within two miles of my condo, but eventually the cars and loot blocked the way. I had no choice but to back up the street to a space where I would easily be able to turn my car around before finally parking and turning it off. At this point it still took several deep breaths to even calm myself down enough to think about what I should take with me. As little as possible, I somehow knew. Keys, of course, but a weapon was surely a must...
I got out of my car, shutting the door as quietly as possible, and made my way around to the back, where I quickly opened up the spare tire compartment and pulled out the wrench tucked inside. It was small, but what kind of girl carries heavy weapons in her yoga retreat luggage?
Pepper spray! Back to my purse, and armed with the spray and my wrench, I was as safe as can be. Right? "Right," I said out loud, then, "Talking to yourself already. Not a good sign, Charlie."
Yeah, that's my name, by the way. Well actually, it's Charlotte, but when I was a kid I was quite the tomboy, so ‘Charlie’ stuck.
Even after I became this yoga-pants-wearing woman who owns at least two dozen different shades of eye shadow.
Anyway, back to the story. So there I was, strolling up a creepily deserted street, the few high-rises that graced my home city looming not so far in the distance. I couldn't stop myself from eying my surroundings; of course, this was the best thing to do, though thankfully the only movement I saw was the random squirrel now and then, and once, the flutter of a curtain as someone peered out at me from inside their boarded-up home. The thought of stopping, knocking, and asking what the hell was going on was appealing for a moment – but just a moment, and then it was gone.
I'd never been one for talking to complete strangers, anyway.
It took me the better part of an hour to walk those two miles, but you know, slow and steady wins the race. The city was as much of a ghost town as the country had been.
"Where did everyone go?" I asked, well, no one in particular. The silence and emptiness was bothering me more than I would have admitted at the time, and as I saw my condo building just a few blocks ahead I began to jog.
The thing that came stumbling out of the narrow alleyway between two old buildings was clumsy and not particularly fast, but in my desire to be home I'd forgotten myself for a moment. Perhaps I have the yoga to thank, though, because even when the creature ran into me I was only caught off-balance for a split second.
Unfortunately, that was quite long enough for the zombie to realize that I was there, and alive, and that it wanted to eat me. I was able to dodge its mouth, but then – oh my God, disgusting! – one of its hands was tangled in my long hair. My pepper spray was more easily accessible then the wrench, but even though I aimed right for the thing's mouth, all I got in return was a hiss of annoyance as it continued to use its grip on my hair to pull me toward it.
Thankfully, it didn't seem to be very strong, and I suppose all of that running and rowing and yoga was good for something. "Fuck...off!" I shouted as I twisted away from its cold hands – leaving a lock of my hair behind – and finally slammed the wrench against its jaw. This earned me a brief moment of respite, just enough to break away completely, at which point I turned and bolted toward my condo building, ignoring the sound of the thing stumbling in my wake.
Keys, keys, keys! I yanked them out of my pocket, almost dropping them, but finally there I was in front of the doors. I was shocked to find that the power was still working and that my key ring card actually buzzed me inside; I can't even describe the relief I felt when the door swung shut behind me and locked automatically, though the ensuing echo didn't do much to still my pounding heart.
"Holden," I whispered to myself as I headed for the stairwell. We had an elevator, of course, but power or no power I knew that it wasn't a good idea to utilize that just now. Plus, it was only seven floors, right?
Well, it wouldn't have been so bad outside of the damn smell. The higher I climbed, the worse it got, until I was holding my shirt over my nose and still forcing myself to breathe with my mouth. This is not good, this is not good... For the first time, I wondered for a moment about my boyfriend Dave, but only because I questioned whether he'd thought to take care of Holden when things started going to hell.
But I knew the answer to that before I reached my floor. Dave had never been overly fond of my dog, and if I'd barely thought of Dave since I first realized something was wrong, the chances weren't good that he'd thought about me at all...let alone that he’d considered Holden.
My keys rattled against each other as I moved to unlock my door, and it was then that I heard it – a low whimpering, the patter of nails on my hardwood floors. My dog was in my condo, and he was still alive, but no sooner had I heaved a sigh of relief and shoved the key into the lock then I heard another sound: scratchings and moanings that grew louder and louder as I attempted to unlock my door. They were coming from the condo diagonally across from my own, and my hand wouldn’t stop shaking; when the keys slipped out of it and fell to the floor my heart leapt into my throat at the noise they made. I bent down and scooped them up; this time, I was able to unlock the bolt, then the doorknob, and then I was inside my apartment and quickly pushing the door closed as Holden rushed toward me.
"Down boy, down!" I hissed, struggling to lock myself inside. When that was accomplished, I collapsed to the floor, Holden crawling into my lap as if he weighed far less than his full seventy pounds. I held on to him for several minutes, wondering how long he'd been alone. It smelled bad enough that I could tell he'd gone to the bathroom inside at least a few times, and when I finally pushed him away from me and stood up, moving through my condo, I wasn't surprised to find his food bowl empty and his water bowl bone dry. My stomach clenched – forget alone, how long had he been hungry and thirsty? I immediately filled both bowls and watched as he gulped down their contents before finally heading toward the bedroom to take stock of things.
There was my cell phone, right where I'd left it on the bedside table, but now there was a sticky note attached to it. Dave's bureau drawers and closet doors were open, the remnants of his clothes strewn everywhere. The message he'd scrawled on the small piece of paper simply said, "Going to my parents' house. Call if you can."
I thought about it. Really, I did. But in the end, when I decided to make a call, it was to my mother.
Not that it mattered anyway, because apparently even though the electricity was still working, cell phone towers were not, and I heard nothing but the bleep-bleep-bleep of dead communications when I tried to dial out.
As I lifted my hand and ran it through my hair, I remembered the zombie and how it had gotten hold of the length, and my stomach turned. I'd had a hundred different haircuts in my lifetime, but Dave had been adamant about me growing it out, so it had been long for years now.
Only suddenly long hair seemed more a dangerous fashion statement than anything else.
Scissors were in order. I was no hairdresser, but with a mirror and my sharpest kitchen scissors I made short work of my long brown locks. They fell to the floor in chunks, and while the result was a bit uneven and probably even shorter than it needed
to be, it felt – in more ways than one – as if a weight had been lifted from me. I gathered up most of the hair on the counter and floor, tossed it in the trash, and put the scissors away, stopping to glance out my living room window. It was mid-autumn already, and the sun would be setting within the hour. I was stuck here for the night, but tomorrow...tomorrow I'd head on down to the family farm.
What about my friends, you ask? Oh, sure, I have friends here. (Or is it now more apt to say that I had friends?) But most of them were transplants like Dave, and if he'd left to go find his parents, I couldn't imagine that anyone else had stuck around. And even if one or two of them had, I doubt they'd care to hear from me.
No, in times like these, I supposed that Dave was right: there’s no place to go, really, other than home. In the meantime, I turned on the television...and got nothing but static. The radio had been the same in the car, so I didn't even bother with that. I drew my curtains, turned on the dimmest lights in my condo, cleaned up the messes my dog had made, and cooked myself a small meal. Then I packed up as many non-perishable items and comfortable clothes as I could. So much for traveling light, I realized – but at least now I would have Holden with me. He was some sort of retriever mix, and they were bred for hunting, right? Regardless, he'd already been full-grown when I'd adopted him several years prior. I'd always believed that he knew I'd saved him, and he was protective enough.
With that in mind, I snuggled down in a nest of sheets and comforter, Holden curled up beside me, and proceeded to lie awake listening for – “For what?" I finally asked myself. "Do you hear anything, boy?"
Holden merely let out a huff in response, so I wrapped my arms around him and finally drifted into a fitful sleep.