by Michael Noe
Chapter Four: Drug Run
I have realized that I’ve failed to give you my name. In a perfect world, we’d be in a bar somewhere, drinking a little and just bullshitting. We’d talk about the weather maybe. Or we could just talk about our jobs. Everyone hates their jobs. Well, most people do. At some point, you have to accept things as they are, don’t you? Miserable people always talk about their lives and how much they hate it, but if they actually hated it, wouldn’t they change it? There are other options. It couldn’t be all about the money. We all have that one boss who rides our asses just a little too hard. That offensive little prick who has that annoying laugh, or a knack for creeping up on you when you’re barely coherent.
I can say that it was a perfect world now it’s gone. It seemed full of imperfections, but now there’s nothing normal left, it’s easy to say that it was perfect. Okay, maybe not perfect but not as bad as it appeared to be. At least back then you didn’t have bloodthirsty zombies looking to rip you apart. Crime was a bitch, but having to worry about zombies makes me miss crime a little. At one point, Detroit was one of those states we all looked at and shook our heads at in sadness. Now every town looks like Detroit. The only difference is, not too many people are left to bitch about it.
I got away from the topic didn’t I? My name. I think if you’ve read this far, you should at least know what my parents called me. Names are important. You can’t relate to this without knowing it. You can’t feel close to me unless there’s a name. Everything else is just white noise. I didn’t even think about giving it to you. Didn’t seem really important. I could be dead for all you know. I’m writing this now and I’m alive but in a week from now I could be zombie chow. Hell, everyone else is. Why not me? It’s not a goal mind you, just an observation.
I’m writing this, so I’m of average intelligence. My name is Matt Chapman. I wish we were in a crowded bar somewhere. It doesn’t even have to be Ohio. It can be anywhere. As long as there are people all around us. I would love to hear laughter again. Just having someone to talk to would be nice. Problem with that now is it leads to all sorts of problems. It means that we’ve connected on some sort of level. I don’t need those connections at the moment. What I need to do is figure out what the fuck I’m going to do.
It’s been weeks since I last left the house. I’ve gone into the back yard, but I haven’t taken any trips into town. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read American Psycho. It’s a great book and one that I keep going back to. I wonder if Bret Easton Ellis put up a great fight when the zombies zoned in on him. Did he run or just accept that at that point, there was nothing left to do but accept that he was going to die? Maybe he’s a zombie now. Living out Patrick Bateman’s story in a new twist that features helpless victims trying to escape the rampaging Ellis as he slowly loses his mind.
It was during a lull in my afternoon of napping that I realized just how many drugs are out there. Not the illegal stuff mind you, but the common stuff the average American pops when they have a case of the feels. We are a nation under drugs and always bitched about the pot and the meth. I watched the bullshit Dr. Phil spewed about how horrible drugs were and he failed to mention that there are millions of ordinary people with an addiction to Vicodin and Xanax. Those were okay though because they weren’t really harming anyone. We needed to be dosed to deal with all the bullshit we encountered on a daily basis.
Little kids jacked up on Ritalin and for those who were depressed or just not able to sleep, there were pills for that! America was fueled on that shit, and maybe it was the same way in other countries. If we were in a bar, we could talk about the prescription drug problem which plagued our society. All the shit we needed was perfectly legal. No one bitched about alcohol, but if you smoked, you were the goddamn devil! You take a Prozac and no one bats a fucking eye. The thing to remember is that we all want to feel normal. You want to be able to function, but you had to see your general practitioner and he then guided you to a wonderland of prescription drugs.
I got this great idea to raid my neighbor’s houses. I wanted to see what kind of shit they were hiding from everyone. All of the nasty porn, and whatever else I could get my hands on. There were maybe eight or nine houses on my street. I could take a couple days and go through them all. I wanted their drugs. I was drinking pretty heavily anyway so why not raid their medicine cabinets? It wasn’t like they were going to be using them anymore. It excited me to plan this out. I had no idea what I would find, but that was the fun part. What if you find someone alive? That wasn’t something I could even think about. If I thought about that too long and too hard, I would never do it.
You can judge me all you want, but you have to look at it from where I was laying down at. I was bored out of my fucking skull. The drugs gave me something to live for, or at the very least gave me something to do. There was a lot of shit just waiting to be explored, so why not do it? Art and cash were useless, but booze, pills, and cigarettes would keep me from venturing downtown. There were probably shit loads of food just waiting for me to steal. This was an adventure I truly needed. It wasn’t something I could recommend to anyone. “You should totally check out houses for drugs.” If you overdosed, that would be your own damn fault.
There should be some type of warning here somewhere, telling you not to try what I’m doing. It’s dangerous as hell. There are a lot of things that could go wrong. I could walk into a house and end up with a bullet and then what? Story’s over. I’m writing this as a zombie and me and Ellis are hanging out together, checking out each other’s business cards. We’d bob our heads to Huey Lewis and The News and wonder how we got to this sad, pathetic point. Was it all just a side effect of being alone for so long? What next? Sock puppet friends? Insanity was a slippery slope and it was possible that I was teetering on the brink.
Every morning I would wake up, wondering when I would be depressed and full of loneliness. No one could exist totally isolated from human contact for long, but it appeared as if I was an exception to the rule. There was always a few of those. Even as a child I was a solitary person. Being an only child, I didn’t have to clamor for my parent’s attention, or get along with others. I never found people all that interesting. I was happier in my room, immersed in books or movies. In school, I learned how to get along, but I was never outgoing socially. No one seemed to notice, which was good because I never sought out attention, or wanted to fit in. It was a great way to prepare for the apocalypse. Being isolated and alone wasn’t a bad thing.
The best way to survive is to keep your mind busy. If I had been stupid, I probably would have gone insane. Not that stupid people are bad but most lack the intelligence to survive for any length of time totally alone. If they watch a lot of television, what the hell were they going to do once it disappeared? There was nothing to fill the hours. I was an avid reader before the world went to hell and I was able to find things to do. I thought about the plight of the unintelligent person quite a bit and I’ve figured out what they would do.
I’m assuming they’d shoot a lot of guns and look for survivors. That’s not bad unless they happen upon another group of idiots who don’t read and have guns. Do you see how dangerous that is? It would be like allowing Ted Nugent to guard the border. Not something you want to happen. If the stupid people bred, how would it affect mankind? I have had a lot of time to think about this and it scares the hell out of me. I have a gun now and I can promise you that if I come across any of the unintelligent masses, I will shoot them. It would save us a lot of problems in the future.
I watched the streets for a few days and plotted out the best way to approach this mission. This was a battle. Maybe not a battle but a mission to rescue some drugs. I needed to be stealthy. I needed to put on my war face, seek out what I wanted and take it. Fear wasn’t allowed to interfere with my mission. This was all about crossing enemy lines and never deviating from what needed to be done. I didn’t even know I had a war face. Apparently we all do. It’s the face we put on
right before we go Christmas shopping, or even just to the store for a few items that you’ve suddenly run out of. The teeth are clenched and you have the look of someone that’s not to be fucked with.
There is a purpose to planning out a mission. Every angle has to be explored. I sat at my kitchen table, thinking hard about what I needed to do, along with what I would need. I knew that a simple plastic grocery bag wouldn’t do. They could tear easily, so I knew I would need a pillowcase, which I would acquire from the first house I ventured into. I would grab a second just in case. Along with drugs, there could be nude pictures of a wife or girlfriend. Those would be kept under my couch cushion for perusing later. The possibilities were endless but I knew that there were unseen obstacles I could encounter.
The more I thought about it, the more excited I became. This was something I have always wanted to do but lacked the balls or desire. I was about to commit a B&E! There are two types of people in the world. There are those who follow every law, and there are those who don’t. It could be through some genetic flaw or even just a desire to do bad things. I was born with a conscience and morals. Growing up I was taught that in order to be a productive member of society, you had to toe the line and follow the rules. It’s hard to be successful if you’re in prison or addicted to drugs. The only functional alcoholic that I can think of would be Alice Cooper and that’s not saying a whole lot.
My parents were good, hard-working people so the last thing they needed was an asshole for a son. I had my own goals which kept me away from the wrong crowds. I’m not saying I was innocent, but I knew my limits. Like everyone, I smoked the occasional joint and drank a few beers. All kids experiment with that shit, but I didn’t allow it to become a problem. I knew that at some point, I would have to be a functioning member of society. I had seen all the documentaries about people in prison. I wouldn’t have lasted a week in a place like that. As an adult, I had a stable, lasting career that I didn’t want to jeopardize. I had no criminal inclinations until that morning I spent plotting my first B&E. I doubted it would be the last.
The laws were now null and void. There was no one left to offend. If I wanted, I could jog around the neighborhood naked and no one would notice. With the collapse of society, there was nothing stopping me from doing whatever I wanted. Everyone always focuses on the negatives. There are a lot of those, but the thing that everyone was worried about didn’t happen. There was no looting and the general chaos ended rather quickly. There was just no time for that shit. When the dead broke free, it was all about the crunch and munch.
When you decided to read this, I bet you weren’t expecting all of this. The inner monologues maybe, or the inner turmoil one would feel when the world suddenly ground to a halt. There’s this mall in Akron, Ohio that’s totally abandoned. When you see footage of it or pictures, there’s this huge feeling of sadness because this was a place that held so many memories and now it’s slowly decaying. There’s just broken glass and black mold everywhere you look. In the winter, snow piles in through a hole in the roof and the plants have reclaimed it. The world was just like that abandoned mall. It’s just a shell that no one visits anymore. If I allowed myself to compare the world to that mall, I would probably break down and cry.
It’s the thoughts of what used to be that get you. If you stop and think about what’s going on, it’s heartbreaking and sad. I needed to find something to keep those thoughts away. The drug run was just something I needed to do to keep myself busy. Where is the emotion? Where is the point where it all makes some kind of sense? What if there isn’t a point? What if this is my story? Just me, living out my days, hiding from people and doing some B&Es. I really never thought about where I would be in a week. That morning, I had one focus. Tomorrow, there would be a new one. My days were all about surviving the best way I knew how. That’s all I had. There were no guarantees that there would be a tomorrow.
I walked onto my front porch and observed the houses around me. I figured I’d start at Bill and Mary’s house. They were the couple who wanted to be friends with everyone. They were known for neighborhood barbecues and the most garish Christmas parties. Bill was the guy who was always mowing his lawn or doing some shit around the house. If there was an alpha male on our street, he was it. High school quarterback, loud drunk, and the guy voted most likely to cheat on his wife. I merely tolerated him mostly because of Mary. She was a bottle blonde with legs that seemed to go on forever. She was a classic beauty like Marilyn Monroe, but without the pill and dick addiction.
I had accidently seen her tits once and that shit is still stored in my spank bank. These were perfect tits. The kind of tits that make you jealous of kids that breast-fed. Despite being stupid, she was friendly and tried to be as kind as she could to everyone. Most of the wives hated her because she was so hot, but it was expected. You can’t have a pretty woman on your street without the other housewives talking shit about her. I normally kept to myself and tried to avoid everyone but Bill was a persistent mother fucker. I hope the zombies ate the hell out of him.
It seemed as if their house was the logical first step. From there, I would raid the rest of the houses and then move on to other streets. This would give me shit to do during the day. I was losing my mind with boredom. I made sure I packed my gun just in case something did happen. I had no idea how to shoot but the basic concept wasn’t lost on me. I had seen enough movies to know that if I pulled the trigger and aimed, I would hit something. I was never a hunter and I didn’t live in the hood so I never needed a gun. When you grow up white and middle class, crime happens to other people. I felt like an asshole as I walked toward their house. I looked around for anyone or anything that would heed my progress. I still wasn’t sure if I was truly alone so I had to be careful.
I tried the front door and wasn’t surprised that it was unlocked. The living room was clean and decorated in typical Ikea kitsch. The sofa was a light gray color with cushions that swallowed you. I glanced at the pictures and couldn’t help but sigh with loss. These people were alive once and now? They could be dead for all I knew. The only light filtered through the living room window. I had just about the same view that they did and the street was still empty. What did I expect? The police weren’t coming. Even if they had, what could they do to me? I could tell them I was looking for survivors and more than likely they would escort me to some safe zone.
I headed upstairs, figuring that would be the easiest place to start. I entered their bedroom, almost expecting to see either one of them waiting to smash in my head with a baseball bat. The house was silent and empty. The bed was unmade and all around the room were signs that someone once lived here. The clothes hamper was half full. I could make out the edge of Mary’s dirty panties, mixed in with Bill’s t-shirts and jeans. On the nightstand, there was a half empty glass of water and an ashtray. I grabbed the half pack of Marlboro’s and lit one up.
There was nothing here that I could use. I did rummage through the dressers just to see what these fine folks had hidden. Aside from Mary’s panties and a few porn videos, there was nothing useful. What was I going to do with the woman’s panties? If I were a pervert, I could take them home and masturbate into them when I was feeling frisky but that didn’t appeal to me. Let someone else have them. I was just here for the drugs. Moving out of the bedroom, I glanced into an office and was greeted with silence. The window was open to allow the cool spring to circulate some fresh air. The laptop was open, but without power, there was no way I could search the damn thing. I wondered if there were any naked pictures of Mary on it.
The bathroom was next. There was a small window above the toilet that let in the sun. It overlooked the backyard and houses beyond. We all had the same view but until that moment I never really noticed it. From where I stood, I could see the neighbor’s house and their backyard. There was a swing set and a tree that had a tree house built into it. Seeing this view reminded just how mundane our lives had become. All of us were just cogs in a machine. All that matter
ed was our place in life, but now, none of that shit mattered.
I was in a house I didn’t belong in, looking for drugs. A month ago, I would have never imagined that I would be doing something like this. My life had taken a dramatic turn and all I could think was why did I survive? The answer was simple. I was a coward who avoided the confrontation happening outside my door. I was alive not because I was smart, or even cold and calculated. I survived because I saw what was going down and I stayed hidden. I was like a turtle. They know that when danger approaches, they can tuck themselves inside of their shell and nothing can touch them. My house was my shell. While everyone was dying, I was tucked safely away, waiting for the end.
I turned away from the window, ignoring the feeling of regret and loneliness. These were emotions that did me no good. I owned my decisions and even now I stand by them. I turned toward the medicine cabinet and slowly opened it. I needed some sort of dramatic music here. In all of those cheesy television shows, the big reveal is always accompanied by dramatic music. It adds suspense and tension. What would the cabinet reveal? We’ll find out after this commercial break. That always drove me nuts. I understood that it was supposed to add tension, but it infuriated me that I had to wait thirty seconds.
In those thirty seconds, my mind would explore all of the various outcomes, but they never really prepared me for what actually happened. Sometimes, what I assumed happened, didn’t. Opening that cabinet made me feel like I was a kid again. I had watched this horrible Geraldo special that showed him opening up a vault which once belonged to Al Capone. I had gotten permission to stay up late just so I could see what was in the damn thing. It was exciting because no one had ever done something like this. Turns out there was a reason. The damn thing was empty. For two hours we all waited and there wasn’t anything in it. Just Geraldo looking at us red-faced, apologizing for wasting our time.