Prolog: The Rules
I could picture it in my mind: shiny white bones, juicy red meat. I could also smell it, a smell so pungent I could tell that the meat was practically falling off the bones. The scent made me want to sink my teeth into it’s meaty flesh.
Well metaphorically speaking, no one in their right minds would bite a Zombie. Not unless they wanted to become one. I suppose sink my hatchet into it’s stupid assed head would fit better.
That's how it began, the "decay", most people ran out of food early on turning to one thing that seemed to be in endless supply: flesh. It was strange the way the decomposing smell was sweet. I suppose that's why someone tried to eat it in the first place, but as humans we are good at learning from our mistakes and hell was that a big mistake. The "decay" started slowly, starting with the mouth and slowly eating it's way down the throat to the lungs and from there you were history. The worst thing about it was that it left you living. Through your organs rotting, it left a person's brain for last not shutting it down until it the pain had made it's mark... or until your loved ones shot you.
I lifted myself up to look around the windowsill. My hatchet was gripped tightly in my hand, and my eyes were straining to see the threat that was on the other side. Damn it. The stupid Zombie was up and about in the middle of the day. They weren’t supposed to do that.
Unearthly, aka. the walking dead, zombies, corpses; whatever the hell you wanted to call them, Were mostly nocturnal, preferring to stay in dark, cool, damp places. But there was always that stupid, annoying one who didn’t give a rat’s ass about “Zombie social norms.” I mean having to stay up half the night to make sure one didn’t decide to drop in was not pleasant, but having one disturb your late afternoon nap was more than unpleasant.
The Unearthly made a... well Unearthly sound (best way to describe it, to be honest), and stuck his head through the open window. That’s when I made my move. Swinging down with as much force my out of shape body could muster, I made one hell of a cut; severing head from body. The body thumped to the deck outside the window while the head rolled bounced and landed between my feet.
“Ew! That’s rank!” I paused and replied with. "Rank? What the hell are you talking about? You’re such an idiot!"
It was true I was an idiot, but when a person goes a long time without other human contact the damage can get brutal. For example: saying “Rank”.
I grabbed two plastic shopping bags from the stash hidden under the sink. Doubling up I picked up the severed head poop-scoop style, then threw it out the window.
It has always amazed me, the innumerable uses of a plastic shopping bag. 1) carrying groceries, 2) many mothers use it to throw away diapers, 3) great for poop scooping and, 4) great for all your Zombie disposal needs!
Molly scratched at the basement door. I walked over letting her out, petting and reassuring her.
“You’re fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine, well not really, but that's fine."
I often worried that one afternoon I would let her go out to take a shit and she would never come back. It was not like I had much to offer her these days. We had run out of dog food about three weeks ago, and she seemed to have lost all her toys. But if there was ever a loyal dog it was Molly.
I sat down pulling out a dingy notebook from my jacket pocket. The first few pages were wrinkled and ripped from continual use, but pages three and onward were brand new, never been used, never been seen. My best friend Corri, had given it to me for my birthday one year. It was all part of one big present, her version of a “Zombie Survival Kit”. She had put a Nerf gun in there, a tub of chocolate frosting, a can of baked beans, some powdered Arnold Palmer iced tea, and some other crap I forgot about. I ended up eating all of the food (not believing in things like zombie apocalypses), the Nerf gun and darts are lost or broken, but the notebook was always there. It was one of those stupid sentimental things my mom always told me I needed to get over. I was a bit of a strange child, keeping old notebooks and birthday cards, that kind of cheesy stuff. So when the first Zombies started to show up, I thought:
Yippee! I get to put this old notebook to good use!
Actually it was somewhere more in the lines of:
Fuck. Never thought this would happen.
I suppose though if there were ever a time to use a zombie survival notebook it would be right about now.
I flipped to the first page. On it was Corri’s sloppy handwriting.
To survive a Zombie Apocalypse you must always carry around this notebook. This book is for writing down ideas for a cure.
#1 Rule- carry this notebook EVERYWHERE!
#1 Rule- Always have your weapon at the ready!
#1 Rule- DO NOT PANIC!
#2 Rule- Zombies feast at night. So make sure you have shelter.
#1 Rule- Actually that last one was number 1 rule
#2 Rule- Always rest on a full stomach
#3 Rule- Always have tea!
If you follow these rules you will survive a zombie apocalypse!
Well I guess I would have to start sooner or later. That was the whole point of this stupid thing, wasn't it? I licked my finger, separating the next pages. Grimy prints were left on the pristine paper. I pulled a pen out of my pocket and began to write my letters to the dead.