*CRASH*

The window behind my couch crashed inward, flooding the living room with light, spilling glass on me and throwing samurai swords that I had in the window sill into the living room. Right after the glass and other sharp objects, a significantly heavier object landed on me. I instinctively pushed it off and hopped out of my blanket, sitting on the arm of the tan, checker patterned couch. I shook my head, getting some of the glass out of my hair. A bit of it fell to my face, scraping my cheeks. There was a moment of silence, save for the movie that I was watching at the time, Pulp Fiction, playing. Just when Samuel L. Jackson’s character tossed the cheap table Brett and his guys were eating on, the heavy load on the floor started moving. I stepped off of the couch, nearly tripping onto my matching love-seat. Then, through the glass and vertical blinds on the floor, I realized what had fallen through my window.

It was a human being.

"H-hey. Hey, you okay?" The only response I got was an injured moan. "Ahh, shit. Umm...hold on, ok," I said to the person, holding my arms out as if to steady myself on an invisible table. I ran to my kitchen table and snatched up my cell phone, flipping it open. I dialed 9-1-1 just as the person (it was a man) started to get up with another moan. I put the phone to my ear and heard nothing. I knew I was poor, but my phones weren’t shut off yet. I switched ears and dialed again as if the change would improve reception. Still, I got nothing.

"Jesus Christ."

I tossed the phone back to the table where it fell with a clatter on the bare glass and turned to survey the damage. As soon as I turned, I noticed that the man who had just fallen through my window was now standing right in front of me.

"Holy shit, man," I said, stumbling backward. His face was covered in blood, and from the placement of it, a lot of that blood wasn’t even his. I didn’t notice that at first though. All I noticed was that the man raised one of his hands toward me. I took his hand, kind of confused, thinking he wanted to shake my hand.

"Yeah, man, my name’s Carl. You o--" I didn’t get much farther than that. With a hard jerk, the man pulled me toward him. With my free arm, I extended my elbow, slamming it into his face. I’m a friendly guy, but not that friendly. A shock wave of pain ran through my elbow as the man’s head jerked back, and I saw at least three teeth fly from his mouth. But he didn’t let go of my hand. I tried to pull my hand loose, but his grip just tightened.

"Hey man, let go!" My voice sounded too scared. I tried to yank my hand away again to no avail. My left hand isn’t my strong hand, but I punched like it was that day. My fist slammed into the man’s forehead, making a sickening THUNK sound as it connected. Three more hits didn’t make the man let go of me, but a flower vase I grabbed from the table against his Adam’s apple did the trick. The force of the hit made the man stumble backward. When he fell, it made the most disgusting noise I had yet to hear. He had fallen onto the glass door of my entertainment center. The glass shattered under his weight. The impact rolled the man onto his stomach, exposing the wound his fall had left. That was my first time ever seeing a real spine.

"Holy fuckin.’ Oh, my god." My hands went up to my mouth as if to hold morning breath in. I yanked the phone off of the table and tried to dial 9-1-1 again. But I got the same results as last time: Nothing. I put the phone back on the table with a sigh. Just then, a putrid smell hit me, damn near knocking me backward. I covered my nose with my hand and squinted as I looked around for the source of the smell. Instead, I found that my friend with the iron grip was standing back up. My eyes opened as wide as they have ever been as I watched him stand back up. As he unfolded himself completely, a small chunk of bloody flesh fell from his face. It was right then that I finally understood.

"Motherfucker." I whispered. The man reached out with his right arm, probably his only good one. I looked around, looking for a good weapon. Finally, my eyes rested on the all black samurai swords that ‘punchy’ over there knocked over when he made his entrance. I scooped up the biggest of the three and tossed the black-painted, wooden sheath away.

I swung the sword at his head, trying to cut it off but only cutting off the hungry groan he made. The blade vibrated loosely in my hand as it connected with the soft, decomposing flesh of the man (he wasn’t even a man anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to think the ‘Z’ word). I pulled the sword back and swung again, connecting with the top of his head, buckling his knees. I hopped backward as he fell and hoisted to sword up again. Before I could begin the swing, the blade of the sword fell completely out of the hilt. I groaned in annoyance. As if in response, the man (face it, the zombie) groaned again, blood and saliva dripping from his mouth and onto my brown carpet, turning it a brick red kind of a tone. I hopped over him and grabbed another sword, this one smaller and a bit sturdier than the other.

I stood over the man as he tried to rise to his feet. Turning my head, I stabbed the sword through the back of the zombie’s head. He collapsed completely. I yanked the sword from his head and stood in shock for a moment. I was getting really dizzy. I’d never killed anything bigger than a rabbit before, and this was a huge jump from that. Resident Evil is my favorite video game. Dawn of the Dead is a damned good flick. And, trust me, my imagination throws out some pretty good ideas. But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for reality.

Another moan jerked me from my thoughts. I looked down in disbelief at the zombie on my living room floor, but he didn’t move. I heard it again, coming from my left. I looked out of my window and noticed that the parking lot to my apartment building was overrun with zombies. I knew that I had to leave this place.

I ran into my bedroom and pulled on an old pair of black tights from a production of Romeo and Juliet that I was in (they had once saved me from being stabbed in the thigh with a sharp dagger, so I trusted them). I put socks over those and pulled on a pair of jeans. I threw on a t-shirt, a long-sleeved, cotton shirt, and a turtle-neck sweater over that. Zombies seem to go right for the neck, after all. I pulled open a dresser drawer and found an old pair of leather gloves. I threw those on, making sure the edge of my sleeves would stay under the opening on the gloves. Finally, I rummaged through my closet and found a pair of hiking boots. I pulled those on and tucked the end of my pant legs into the boots. Save for my face, I was completely covered. I found an old belt and tied it to the sheath of the sword, then tried to tie the belt around my waist, but it wouldn’t fit around both at the same time. So I tried to tie it over my shoulder and around my upper torso, but it wouldn’t fit that way either. I fought for about ten minutes with the sword, trying to tie the belt to both ends of the sheath. When that was finally done, I draped the sword over my shoulder like a guitar and let it rest on my back. When the time came, I’d be able to pull the sword with no problems.

I was already weighing in at about twice what I normally would weigh, but I decided to pack a few more things. I grabbed my girlfriend’s backpack and dumped all of her stuff out of it. As soon as I touched the bag, I thought of her and nearly cried.

My mind wandered for a moment as my girlfriend, Athena, filled my thoughts. She was about four inches shorter than I was, with long, brunette hair. She had the most wonderful smile on earth, I guarantee it, not to mention a body that put Shakira and J. Lo to shame. But the thing that had originally attracted me to her was her intelligence. She knew more about more stuff than I could ever hope. That was a huge turn on to me. After about four months of dating, she was getting tired of her household and I was getting kicked out of mine. So it seemed like a prime idea to pool our resources and move in together. It was like having a really hot roommate. And we’d been able to survive together as well. But, earlier that day we had an argument. I felt like I cleaned up around the house enough, and she felt like I half-assed everything. So she took her car and went, apparently, to her mother’s house to cool down. And I let her go, thinking that this would be a blessing in disguise. After all, I’d finally be able to watch my favorite movie and her least favorite: Pulp Fiction. But now, I just wanted to kick myself.

"She better be alright," I said aloud, mainly to hear a voice. I trotted into the kitchen and grabbed a few canned foods and forks. I decided to toss in a couple of canned sodas as well as a few snack cakes and potato chips. To top it all off, I put my portable CD player and my CDs in the backpack as well. I zipped up the backpack, then heard some shuffling followed by a loud thud. As soon as I stepped out of the kitchen, I noticed that the zombie I downed wasn’t down anymore. In fact, he was very much up. His eyes were glazed over and grey. The zombie’s skin looked hard, as if he’d been taking lessons from Benjamin Grimm. On top of that, another zombie, a young woman without a left eye or a right arm, had joined him. The Thing looked me in the eyes, his mouth watering like I was a Big Mac (I grinned as I thought about Pulp Fiction and the Quarter Pounder/Royale with Cheese discussion). Suddenly, the man lunged at me, much quicker than he was before. I sidestepped, letting the zombie trip and fall behind me. Without another word, I ran to my front door and yanked it open.

I paused in the apartment building hallway and took in my surroundings. We were on the bottom floor, so there was a carpeted staircase leading up to the door and continuing up two more floors. I’d seen this place hundreds of times before, but now was the first time I looked around with fear. The place was empty, for now at least. I hopped up the stairs and pushed the front door open. There were two zombies in the front yard, one on the steps leading to the parking lot, and at least seven more in the parking lot itself. I closed the door behind me. As soon as the door closed, all ten of the zombies noticed me. One of the zombies in the yard let a guttural growl escape his bloodied lips. All I can remember thinking was, this wasn’t a part of zombie survival 101.

Just then, I saw that ‘Royale With Cheese’ look in the zombie’s eyes, and he ran toward me. It was a slow kind of run, lumbering and kind of clumsy, but it was definitely a run. I outran that zombie, his pants falling off of decomposing hips. Running past the slower zombie in the yard, I climbed up the hill next to the stairs. Finally on level ground, I surveyed my surroundings again. There were three cars and eight zombies (I missed one, so sue me) in between myself and my ‘99 Dodge Intrepid. Looking back on my downhill pursuers, I took my car keys out of my pocket and unlocked my car door with the keyless entry remote. I put the keys in the breast pocket of my sweater and ran, dodging in between zombies as they swung lazily at me. When I reached my car, I almost pulled the door off of the car when I opened it.

I sighed and sat for a moment, watching the zombies hobble to my car. I locked the doors and started up the car.

2. Rude Awakening

I live on 103^rd & Maple St. I drove out to Maple, and took a right, so that I could get onto the interstate highway and take that to Athena, but the interstate was blocked off, the entrance sealed by a police blockade made up of base of sandbags about three feet high and pieces of wood cris-crossed with so much yellow crime scene tape that I couldn’t tell what the wood said. I backed up and turned my car around, no choice but to take Maple all the way to Pratt St in north Omaha.

There were dozens of stopped cars and groups of zombies all along Maple. The more I drove, the more I could see that the city had been hit hard and fast with this problem. I passed shops and places of business and saw windows busted out and glass seemed to be everywhere. With places that had more than one story, the bottom floor was always gutted, while the upper floors had wood nailed on the windows and looked to be homemade fortresses for survivors. Soon, my brain started taking in the whole picture and places that I would subconsciously ignore intense signs of death, I would see the truth. There were bodies seemingly everywhere. People who had tried to fight the ghouls, but couldn’t win. Their punishment for not winning the fight was to be pulled apart and eaten. Some of the zombies still remained at their morbid ‘buffet tables,’ their decomposing heads lolling as they consumed former members of mankind. I dry heaved, licked my lips once, and pulled a CD out of the case in the backpack and put it in my car CD player. When the music began playing, I ignored my surroundings and lost myself in the music.

When I hit about 78^th and Maple, I got an idea. There was a pawn shop on 72^nd and there were always guns there. I sped up and nearly ran into a zombie when I turned into the pawn shop parking lot. I shut off my car and instinctively remote-locked it when I emerged. I grimaced when I turned to face the pawn shop. It was trashed. Windows were busted out and it looked like the inside was destroyed as well. Several of the bikes and lawnmowers that resided outside of the shop were either gone or destroyed, the blades from the mowers and the bike chains taken, most likely for weapons. Broken glass crunched abnormally loudly beneath my feet as I walked closer. I wasn’t sure if it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but it felt as if I was walking in a ghost town. It wasn’t just silent. Even the air had died.

I stepped into the shop, not bothering to open the door. The glass in the door frame had been broken out. Before I was completely inside, the deafening silence was broken by a faint sound. I listened. The sound repeated itself. It was a scream. Someone, somewhere, was probably fighting for their life, and was losing. I thought of Athena again. Shaking my head, trying to get that thought out, I finished my entrance to the pawn shop.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice sounding unsure to my own ears. I looked around the shop. It was a large place, long rather than wide. To my left were several glass cases, many of them broken, that contained jewelry of all sorts. To my right were walls of lawn equipment. Further down, on the right, was a wall. It was empty now, but I knew that the wall normally was the home of several rifles and shotguns. But those were gone. I kicked aside a toppled chair and repeated my call. I got the same reply. Paper, clothes, and jewelry were strewn all around the place.

I walked behind the broken counter that housed several pistols and knives, hoping to find a stray shotgun that I could use. Instead, I caught sight of a few boxes of ammo. I picked them up, then set them back down. I needed an actual gun first. There were no large guns left. Shotguns, Rifles, anything.

I turned and scanned the case that usually had the pistols in it. There was nothing. I moved glass and papers that had found their way into the case and continued looking. As if it were planned, I got to the end of the long, glass case, moved a piece of paper, and found a small pistol. I looked all over it, trying to find out what kind of gun it was. All I saw on the gun was ‘.22’ engraved in tiny numbers.

"Ok, it’s a 22." I don’t know much about guns, but I know enough to pick out the right ammo, lest I blow my hand up. I snatched a pistol holster off of a nearby coat hanger and put it on, tossing the gun into it so I could get back to work. I walked back to the red and black boxes of ammo that I had found before. Unfortunately, they were for a .45. I looked around for a moment. There weren’t anymore boxes, nor any indication of where they kept ammo. I walked out from the counter and looked around some more. Then I realized that I was looking for the wrong thing. Why would they keep ammunition out here with the guns?

"Silly rabbit," I scolded myself as I walked to the section with the lawn-care items. Right in between an electric handsaw display and dozens of used water hoses was a grey, metallic door. I grabbed the handle and pulled. It didn’t budge. I blinked in half confusion, grabbed the handle again and pushed. Nothing happened. I backed away from the door, almost against the front door with the broken glass. I had to break this door down. I clenched my fists and tilted my shoulder for the blow I would receive. I jumped half a mile when a hand touched my shoulder. I leapt forward, turned, and drew my sword, my hands shaking from fright.

"Hey, hold on, I’m human," the person at the door said before I had a chance to really see who it was. His voice was scratchy and weak. Too much stress? After a moment, my eyes found the speaker. A tall, thin, black man was standing with his arms up, one hand holding an aluminum bat, watching me intently. Why hadn’t I heard him coming in? Was I that emerged in my thoughts? I scolded myself for making a mistake that could easily get me killed, then turned my attention back to the guy at the door. He was wearing a rag on his head, a plain, red t-shirt, and blue jeans that were sagging, along with a pair of blue Nikes that would have looked really good if they weren’t stained with blood and some other brown substance, probably mud. I stopped shaking a tiny bit.

"Oh. Who are you?" I asked, my voice slightly accusing.

"Symon. Symon Belfasdt."

I nearly laughed. That was not a name for a gangster (excuse me, gangsta)-looking guy like that. "Ok, Symon," I said with a grin. "Name’s Carl." I sheathed my sword and walked up to him, my hand extended. He took it. I walked back to the spot I was at before Symon made his entrance.

He watched me for a moment, then walked jewelry cases. I shrugged as I steadied myself, focusing my sight and my attention on the gray door ahead of my. Without warning, I hopped into the air a few inches, yanked my pants up a bit while I was in air, and took off running as soon as I hit the ground. I turned my head and upper torso to the right slightly and pushed forward as my left shoulder collided with the door with a loud bang. A shot of pain traveled through my shoulder, but the door didn’t come down. I backed away from the door and repeated my process. I hopped, pulled, and ran. When my shoulder hit the door this time, I heard a crack. I ignored the pain in my shoulder and grabbed the doorknob again. The door was loose.

Before I could back up, I heard a moan. It was the call of the infected. And it was coming from behind the door I was ramming. Why hadn’t I heard that before? I must’ve just woken it up. I slowly pulled my sword out, listening to the steel scrape the scabbard. Holding it with my right hand, I charged the door again. The door swung open with the collision, the wooden door frame splintering as I fell through the doorway. I righted myself and briskly brought my sword up, ready to attack.

It took a moment for me to gather what I was seeing. There was one of the infected on the ground, covered in blood. Its legs and arms were in a pile in the corner of the small, industrial room. The rest of it was face up on the ground, growling at me. I stepped over it, sickened at what I was witnessing, but unable to look away. A wet, throaty sound emerged from the monster as it tried to spit vomit and blood up at me. Instead, its projectile dribbled out of its crackled mouth and ran into its nose and eyes, moistening the shrunken knots of flesh in its bony sockets. I added my own vomit to the mix when it burped a scent that I had never in my life thought could have existed.

Completely disgusted, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and stomped on the ghoul’s head, smashing its brittle skull. Blood and brain matter expanded around my boot, creating a strawberry sherbert-colored scum that nearly made me repeat my previous excrement.

"You...you ok...in there, man?" A weak, coughing voice inquired. Symon’s voice was getting worse. I was too busy trying to catch my breath to answer him. After a moment, I was able gain control of my stomach functions again, and I took a look around the room. It was a small place, about the size of a crappy, gas station restroom. And it just about smelled like a crappy, gas station restroom as well. Two of the walls were lined with shelves, many of them containing boxes of some kind. I started rummaging through the boxes until I found what I was looking for: a vast supply of ammunition for the only weapon I had. I made an inward victory cry and spun my backpack around to unzip it, the zipper making an unusually loud sound in the silence.

I packed my backpack with boxes of ammo, weighing the bag down nearly fifty pounds more than it was. I pulled out the pistol and ejected the magazine, fumbling with it for a moment before I figured out how to take it out. I finally got it out, opened a green and white box of bullets and tried to fill the clip with rounds, but my glove was making that a bit of a chore. I took the glove off and continued filling the clip, counting twelve rounds before the clip was full. I put it partway back into the gun, then slapped it the rest of the way, feeling a bit like a cop or something.

I grinned as I cocked the gun, feeling ready for anything. That was just when I heard a soft moan from behind me. I wheeled around, facing the door, and saw Symon standing in the doorway, looking at me.

"Hey, you need something?" I asked. He tilted his head as if he was getting ready to ask me a question. I instinctively copied his motion. Then I heard the last thing I expected to hear: the tell-tale moan of one of the infected. It was coming from outside. Symon turned his head slowly, trying to located the sound. "What are you doing? What’s wrong?" I got my answer. Symon moaned in the direction of the first call of the zombie. He was a zombie. I tried to figure out how he turned so quickly as I raised my fully loaded gun, aiming at the side of Symon’s head. He turned and faced me, his head moving so slowly that it sent shivers up my spine.

The sound of the gun echoed off of the walls of the small room. I realized that I was going to temporarily lose my hearing before Symon hit the floor. As I put the pistol in its holster, I felt a small pain tickle at the bit of webbed skin between my thumb joint and index finger joint. The slide of the pistol had caught that bit of skin, pinching it when it slid back then forward with the shot. A drop of blood appeared on my hand. I wiped it off with my left forearm and pulled on my glove. I looked down at Symon as I stepped over him, my boots tracking some of the growing pool of blood into the main area of the pawn shop. How had he turned like that? I turned around and looked at Symon’s body again. I couldn’t see any marks or bites. I hooked my boot under his left shoulder and flipped him over. When I took my boot away, there was a large wet spot on it. I narrowed my eyes at the spot and turned my attention to Symon’s upturned body. On the back of his left shoulder was a dark spot, the red of his shirt accented by it. I knelt next to him and pulled the collar of his shirt down. Right below his shoulder was a bandage that was soaked in blood. I pulled off the large covering to reveal a wound that looked as if Symon had slapped in the back with the nail removing part of a hammer. I winced as if the pain of the wound were my own.

"How could I have not noticed that?" I asked myself. I had to be more careful. Another slip up like that might cost me my life.

I stood up, brushing myself off, and walked back to the front door. On impulse I turned and looked around. At that moment, I got a great idea. I hopped to my left and looked into the long, glass cases that housed several pieces of jewelry. I smacked the glass on one of the cases with the butt of my gun. Behind the sound of glass breaking and falling, I thought I heard another faint noise. I stood stark still, listening. I couldn’t hear anything save for my own uneven breathing. I moved down to another case. Listening for the sound, I smashed the glass again. The sound repeated itself. It sounded like a sneeze, or a gasp for air. I brushed some powdered glass from my gun and started walking around the store. I hugged the walls and checked every nook and cranny. The lawn-care section was clear, I knew that from earlier. So was the gun and ammo section. And I had just been in the jewelry section. My gun pointed at the ground in front of me, I made my way back to the tall shelves and dark aisles of the electronics section. Normally it would be all illuminated with the faint blue of televisions, computers, and intricate radios. But now it was dark. The place had a cold feeling to it, as if winter hibernated there in the summer. I walked cautiously through the ill-lighted area, creeping up and down every aisle, but found nothing.

I had walked around the store until there was no where to look. Except for the restroom. There was only one and it was one of those space-saving bi-gender restrooms. Holding my gun out in front of me, I kicked the door open. I didn’t see anyone at first glance. I walked into the restroom and took a second glance. All I saw was my reflection in the mirror. The florescent lights of the restroom were flickering, making my eyes have a ghostly flicker in them as well. I blinked hard and started searching the stalls. There were three stalls and I opened each one, slowly pushing it open and sighing when there was nothing in it. Until I reached the third stall. I pushed on it, but it didn’t open. My heartbeat racing now, I knelt and looked under the door. There was nothing there, but I had seen enough movies to know that people can stand on toilets with no problem. I knocked on the stall door. I didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t get one.

"Is anyone in there?"

No answer.

"If you don’t say anything, I’ll assume you’re a zombie and I’ll shoot you."

Still no answer.

"Ok, then," I said to myself. I pressed the barrel of the gun to the door, aiming where the lock would be, and pulled the trigger. The report from the gun ricocheted off the walls and deafened me again.

"I’ve gotta stop doing that," I said. All I heard of my own voice was "I otta op ing att." Behind my own musings, I heard a faint "Whoa!" but I wasn’t sure if it was faint because it was faint, or if it was because at the moment I wouldn’t be able to hear a jet plane break the sound barrier three inches above me. I shook my head and kicked the stall door. I grinned as I saw a woman sitting on her haunches on the toilet. She was wearing blue jeans and a tight fitting shirt with a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it. She looked like she was black, but she had very light skin and long, brown hair. My grin grew as I realized that I knew this woman. I’d gone to high school with her. Her name was Amber. I remembered how she had turned me down when I asked her out. She had mentioned that I was a directionless bum with no ambition when she did. That was just during our freshman year.

"I know you, don’t I?" She asked me, rubbing her ears. Apparently, the gunshot hadn’t just effected me.

"Yeah. Carl," I said, pointing at my chest. She didn’t even remember the one guy in that whole school who would have killed for her. My grin faltered.

"Carl...Vaughan, right?" It wasn’t really a question. "Why did you shoot at me?" She said, hopping off of the toilet, a look that I was all too accustomed to crossing her face.

My grin left completely. I was rescuing her from what promised to be a messy commode death, and she still thought that she was better than I was. "I didn’t shoot at you." Why was I defending myself? "Nevermind." I started walking away, throwing my hands up.

"Where are you going? I have a plan."

"Then you stick to it. I have an engagement."

"You can’t leave. You need me."

I stopped walking and wheeled around. "I never needed you. I wanted you. For four years, all I wanted to do was be at your side, but companionship wasn’t good enough, was it?" This was seven years of frustration just pouring out. "I tried with you. I did. But you couldn’t see a good thing even when it damn near stalked you. You know, I joined ROTC just to be closer to you. I got into Japanese culture because I thought it would impress you. All four years of high school I tried to be with you." I let my voice get dangerously low as I turned my back on her. "But you were too high and mighty to know that you aren’t better than me."

Suddenly there was a great pounding on my back, the blows weakened by my backpack. I stumbled forward and turned. Amber rushed at me, fists raised. I grabbed her wrists. I grinned in triumph at her. I didn’t expect her temper to have gotten that much worse, but she didn’t expect me to be able to deal with her. A look that I had never seen before flashed in her eyes. She looked at me with pure hatred. I was trying to figure out why she hated me when she spit in my face.

"I’m still better than you!" She screamed, struggling against my hold on her. With an anger that I’ve never known, I pushed her away and pulled my gun. The single gunshot re-deafened me.

"But guess who’s alive, bitch." I said grimly as she fell. The look on her face was one of surprise and hurt. I shouldn’t have been that happy, but I was, and I relished in it. I was going to go to hell.

I walked out of the restroom on cloud nine. So far, everything was going fairly well. I had a gun and ammo for it, along with a sword which I could give to my girlfriend. I nodded as I thought about her. I had to go get her. I’d spent enough time in the store. With a determined stride, I made my way back to one of the large jewelry cases. It took me about two minutes to find the largest diamond set in the purest silver ring that I could find. I pocketed the diamond. I walked to my car, unlocked the door, and opened it, the door swinging open fully and bouncing once at the end of its hinges.

I took one last look around, pulled the gun out of its holster, cocked it, and got ready for my next adventure.

3. There...

I started up my car and drove into 72^nd St. As soon as I did, I noticed a large crowd of people, shuffling north up 72^nd. Another thirty seconds and they would be blocking the quickest remaining route to Athena’s mom’s house. My foot hit the gas pedal so hard, it lurched me backward, slamming my head into the soft headrest on the seat. I came to the 72^nd and Maple St. intersection and made the hardest left turn I ever made. The back end of my car swerved dangerously as I turned the steering wheel hand over hand frantically. A thud sounded off as the back end of my car met the front of a ghoul, knocking it to the ground. I righted my car and let the roaring engine take me away. I peered into the rearview mirror and watched the shrinking figures of dozens of the infected reach for my too fast vehicle.

At 70 miles per hour, one can travel a lot quicker than intended. Within a few minutes, I was making a sharp left on 52^nd St. As soon as I did, I ran through a police blockade that I hadn’t seen. My car swerved recklessly, jumping the curb and nearly speeding into the Benson High School parking lot. I stopped the car and held my breath for a moment. I checked my body, making sure nothing was broken. Satisfied with my search, I took my foot off the brake and began to roll forward. As soon as I did that, I heard a noise, like metal compacting itself. I pressed the brake again, put the car into ‘Park,’ and turned the car off.

I stepped out of the car, my gun leading the way. I didn’t see anything, and I heard less. I holstered the gun and walked around my car. The back, driver’s side wheel was hanging off the curb, probably scraping the cemented curb. Shrugging, I stepped back into the car and turned it back on. At least, I thought I did, but as soon as I stopped turning the key in the ignition, the car died. I tried it again, but the engine didn’t turn over. I couldn’t stop my shoulders from drooping in defeat. I stepped back out of the car, crestfallen.

Feeling like Gandalf as he realized he was trapped in the Mines of Moria, I began my trek through the treacherous neighborhood.

I walked along 52^nd St., kicking pebbles along as I made my way to Bedford St. I turned right on Bedford, quickening my pace as I started to get bored with just walking. As soon as I had walked a block down Bedford, I heard a faint moan. I stopped walking for a moment, waiting. Then I heard it again. Without thinking, I broke into a full run, my heart thumping rhythmically with each impact of my foot against the ground. When I came to 50^th St., I was already panting with breathlessness. All of the extra weight was beginning to take its toll.

I started to slow my run until I noticed a few people standing in a driveway. Then I stopped my run. It was a garage sale. I was about to ask myself what these people were doing, having a garage sale when Omaha was being overrun by the walking dead, but before I could really begin that inquiry, one of the people noticed me and moaned.

"Ah, I see, said the blind man," I said with a grim chuckle. I walked up to them, pistol raised, and fired. The first shot hit the zombie closest to me in the neck. She reeled back, but quickly regained balance, blood pouring from her throat. I put another round through the very top of her head, taking some blonde hair off of her head. As she fell, I kept walking. There were five more zombies to take care of. I put a round directly in the ear of a tall, dark haired man. By that time, the other four zombies were lumbering right to me. I took aim at a blonde woman. Just before my finger pulled the trigger, I stopped.

"Oh, no," I said, my voice as shaky as I’ve ever heard it. "Lori." My shoulders drooped as I realized that one of the zombies was my girlfriend’s mother. I forced myself not to look at her as I shot the other three ghouls. I knew that I should shoot her too. I knew it. I’d rather kill a spider when I can see it than leave it alone so it can bite me later. But in my heart, I knew I couldn’t. We never got along, Lori and I, but that didn’t mean I wanted this for her. Turning my back on her, I ran to the house that was technically Athena’s house now.

Every visible window was now boarded up. Athena’s car was in the driveway of the brick house, so she was assumably still around. I found myself hoping that Athena was alive so much, I was shaking. On wobbly knees, I walked up to the front door and knocked. I stood directly in the center of the door so that they could see me through the peephole. I knocked again, harder that time. I looked around impatiently. The only thing that alerted me that the door was opening was the sound of the doorknob on the inside hitting the wall behind the door. I turned my head just in time to see a body collide with me. I tensed up for a moment, until I realized that it was Athena. My Athena. She was hugging me. Overcome with joy, I hugged her back, my eyes tearing up. She was ok.