William Rose - The Dead & Dying

Next thing I know we’re in the car and the tires are squealin’ just like on the cop shows and Mommy’s telling me to lay down in the floor and not to look out the windows. She’s got the radio on and they keep tellin’ people to stay calm, not to panic but that only made me cry harder so Mommy turned it off and started singin’. Only her voice wasn’t the same as when she usually sings to me and it sounded like she was about to start cryin’ herself which probably scared me more than anything else.

All around us I could hear sirens and loud crashes and people screamin’ and car horns. Then Mommy stopped singing and just kept saying over and over, please God, please God, please….

After that, I really don’t remember much. It was like I fell asleep without really tryin’. One minute I’m in the floor of the car trying to hang on and next thing I know Mommy’s got me in her arms and she’s shakin’ me and saying, “Come on, baby, wake up, please wake up, baby.”

I opened my eyes and there were trees all ’round us and our car was sittin’ halfway in a ditch and it smelled like gasoline. The car was kinda hissin’ and makin’ this ticking noise almost like a clock but other than that everything seemed really quiet.

When Mommy saw I was awake, she hugged me so tight and started rockin’ back and forth. I was lookin’ over her shoulder and could see big clouds of smoke way off in the distance.

“Come on, baby.” she says to me. “We gotta keep movin’.”

Then we were runnin’ through the woods cause she said we needed to get away from the major highways and she carried me for as long as she could but after a while she started fallin’ a lot and asked me if I thought I could run real quick on my own. I told her Mr. Washington said I was the fastest boy in gym class and she pinched my nose and said she bet I was too.

That night Mommy found this little cave that she said would make a good place for us to hide. We crawled inside and snuggled in real close together and she tried to tell me it was like an adventure, that plenty of pirates and ninjas slept in caves so I was kinda like them. I didn’t say nothin’ but I didn’t want to be a pirate or a ninja right then. All I wanted was my nice warm bed with Pepper curled up down by my feet.

Halfway through the night I had to pee real bad but Mommy said I needed to do my best to hold it until morning and asked if I thought I could do that. I told her I thought I could but ended up peeing in my pants after all. But Mommy said it was okay, that sometimes even the biggest boys can’t hold it and we would find a stream to wash in the next day.

And we did too. I was standin’ in the stream splashin’ water on my pants when he came bustin’ through the woods. He saw me and Mommy and stopped in his tracks. Then he lifted his gun and pointed it right us and I still remember word for word what he said.

“I swear t’ God if you don’t say somethin’ in the next three seconds I’m puttin’ a bullet right in your head.”

Mommy always told me that hate was a strong word and that I shouldn’t hate. But I really hate him and I can’t help it. And I really think that in this case Mommy would understand.

Might sound sick, but – on some level — I’d always hoped this would happen. Not the dying part. To put it mildly, that kinda sucks. But everything leading up to it had always been tucked away in some little corner of my mind: if I was taking a walk on a Sunday morning and heard the wailing of sirens in the distance, I would think, This is how it begins. I’d see smoke billowing on the horizon and feel a little rush of adrenaline hit my veins as I took stock of everything around me, searching for potential weapons and what have you. But it never amounted to anything more than a house fire or a three car pileup on the interstate. So, I just went about my life waiting for the unthinkable to happen.

See, in my previous life I was just Carl Teegarden: three-time employee of the month at the Pit Stop down on Route 47 and two-time loser where it really mattered. But in a world turned upside down, I thought I could be somebody; I thought I could make a difference and be the one who busts through the door at the last possible second to save the day.

After all, I’d seen all the movies. I’d read the books and even played some of the games. I thought I knew the rules, ya know? Which is more than I can say about life. One of those bastards gets too close and a round to the head takes them down, plain and simple. You listen outside of doors before opening: if you hear moaning in there, then you either leave that sucker closed or bust right on through with all guns blazing.

Turns out it’s not always quite that simple. Sometimes a single bullet to the forehead will drop one of those suckers, but sometimes you hafta pump in a couple more before they finally drop. And they’re so damn quiet it doesn’t matter how long you listen outside that door. You might hear some scuffling on the other side, but is it really one of them? Or just some schmuck trying to be as quiet as possible because he hears you out there and thinks you might be one of them? You go in like Rambo and there’s a good chance you won’t accomplish anything other than killing some poor bastard who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

For a while, I traveled with a fellow who went by the name of Doc. Big guy who looked like maybe he played a little football in high school. A lot of people we came across seemed to assume that Doc wasn’t too bright right off the bat. Maybe it had something to do with the way his brow and beard made him look a little like the caveman in those insurance commercials. I don’t know. But, truth be told, that man had one of the sharpest minds I ever come across.

The way he saw it, a single shot didn’t always work because the bullet would tear through different parts of the brain. He told me about a chicken he’d read about named Miracle Mike: apparently, back in the forties or fifties, some farmer tried to cut off this rooster’s head. Only he botched the job a bit. Mike’s head came off all right, but there was still some of the brain stem or something like that left over which kept this headless chicken alive for a year or so as he toured across the country in sideshows.

Doc said he reckoned the zombies are a lot like ’ole Mike: if you don’t wipe out the part of the brain that’s in control, they’ll just keep coming at you until you do.

He also said it makes sense, when you really think about it, that they don’t make much noise. To get sound, you’ve got to force air over the vocal cords. And these bastards definitely aren’t breathing. Oh, you might hear some gas pass out of them every now and then. Sometimes that gas might even bubble up through their windpipes and cause this soft, little wheeze; but they don’t moan and groan like I always thought they would. Hell, I’ve been doing more moaning than they ever dreamed of.

And you don’t need to be bit to become one of them either. Don’t get me wrong. Bites like the one I got right here speed up the process, that’s for certain. But sooner or later we all die one way or another. And when you do, you’re coming back. Plain and simple.

Pain tends to make the mind wander, doesn’t it? I was originally thinking about how I always thought I was prepared for this. Truth be told, even though that little part of me always half expected this to happen I still didn’t recognize it when the news reports started rolling in. In the beginning I thought, like plum near everyone else, that this mystery illness I kept hearing so much about was some sort of terrorist attack. It just seemed to make sense, ya know? People getting sick in New York, DC, Los Angeles: pretty much all the major cities, all at the same time. And then the reports of what they originally thought to be riots and widespread violence. Sounded like some sort of nerve gas or biological agent. Al-Qaeda type shit.