I woke


    up, heart pounding to the shrill scream of a woman coming from the


    general direction of the single window in my apartment. Normally it


    took me a few minutes to orient and climb out of the fog of sleep,


    but my survival instincts kicked in and my hand flew down to where I


    had moved all the potential weapons materials onto the floor, grabbed


    a steak knife and clutched it close to my chest.


    “Please no!” The woman screeched, desperation and panic


    causing her to slur her words. “You don’t have to do this!”


    Pounding footsteps clanged down the fire escape. They sounded


    close, maybe only level or two from outside my window and my mind


    scrambled trying to remember if the window was locked. Surely it must


    be since I rarely opened it thanks to the city smog. A sweat broke


    out over my body as I realized I couldn’t bring to mind a solid


    memory of the last time I closed and locked it and it would be a very


    bad idea to scramble now to make sure and come face to face with


    whatever was happening just beyond the curtains.


    The woman let out a pitiful, scared yelp and the footsteps


    stopped, replaced by sounds of a struggle.


    “Just give it to me!” a man’s voice growled


    A gunshot rang out and I had to catch a scream in my throat. There


    was a heavy thud onto the metal and for a moment there was silence


    other than the zombie in the apartment below me seemed to have


    stirred at the sound and was growling and thudding around, moving


    towards the direction of the window. A sickening possibility of it


    breaking the glass and getting out onto the fire escape flashed


    through my mind and my mental priority list shifted to make sure the


    first thing on it was to barricade my window. Footsteps, this time


    much more quiet descended and a shadow passed my window before


    continuing down.


    I didn’t move or lower the knife until the zombie below me


    seemed to give up trying to find the source of the noise and settled


    into whatever waiting position such a creature naturally defaulted


    to. Too shaky and nervous to trust myself to walk without falling


    yet, I turned on the TV in the hope beyond all hope that somehow the


    world was getting better, but there was no good news. Instead of the


    normal news footage, there was the blue background with the news


    station’s logo and a ticker at the bottom explaining the emergency


    situation and that they would be back on the air as soon as possible.


    I flicked through other channels and found that all the other major


    news channels were the exact same. The pit of my stomach felt like a


    hot coal as I gave up and turned the screen back off.


    I considered searching up news stories on my phone, maybe there


    would be information out there about how the zombies moved and what


    seemed to work with avoiding or killing them. However, anyone who was


    having success with that would be much more focused on surviving and


    getting to safety rather than posting. Also, it would be impossible


    to tell who was telling the truth and who was just posting to feel


    important in their final days. Unfortunately, social media tended to


    be several layers deep with smoke and mirrors with the truth often


    getting covered up because it was generally less exciting then


    whatever people could come up with on their own. Perhaps I was being


    cynical, but hearing two non-infected people attack each other was a


    stark reminder that humanity was inherently untrustworthy in


    emergency situations.


    Feeling a bit more steady, I stood up and slumped forward heavily


    onto my walker. The muscles in my arms, legs, and abdomen felt tight


    and sore, like I had spent all yesterday doing weight training. That


    was the price of pushing through the do the small amount of prep I


    had done. My muscles were likely to feel overworked and damaged for


    at least a few days and there was little I could do to hurry it along


    other than keep resting. Historically, it had always been a bad idea


    for me to ignore the muscle pain and fatigue and keep pushing, so I


    quickly decided that it was in my best interests to quickly barricade


    the window, grab myself enough food to last me for the day, then


    retreat back to bed to do what I could from there.


    I did not have much in the apartment to barricade with, though I


    did have a few plant stakes in the closet that I had been storing


    next to my planters. They were not quite tall enough to fit perfectly


    in the window to keep it wedged closed, but stacking them at an angle


    until they pushed against each other and wedged down against the


    bottom window pane would at least protect me against it being forced


    open. I sorely wished that I had a bookcase or a heavy dresser that


    was tall enough to shove up against it. Before I moved in I had sold


    most of my good furniture and what I did keep was small and light


    enough to have been easy for Gloria to help move in. The best I could


    do was loop an extra blanket over the curtain rail to help further


    block out anyone from being back to look in and see inside. My


    solutions didn’t make me feel much more secure, but I had to accept


    that it was as good as I could manage for the moment and that I would


    just have to give up for now and hope I could think of some other


    creative plan.


    Back in bed with a tub of tuna salad and a quarter of my remaining


    half gallon of milk, I also pulled all the weapon making materials I


    had gathering onto the bed in front of me. The weight of all the


    objects felt comforting and protective on my legs, but for the first


    time in my life I felt a bit remorseful that I didn’t have a gun at


    my disposal.


    Since no one could have predicted the unlikely scenario of a


    zombie outbreak, I just had never thought I would ever be the type of


    person who could stomach the idea of raising a weapon and killing


    someone from across the room and being able to live with myself


    after. I understood why some people chose to have that at their


    disposal, but it just wasn’t for me. Sure, I had been living in


    what most people would consider the rougher side of the city, but


    being pretty much house bound and kept to myself meant that most


    people didn’t even register that I existed. I severely doubted if


    even the people who lived in my hallway were aware what I looked


    like. Quite possibly they wouldn’t have noticed if I had moved out.


    I simply never got a chance to be healthy enough to feel inclined to


    step out and be social in person. The inability to have the energy to


    be social meant I was functionally invisible to most people. That


    invisibility that disability handed to me had been a sort of shield


    and before the apocalypse started I hadn’t really ever felt like I


    lived in danger or worried too much about who else lived in my


    building.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    While my disability had been somewhat a boon with safety before,


    that was now flipped on its head and my disability was placing a


    target on my back. If I had been the woman on the fire escape being


    chased down, I knew the fight would have ended a lot sooner and I


    would certainly have been the loser. Against a non-disabled person I


    simply would not be able to easily win if they wanted my supplies or


    to hurt me unless I was clever or somehow got a jump on the


    situation. It was gut-wrenching to think about, but it was


    nonetheless true. I could not run long distance, I had very little


    stamina, and my muscles and joints were weak. When it came down to


    it, I think it was logical to much more afraid of the remaining


    surviving humans than the zombies. The slow realization of that cold


    fact brought a sadness over me that felt like a heavy blanket.


    With a heavy heart I went to work planning weapons that I would be


    able to easily carry and use while still having my walker with me. It


    was maybe impractical to keep my walker with me at all times, but


    without it I was much more prone to losing my balance, especially on


    inclines and stairs. Besides, it could come in handy in situations


    where I might need to pin someone, zombie or human, against a wall so


    I had time to get away.


    I ended up deciding on two major weapons and a few smaller ones.


    My main, long range weapon used my quad foot cane to give me reach


    and leverage. With the box cutter I sliced through the rubber bottoms


    on the feet, packed the hollow metal tight with wads of duct tape,


    broke off the plastic handles of my cheap steak knives, then


    superglued the tangs of the knifes into each of the feet and used


    some of my remaining duct tape to wrap around the blade of the knife,


    over the rubber bottom and around the metal of the cane so that they


    wouldn’t easily pull out when used. It felt a little clunky and I


    didn’t like how much of the roll of tape I had to use to make it


    feel secure, but it did feel sturdy and I knew for certain I


    definitely wouldn’t want to be on the other end of someone


    brandishing it at me.


    In a flash of brilliance, I remembered that my broom and dustpan


    set had two c-shaped pieces of flexible plastic that were bonded


    together that kept the two cleaning tools stored together. Once


    retrieved, they miraculously clicked into place perfectly, allowing


    me to attach the makeshift spear onto the front right leg of my


    walker for easy access. The cane was thankfully still just light


    enough to stay held up off the ground when I used the walker and


    prevented the knife points from scraping and making extra noise.


    The second weapon was much more simple to construct other than the


    careful breaking of the smaller of my ceramic planting pots, though


    it was easy enough once wrapped up in my blanket and I used my body


    weight to lean onto it. I shoved the five large, sharp shards into


    one of my socks and filled in the extra space with a box of screws


    that had been kicking around my junk drawer for years. It had a nice


    heft to it and when used would probably break down into smaller and


    sharper shards. Maybe not as effective against zombies who seemed not


    to care about pain, but against a human wanting to attack me, I hoped


    it would be very effective.


    Finally, the last weapon preparation was to take the existing bag


    I already used looped over the side handle of my walker and zip tie


    it in place so that it would not slip off. I removed all the random


    tissues, cough drops, and receipts that had accumulated over the


    years and replaced them with the remaining steak, kitchen knives, and


    box cutter. There was just enough space for the small can of bear


    mace I normally kept in my purse for self defence. It would be a poor


    outcome for me as well if I decided to use it in an enclosed space


    and I felt it unlikely to affect zombies at all, but I knew I might


    hesitate to use more deadly force against a fellow human. I wanted to


    make sure I had a non-deadly option just in case.


    The sun rose fully into the new day and as the remaining survivors


    outside woke for the day, the world outside my apartment again began


    to fill with the terrifying sounds of society breaking down. Glass


    broke, people screamed, zombies roared with inhuman volume, and the


    sounds of cars crashing through blocked streets echoed off the tall


    buildings. I imagined that people were still in the looting phase,


    trying to gather as much as they could as quickly as they could


    before running for safety. In a perfect world with a perfect body I


    would be doing the same. I would have to sit and wait for it all to


    die down a bit before I went after the dregs of what would be left.


    Still, I assumed it was likely that people would be in too much of a


    hurry to carefully check over everything and there still would be


    useful items left behind. That was, of course, assuming I could make


    it out of the building at all.


    It was not lost on me that my chances of living much longer were


    much lower than the average person and I had already seen hundreds if


    not thousands of those die on the news. There hadn’t been any


    person in a wheelchair or with a cane making it into that safe zone,


    those people had been left behind as zombie fodder or were still like


    me holed up in their homes terrified about what their options were.


    I had to turn back on the TV to a station that had replaced all


    it’s programming with old cartoons to keep from thinking about all


    the old, frail, special needs, and disabled people who were like me


    feeling nothing but abject terror and having no option but to accept


    that the spectre of death was creeping towards us faster than ever.