《Sick. Tired. Undead.》


 1 - No Ones Coming

    I knew shit was really hitting the fan when Gloria didn¡¯t show up.


    I pressed the side button on my phone to see if somehow I had spaced out and missed the notification sound that she had texted me, but of course I hadn¡¯t. My eyes went back to the TV at the foot of my bed, the low murmur of the newscaster frantically speaking over live footage of the massive riots happening in every single city, the unexplained sudden surge of violence and death, the mass hysteria¡­ it really didn¡¯t take a genius to understand what was happening. The camera cut away just after a random woman ran in front of the camera and was suddenly tackled and dragged down by a bloodied man emerging from a side alley. The station had been quick on the button to cut away, but not quick enough to miss the massive blood spray on the brick building as the man tore into her neck with his teeth.


    My stomach dropped and began to turn as I considered that maybe something just like that had happened to Gloria. She was the one friend who had stayed by my side when I first got sick and always made sure to come by every other day like clockwork for the past five years to help me around the apartment and bring me groceries. Even in the rare occasions she had to miss a day because of her kids or some work emergency, she always texted me ahead of time and set up a time when she would definitely make it. She had been better and more reliable to me than my own family and I was grateful she also considered me a part of hers. However, knowing that now made her sudden absence so stark and terrifying. Something truly horrific had to have happened for her to not show up and also not contact me. I didn¡¯t want to think the very worst, but seeing what was happening on the news and hearing the screams and sirens constantly blaring outside, it was hard not to think it was very likely.


    My hips complained with a deep ache as I slowly pulled myself up into a more seated position. I closed my eyes and laid my head against the wall behind me, trying to shuffle through the fog of my mind try to clear a bit of space to think logically. It was harder than usual with the soft murmur of the TV and the piercing sirens outside. Then there was the gnawing fear. The knowledge that maybe six or so years ago I would have already thrown together an emergency bag, rented a car, and floored it all the way to some rural middle of no where and had a chance of making it out. Today¡¯s me though was a sitting duck and there wasn¡¯t a whole lot I could do about it. No matter how much I might be able to plan and figure out a course of action, my body was going to fail me sooner rather than later. The idea of dying while running was terrifying, but at least I would have had a shot at escape. The mental image of my being in pain, crawling away as fast as I could with death baring down on me was on the same level as those kind of nightmares you get where you need to fight for your life but your arms and legs are too heavy to use.


    The heart rate monitor on my wrist beeped a warning at me as I tried to slow my breathing and push the panic down. Tears escaped through my squeezed eyelids as I couldn¡¯t help but weep for the situation I was in and for the friend I was sure was either already dead or soon would be. Life had already shown me time and time again that it was not fair, but this took the cake and smashed it in my face. I sobbed until I felt light headed and my body gave into the exhaustion caused by the panic attack and I fell asleep despite the fear and cacophony around me.


    It was late afternoon when I woke up. It took several minutes for me to remove the crust from my eyes and think beyond the extreme pain my neck from the position I had fallen asleep in, but it was my bladder that finally cut through all the brain fog to demand I take action. Thanks to the breakdown I had slept through taking my morning medication and even just missing the single dose made every movement of my body painful. My muscles ached and my joints felt swollen as I slowly swung my legs over to the edge of the bed and reached out for the walker I kept at the side of the bed. In a better mood, I probably would have chuckled a little at the rapid machine gun fire of my joints from my ankles up to my neck as I stood. As it was, tears came to my eyes again at the extreme feeling of heaviness, like I had just just stepped out from the water after having been swimming for too long.


    After the bathroom, I took a moment on shaky legs to grab something to eat from the fridge and take stock of my meagre pantry. Being on disability barely let me get by, in fact if not for Gloria¡¯s help I wouldn¡¯t have been able to afford any luxury at all and probably would have been left largely to the whims of the food pantry. Still, even with the help I wasn¡¯t too proud to take from her, I didn¡¯t have much long term food beyond some canned soup, pasta, beans, rice, and a couple large multipacks of ramen. All in all, maybe only a couple weeks of non perishables if if I was very careful and rationed. The fridge and freezer weren¡¯t much better with a few microwave meals, some ice cream, and some sandwich fillings that I had no bread for. Gloria was supposed to have arrived today with fresh groceries, but I would now have to make due with what I had. Not willing to stomach just yet that I was heading into dire enough times to eat tuna salad with a spoon as a meal, I instead opted for the single pint of ice cream I had been saving for a rainy day.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    I barely managed to make it back to bed before my legs became too shaky to be stable and I collapsed into bed and wriggled my body desperately to get fully into bed and into a reasonably comfortable position. Several minutes of whimpers of pain and begging for my body to just do what I was asking of it, I was back propped up on the pillows and had pried off the top of the ice cream. I cracked a half smile as I looked down at the smooth unbroken surface and remembered Gloria waving it at me before she put it in the freezer.


    ¡°Claire,¡± she had giggled, ¡°you are such an old lady! Rum raisin? I had to go to three separate stores to even find it!¡±


    Before scooping up my first bite, I took a deep breath and located where my phone had migrated to in the blankets and nodded with understanding as I saw that I still saw no messages. I wanted to start crying again, but I felt so disconnected and numb.


    Focus back on the TV, it seemed like the world was finally ready to admit what was happening. The news was now showing hastily thrown together graphics of some new virus that caused unstoppable rage and a total loss of self. The affected seemed to be unaffected by pain and push through wounds and damage. The word zombie was in quotes as they called it the ¡°zombie¡± virus, but it had been obvious at the start that it was what it was. The segment on the new virus information was quickly followed by medical experts pleading with people to stay in their houses and use things like masks, gloves, and other protective equipment to help prevent the further spread of the contagion. The news then cut away to video footage of people tearing apart pharmacies and smashing locked cases to get access to face masks, shields, and first aid supplies.


    For the first time since the chaos started, I turned off the TV and breathed through the bitterness that pushed through the pain and fatigue. It figured that now that there was something obviously terrifying for them people would turn to the very prevention methods that would have stopped me from living in the personal hell I had been trapped in for the last several years. My own parents had refused to do anything to keep themselves safe while I took every precaution I could out of the fear their getting sick would be life threatening to them. In the end, it had only taken one holiday trip home with them ignoring my father¡¯s positive test for the sake of having a ¡°normal¡± Christmas for me to get deathly ill and never fully recover. To add insult to injury, they had maintained the whole time that I simply could not be as sick as I claimed and had just become lazy or wasn¡¯t trying hard enough to get better. It had been a painful, but necessary step to stop reaching out to them and it was little surprise that without me making the effort, they had never bothered to reach out on their own. It had been at least a year since the last time my mother had called or texted me and even so, my heart still hurt a little knowing they probably were one of the first to have gotten the new virus due to their cavalier attitude towards modern medicine and stubbornness about instantly disbelieving anyone they considered to be too educated.


    The ice cream finished, I was already feeling tired again, though this time I wanted to try to fight my constant need for a nap. I was going to have to come up with some kind of survival plan and I would need to do so fast. If I let my body dictate the path now, I would end up running out of food and then I would really be in danger. To try to combat the fatigue for the short term, I opened my side table and pulled out one of my energy gels. The texture was terrible, but it would give me a boost for at least a little while so I could try to clear my thoughts and plan. There was most of a pack left, ten total after I ate the one. I would need to ration because it would be foolish to try to even entertain the idea of being able to make a supply run. My eyes then automatically went to the pain medication and anti-inflammatories that I had neglected to take earlier. I badly wanted some pain relief in the moment, but instead I only took my anti-inflammatory knowing it worked best only when it was consistent. I could deal with the pain now while I was planning on staying in bed. However, they might end up being my salvation later if I needed to move and fast.


    A piercing, agonizing scream that could be mistaken for nothing other than a woman dying emanated from somewhere in my building and my blood ran cold. The scream was quickly replaced by thudding and loud, wet gurgling¡­ and it was close. If I had money to bet, I would have put it all on it being the apartment below me. The world would not be waiting for me to put my shit together. I had to do it. Now.

 2 - Necessary Sacrifices

    Clumps


    of my brunette hair fell into the sink, mixing with the tears that


    had already fallen as I had accepted that shaving my head was a


    necessary step in my survival. Not only would a buzz cut prevent a


    zombie from grabbing me by the hair, but I needed to remove all


    unnecessary wastes of energy I could think of. Gloria had been


    helping me with washing and drying my hair, braiding it for me after


    it was done to keep it tangle free and without assistance my long


    hair would quickly become filthy and matted. Even if I tried to keep


    it and kept it tucked tightly under a hat, the dirty, greasy feeling


    would wear on my mind and it would end up with me shaving it


    eventually anyway. I stared back into my own, tired and sunken hazel


    eyes as I put down the electric trimmer and tried to come to terms


    with my new appearance.


    The woman who looked back at me was not the person I pictured in


    my mind. I still thought of myself as the energetic twenty something


    that worked designing landscaping and spent her weekends wandering


    home improvement store and garden centres looking for new,


    interesting, or suffering plants to bring home and add to her


    collection. That girl had been twenty pounds lighter, clear skin, and


    not a wrinkle to be seen. I hadn¡¯t even realized that sometime in


    the past few years wrinkles between my eyebrows had begun to appear


    where I furrowed them together through frequent pain. Also there had


    been a not insignificant amount of silver hairs I had just buzzed


    away. I swallowed hard as I finally looked away and began to clean


    the long hair from the sink. I didn¡¯t have the time to dwell on it,


    but there was a pit in my stomach from how unfair it felt that so


    many precious years of my life had already been taken by being sick.


    Next on my list was to scour the bathtub to be as clean as


    possible, then fill it to the brim with water. There was always the


    possibility that water might stay on for a little while, but there


    would be no one monitoring it at the very least so after the next


    couple of days I would be unwilling to think of it as safe. Getting


    as much water stored as possible was priority number one until I


    could figure out an alternative way to get relatively safe drinking


    water.


    After becoming sick, my ability to care for all the plants I had


    evaporated and I had sold quite a few cuttings and whole plants to


    fund the time period between losing my job and finally winning my


    disability fight. It had been extremely demoralizing and painful to


    completely give up the hobby I loved, but in a way it was coming in


    handy now as I pulled the box full of my favorite propagation vases


    and flower pots from my tiny closet with shaking hands. The energy


    gel had worn off a little while ago, but I couldn¡¯t slow down. My


    body was started to send out strong warnings like shaking muscles and


    twinges of pain in my swollen joints. I couldn¡¯t listen just yet, I


    needed just a little more effort before I could rest. I set the box


    in front of my walker and gently pushed it to the bathroom.


    The dozen vases didn¡¯t hold much, but something was better than


    nothing and I already planned to fill every single, bowl, mug, and


    pot in the kitchen so this was just a little extra insurance. The


    real prize was all the ceramic plant pots I couldn¡¯t use to store


    water due to the drainage holes. The smallest one was destined to be


    shattered into shards and somehow manufactured into makeshift


    weapons. I hadn¡¯t quite worked out yet exactly what I was planning


    or when I would need a weapon, but I would have to leave at some


    point and when I did I would need to be prepared for the worst. The


    others would sit and wait for the off chance I could find fruit and


    vegetable scraps. It was a long shot, but combined with the bag of


    potting soil still sitting in the closet I had a small chance to start a


    subsistence garden.


    I ditched the walker at the entrance to the kitchen and started pulling every single container I


    could find from the cupboards and filled them all at the sink. Then I scrubbed and plugged, then filled the sink with water as well. The bathroom tap would have to


    be the only running tap for washing for as long as it lasted. While


    the pots, pans, glasses, mugs and bowls had taken up every bit of


    counter space and then some also placed back in the cupboard and on


    the tiny dining table, I knew it would not end up lasting me for very


    long. However, water was checked off my list for now with a mental


    note to put it as priority for the next.


    Last thing I did before shuffling back to bed was to gather all my


    steak knives, a box cutter, roll of duct tape, a half a bottle of


    super glue, and any other zip tie or other fastener from the junk drawer I could


    think might come in handy. Carefully and slowly, I shuffled back to


    bed while trying to push from my mind the mental image of me tripping


    and stabbing myself on all the sharp objects in my arms. It would


    feel in theme with the path of my life to trip and bleed out to a


    random accident before any zombie could even find me.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Making it across the room unscathed, I plopped all the contents of


    my arms onto the bed where my feet would usually go and leaned


    forward on my trembling arms against the wall and took deep breaths.


    The muscles in my arms burned, my lower back was throbbing in time


    with my heartbeat, my vision was feeling cloudy, and my legs were


    getting almost too heavy to lift. Nothing I had done so far would


    have been physically taxing for a healthy person, but I was not


    healthy and even the simple moving of objects, bending over, and


    shuffling around my apartment was exhausting. I had spent a long time


    learning my body¡¯s new limits and how to respect them and it was


    obvious that I was currently ignoring them and blowing right past


    them. The past taught me that I could continue ignoring them and


    pushing for a time, but the longer I pushed through, the harder the


    eventual crash was going to be. I knew I would have to be strategic


    and plan for the crashes, make sure that I had supplies and was safe


    while they happened, but they would be risky none the less. There


    would be no one to check on me and that fact scared me to the bone.


    Unwilling to dwell on the mounting dark worries and thoughts, I


    pushed back from the wall with a sharp inhale from the pain in my


    back and heavily thumped myself onto the other side of the bed. My


    heart skipped a beat as I heard a loud, bubbling gurgle come through


    the floor below me. I needed to learn to be much quieter and more


    careful. Obviously my building was already compromised and I needed


    to start learning how to be stealthy. I had yet to hear any commotion


    in my own hallway, but it felt like it would only be a matter of time


    before zombies wandered their way in from the city streets and


    aimlessly walked through buildings. I couldn¡¯t predict exactly what


    would happen, but that felt likely given every fictional depiction of


    zombies I had ever seen. Of course that was with the assumption that the


    real zombies lost their sense of how to properly interact with the


    world and my blood ran cold at the idea that maybe they would retain


    their ability to open doors and windows.


    Careful to hold down the volume button as I pressed power on the


    remote, I switched on the TV. I always kept the sound low to


    accommodate my avoidance of overstimulation, but I didn¡¯t want any additional


    constant hum that might attract unwanted attention. The scene


    immediately on the screen was of a darkening city street from a


    helicopter view, people running like flowing water away from


    snarling, gnashing zombies. Police and military barricades had been


    set up at the end of the city block and by the way it was fenced with


    razor wire I assumed it was a hastily thrown together safe area. The


    flash of fire from the end of guns increased in frequency as the


    horde grew closer on the civilians pushing desperately to get through


    the checkpoint until it was constant flashes. Eventually the line between the


    living and undead blurred until it was a sea of mass confusion,


    people being not only pulled down by zombies but trampled as people


    threw down others to attempt to save themselves.


    The safe area had quickly filled to capacity and the line of


    zombies was getting perilously close to the gate. Military and police


    who had been along the side of the street before the gate pushed past


    the people clambering to get in and secured along the inside of the


    gate, the barrel of their guns poking through the chain link. There


    must have been an order given and the gates on the safe zone were


    pushed closed, giving no care to the people still desperately clawing


    their way in. The camera cut away to a camera drone that flew close


    to the closing gate, the screen was filled with screaming, terrified


    faces, many of them already bloodied and bruised. For a few tense


    moments the people against the now closed gate kept pushing, begging


    to be let in, but their requests were met with more gunfire and those


    that survived had no choice but to scatter, breaking windows and


    doors of the buildings nearby to find an escape point away from the


    encroaching zombie horde. The scene cut away to female newscaster


    whose professional bun hairstyle had begun to completely come apart,


    her eyes were sunken and hollow and off camera she had obviously been


    crying heavily.


    There were closed captions, but I was honestly too stunned to pay


    attention, my brain was trying to catch up with what I had just


    witnessed. I had been operating under the assumption that I needed to


    prepare for the worst case scenario, yet I had been holding out at


    least a little hope that I was just overreacting and that things


    would get brought under control. Those hopes had been completely


    destroyed and I had to face what I already didn¡¯t want to accept.


    This was it, this was going to be the world now and I have to


    approach everything I do as it could be the last decision I make. The


    primal terror flowed through me, making my already shaky body quiver


    like I was naked in an ice storm and my stomach clenched and


    threatened to vomit. The faces of the people realizing they were


    locked out of the gate and left for certain death by gunfire or by


    being torn apart by zombies would haunt my dreams for the rest of my


    life. However long that would end up being.

 3 - Making Preparations

    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.