Zombie Apocalypse Now!

by Rachel Tsoumbakos

Mrs. Chin and I had been planning for this. Now it looked like only I would get the opportunity to leave this place. Would I find others? Surely I would. But would they be like this new man? All mean and ready to trip over the next person to ensure their own safety?

  It was a risk I would have to take. My meagre pantry held only baked beans and two more tins of cat food. It may be the first and last chance I have.

  I rushed about my small home, grabbing food and underwear and cramming them all into a large suitcase, the kind that had wheels. At the last minute, I fetched Martin's cat carrier and a large jug of water. I was ready. Coming back to my bedroom window, I perched myself on the edge of the bed and waited.

  And waited.

  And then I even waited some more.

  It took that damn zombie over four hours to work out how to use the stairs. I was pretty sure the man knew what was happening. There was no other reason to climb out the tiny window. In his panic he never even did the math. I watched for only a moment as that zombie tried to tear the man's brains out through his arse.

  It was now or never.

  Finally, I had the courage to run.

  In The Beginning….PIPPA

  (Diary of Pippa Roscoe to her unborn child)

  January 22rd

  (41 days after the first reported outbreak)

  Little One,

  It’s time to stockpile. You are growing so quickly inside me and it won’t be long before I can’t get around without risking our lives. I need to find as much food as possible and store it here. I’m not sure how safe this house is, but I am eternally grateful for Greek neighbours and their impenetrable fences.

  If I take their car, I should be able to pile it up with enough food to last us until the birth. There is not much petrol in the car, so hopefully I can make it back in one trip. Maybe I’ll come across a servo somewhere that still has fuel? One can hope can’t they?

  There’s still no word from your father. I fear for his life. It’s been eight days now and no sign. I wish he’d taken the walkie talkie I found in the Spiriopulous’ shed.

  Honestly, though, I always thought a trip to the Forensic Unit in Morristown was a bad idea…

  However, he insisted on going, sure that Walter Shipley would still be there and able to help.

  But with what?

  Love,

  Mamma Pippa.

  Milky eyes. I reached up and poked at one. The zombie snarled and moaned, her hands slapping at me. A brief shot of confusion darted across her face, the shortest, sweetest moment of clarity and then back to being a plain old stupid zombie. I ran a finger down her face. A hank of hair, matted and clotted with old blood was stuck to the fetid greyness of her cheek. She growled at me again. Her hand reached up and smashed against the glass. It made me jump. I stumbled a little before regaining my feet. One hand clasped at the wooden bench behind me, the other absently rubbing at my swollen belly.

  For hours I had been standing here. I was both repelled and intrigued by the woman. For weeks I had been squirreling around in these shops, mainly looking for food and clothes as my belly expanded. Today was different though. I was getting bored with my surroundings. The constant moaning of hungry zombies was starting to mess with my head. It was either explore new territory as a distraction, or go stark raving mad. I wondered at how long I would be able to negotiate the narrow laneway behind the strip of shops. My belly was growing, and felt awkward only because I was used to being thin and agile. Being a ballerina was like that. But in another month or two, besides the risk of getting stuck, becoming clumsy and slow was my main concern. I was stockpiling in an attempt to combat this.

  The woman groaned at me, licking her lips and the glass in the process. Dark blood oozed out from between her teeth and was slathered across the glass. I gagged. Yet, still I watched. Leaning forward, I licked the glass also. The zombie moaned louder and smashed her head hard against mine. So hard that when she pulled away, I could see where the bones in her forehead had caved under the force. The creature seemed stunned for a moment. Her tattered clothes indicated that she'd once worked in an office, perhaps even here in the bank. Her black jacket looked like it had once been expensive. She still wore one high stiletto, so her gait was more pronounced than normal.

  CRACK!

  Her head hit the glass once more. I felt the reverberation through my hand as I stroked the glass. This hit knocked the zombie out cold. I mashed my face up against the, clear surface and peered down at the woman. Her left leg had snapped just below the knee as she'd fallen, so was now bent at an obscene angle. They must have brittle bones, I decided as I stared at the unfortunate woman. She didn't move.

  Was she dead?

  Or should that be more dead than normal?

  My face flattened as I pushed myself as close as I could. There was absolutely no movement. Not a breath taken. Not one little twitch. I tapped once on the glass, holding my breath while I waited.

  Nothing.

  "Hello?" My voice scratched from lack of use. I coughed and cleared it before trying again. "Are you okay miss?"

  There was a small squirm in the pit of my belly. I rubbed at my baby. "Hush, little one, mummy's okay."

  But was I? I hadn't seen a living person for over a month. The last animal I saw was a fat ginger cat. That had been more than two weeks ago. I'd watched as it ran along the wall on one side of the narrow lane behind this building. It had been hissing and yowling at a zombie. I wasn't sure what the dead thing was following, but it sure wasn't interested in the animal. This seemed to irritate the feline, no end. In a last ditch attempt to get the attention of the undead, the cat had taken a flying leap and landed on the zombie's head. This confused the hell out of the stupid creature. Its hand reached up and slapped at itself. The cat dug in its claws and hung on for dear life. It was no match for the dead thing though. It ran straight at the wall. The cat was crushed. The zombie had looked down at the lifeless critter, took a sample of the animal’s brains, shuddered and moved on.

  I couldn't bear to travel up to that end of the lane any more.

  The lack of people was starting to scare me. Was I the only one left? My baby and I.

  A week ago I'd thought I'd heard a car. Nothing had come of that. Maybe my mind was starting to play tricks on me. Although, having broken into the bookstore two days after that, I had discovered that pregnant women can be prone to having incredibly vivid dreams.

  And now I was just plain bored. Complacency was beginning to set in. I looked at the zombie again. It hadn't moved. Surely it was dead. The last bash to its head must have completely caved it's skull in and killed it. I still wanted to know for sure.

  Inching backwards, I scanned the room. This had recently been a bank. It was madness when it was looted. I had cowered in the dress shop two doors up, hiding like a small child in the centre of a clothes rack. People had thrown chairs and screamed and took large amounts of money. It got out of hand quickly. The bank staff which didn't flee were slaughtered.

  It was amazing how quickly you could adjust to the smell.

  I stepped around an upturned desk and nearly slipped on a pile of home loan pamphlets. A multitude of smiling faces looked up at me. Happy families smirked at me through the dust and dirt and blood. I stomped a little too hard on their cheery, papery faces.

  Exiting the teller’s booth, I pulled at the heavy security door. A display stand was the only thing that prevented the door from locking. I'd put it there for ease of access. Poking my nose around the door frame, I saw a dead body. That's not where the zombie should be. I was confused. Stepping out, I realised my mistake. This was merely the bloated, decaying body of one of the bank staff. It was hard to tell who it was, but it had to be someone I once knew.

  I tried not to think about that too much.

  Moving forward, I pushed aside a desk chair and made my way to the other side of the bullet proof glass.

  Still no zombie.

  I was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.


  My breath quickened.

  A scamper behind me.

  I whipped my head around.

  Nothing.

  I was beginning to lose my nerve. Quickly, I started to make my way to the other side of the room, eager to be out of the place now. The exit I needed was only metres away. I hurried but tried to remain sure-footed.

  More scampering.

  I didn't glance back. It was time to keep my eye on the prize. I could see the door I needed. It was a mere seven or eight steps away. I counted carefully in an attempt to distract myself from the soft noise behind me. The sound I was trying to convince myself was not a small moan.

  Four steps to go.

  My breath was ragged and caught in my throat. I was not crying.

  Two steps.

  My arm reached out, eagerly clasping for the door handle.

  One step to go. Safety was mine.

  I'm not sure what happened first; the screech or the feel of the cold scabby hand around my ankle, but the effect was still the same.

  I screamed, not quite ready to die yet.

  In The Beginning….TATIANA

  The stars were bright and winked at me knowingly. I scowled and tried to ignore them as I blew smoke rings. Each circle perfectly sailing through the last. It had taken me weeks to get the hang of it. But now I had all the time in the world for things like that.

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Instinctively I rose and made my way back inside. It was so nice up here on the roof, in the dark. It felt safe. I'd shimmied down the metal ladder and was half way across my lounge room before realising that that wasn't a john at the door, it was a goddamned zombie. How they managed to make it up the narrow staircase, I could never work out.

  While inside, I decided not to make it a wasted trip and pulled another beer out of the bathtub. There was no hot water and no electricity now, so cold water and the tub were the only way of chilling beer now. Passing the kitchen, I also scrounged through the barren pantry. It was a choice between spam, tinned tongue and a packet of Easter eggs I'd found wedged under one of the aisles in the supermarket. I'd eaten one egg the day I'd found it, the chocolate was all mottled with age, but it still tasted good. I pushed aside the treat and pulled out a tin of tongues. While it wasn't appetising, it was all that was left in the store now.

  The stars. I never got sick of the stars now. I stayed up all night (through habit and my trade) and slept all day. The nighttime was now my only friend. It was so lonely now, I even missed my clients; even the sickos.

  The zombie continued to butt against the door. It made me miss the old times. All the crazy, funky things this apartment had seen. I smiled, wishing, for about the thousandth time that there was still a stash of weed behind the statue on the mantle. At least there were still cigarettes. Maybe for not much longer though. The shop two doors down only had a couple of cartons left and the last one I'd bought back was dry and stale.

  The beer was good. I drank half of it before attempting the tongues. The rest of the beer was good for getting rid of the taste of the meat afterwards. Lighting the last cigarette in the packet, I realised if I wanted those last few packets of smokes, I'd need to get them tonight. While zombies didn't seem to sleep, their sight seemed to be better in daylight, so it was less risky to travel by night. Not that scurrying over the rooftops and shimmying down drainpipes posed much of a risk in the zombie department.

  Standing on the very edge of the roof, I peered down over the town I'd come to know as home. It was black. Mostly. In three spots, I could see the glow of life. Two people had candles burning. The gentle flicker bounced off the walls of their confines. The other light was more consistent. Maybe a battery operated lantern? Every night I watched these signs of life; the signs of the living. Once I’d called out, but no one heard me. Or no one listened anyway. At the same time I threw my cigarette butt over the edge, one of the candles was blown out.

  I sighed and went to get ready.

  Pulling on a pair of old leggings, I caught my eye in the dusty mirror. I scratched at my hair and decided it was time to try and work out how to get into the chemist from the roof. Three inches of regrowth was just not acceptable! I could live without acrylic nails and foundation, but once a blonde, always a blonde.

  I tugged on my camo high-heeled boots. I'd bought them two years ago to go with some matching shorts. There was a john who liked his women all military, I was happy to oblige; kinky role-playing paid better after all. Who would have known they would turn out to be so hand during the apocalypse? Checking the heels, I noted I hadn't cleaned all the zombie brains off from the last time I'd staked one through the noggin. Gross. I really needed to clean that once I returned. I wasn't sure how contagious the virus was, so there were no taking chances.

  Pulling the two-toned hair back, I wrapped a tie once, twice, three times around it and reached for my lippy. It was habit. If I couldn't have colour in my hair, it had to be on my lips. Grabbing a large tan satchel, I swung it over one shoulder and across my body. Inside it was a torch and a kitchen knife.

  "Taaaaaattsssss.....!"

  What the fuck?

  I whipped my head around, towards the moan. Did that zombie just say my name?

  My heels clicked on the floorboards as I marched to the door. The sound seemed to enflame the zombie.

  "Tiiiiiiittsssssss.......Taaaaattssssss.....!" It was followed by a strangled moan.

  I felt ill.

  There was only one john who used to like to make fun of my name.

  "Peter?"

  The word was out before I even realised I'd thought it.

  Silence.

  Tip-toeing, I carefully made my way to the front door. There was a little peephole there. I leaned over and pushed aside the red cover. The sight was gut-wrenching.

  "Heeeelllllpppppp....meeeee....." his voice trailed off. He thudded his head against the door.

  "Pete, you know I can't let you in," I replied softly.

  I sat down at the foot of the door, my head resting on the cool wood. The tinned tongue was threatening to reappear after seeing Peter. How could he change so much? He'd always been handsome. So good looking in fact, that I couldn't understand that first time, why he needed a hooker. Then he explained what he liked and I understood. Most girlfriends won't change a grown man's diaper.

  "How long have you been like this?"

  "Nnooooo..."

  I wasn't sure what he meant by that. So I kept talking.

  "Honey, I am going to open this door, okay?"

  "Ttttiiiiittttsss.....?"

  "Yeah, baby, you can see Tat's tits," I replied. The tears were threatening. "You can have a real good look. But only looking, okay? No touching?"

  "Uuuuuhhhh....." That was probably a yes. It didn't matter; I was too busy wiping snot and tears on the bottom of my black singlet. One last sniff and I stood up. Peeping out the little window, I could see Pete as he shuffled from one foot to the next. Oh my god, he was feeling himself! I shuddered and swallowed back the tinned tongue.

  "I'm opening the door now, Pete," I said, turning the lock. I tucked my bag behind me, not wanting to give him something to grab onto.

  Pete was silent.

  "You still there honey?"

  "Uuhh...huuuuh..."

  "Okay, Pete," I replied. The tears had returned. I sobbed once more. It was a wretched, choking sound. I eased the door open.

  The zombie formally known as Peter stood as still as the statue I hid my weed in.

  Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, I lunged at him.

  My aim was true, even as I hobbled on my one remaining high heel. The other shoe was now protruding from the middle of Peter's skull.

  He looked surprised. And then sad. Finally, he crumpled to the ground.

  I pulled my shoe out quickly and swiftly slammed the door shut, locking it.

  "Fucking zombies," I muttered.

  PART TWO

  Tatiana Runs Out of Cigarettes

  “Shit…shit…shit!�
� Tatiana muttered to herself. There were definitely more cigarettes the last time she was here. She scraped her arm across the shelf one last time and was rewarded with nothing more than a Quitline card. She flicked it across the room in disgust.

  Turing, she scanned the store. Someone else must be hiding close by. Tatiana was both excited and scared by the prospect. While she hadn’t met another human being since the apocalypse, she’d assumed there were others like her. There had to be. The notion that she was the last person – woman or man – standing chilled her to the bone if she stood still and thought about it for too long.

  She had to be careful. Time was fast approaching when she would have to move on and search for more food. Was there any more food left anywhere else? Maybe that was why her cigarettes were going missing now; someone else had run out of food in their area and was moving further abroad in their search. How hungry were they now? How hungry would she be when she finally moved out? What then? How long would it take her to turn savage over food?

  So many questions. She shook her head and trued to think about something else.

  The small corner store was as quiet and still as when she’d first entered. It didn’t ease her fear that she was no longer alone.

  Taking her bag, she made a final trip around the few cramped aisles, looking for the last of the food, looking for the somebody else she now both feared and welcomed. She took more than she normally would; now she knew she wasn’t the only customer. Mostly, it was tinned corn and beetroot, along with the seemingly constant supply of canned gross-meats – all the things she didn’t like. She took a large bag of Doritos when she found them stuffed under the till. They had been opened (probably it was the cashier’s snack for quiet times); but the owner had clipped them shut with a large peg. They would still most likely be stale, but she was eager to give them a go. If only there was some salsa left. She scurried around in the supplies room, but not a jar of sauce could be found. She pouted before leaving.