by James Dean
Nothing interesting happened on the third day.
I wish there was more to say, and I wish I could tell you an epic quest where the plucky hero has to overcome some terrible adversity all the time, but this isn't one of those. Fuck it, alright. This isn't some story, this is a chunk of my life, during what was arguably the weirdest part of the whole thing. Like most of life, there were a LOT of boring parts. Day Three is one of those parts.
So yeah, I walked and thought and pretty much drove myself a little crazy wondering why I was even doing this in the first place. Every so often I'd look down at the seven carved into my arm and remember that dream. I always remember his eyes. So vivid and real. That's what made me suspect it wasn't a normal dream. If Mark really was dead, visiting me in a dream to give me a warning was pretty much exactly the thing he'd do. He always looked out for me, ever since I was a kid.
He was basically the best big brother in the whole world. He taught me how to read, how to box, how to drive a stick-shift, and told me all about which types of guys I should avoid in school. It was easier to get life advice from him than from our parents, since he was old enough to know things, but young enough that I felt like I could still trust him to understand what it was like to be my age.
God, I miss him.
I got as far as Coolville, Ohio that third day. I shit you not: Coolville. That one’s actually on the map, I'm not even making it up. Guess what they have in Coolville. They have their very own Cemetery Road, just like in Crown City. And, just like in Crown City, there was one zombie walking down the road. He was wearing a white shirt and a black tie, like he just got out of church or something. Sometimes I remember that they used to be people, with lives and emotions and goals. I try to forget, because it's easier to kill a monster than a man. This guy pushed it. He didn’t even look much like a zombie; he just looked tired. After I dropped him I had to take a minute to clear my mind.
There was this glass store, or maybe a window shop, off the highway. I don't remember what it was to be honest, but the place was FULL of windows and glass doors. The vending machines were fully stocked. Like, all of the beverages and all of the snacks were still in place. I’m guessing the vending machine guy came around and restocked them the day before it all went down, and nobody thought of going into the glass shop to look for food, which makes sense.
Roofing hammer lock picks are the best. You get two of those together, they’ll open up just about anything worth opening. It wasn’t ice cream, but candy bars are pretty good. I am still amazed at how much people will trade for regular old chocolate, myself included. Don’t even get me started on Cherry Coke.
Thus ended the third day.
*****
DAY 4
Three zombies, standing in what appeared to be an equilateral triangle, staring east.
Creepy. As. Fuck.
Noticing a trend? Zombie countdown? I was happy they weren’t counting up. I crept up and dropped the first one before they even noticed me, which was also odd.
Coolville is where Highway 7 turns into US Highway 50, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I figured I’d keep following the road east, since that’s what my brother told me, and because of those zombies.
I went up the 50, but at the east side of town the bridge over Hocking River was gone. I don’t know what happened, but there was no bridge left. There were however, signs for Highway 144. Also--and this was disturbing--there was a dead guy at the crossroads. Like, really dead, not zombie dead. He wore a football uniform, though it looked like the pads didn’t save him. He was laying in the street, with his left arm stretched out in front of him, like he was pointing North, down Highway 144. His jersey had a big old 7 on it.
Hard to argue with coincidences like that.
So I took a left and went North for a while. Highway 144 runs right along the river, which is one of the things I love about the mid-west; there's rivers and forests and nature shit everywhere. If you know anything about which plants you can and can't eat, it's also a free buffet, depending on the season.
After about eight miles of some of the most beautiful country I’d ever seen, the road was washed out. I back tracked a bit and crossed over this little bridge that had somehow survived. It looked like shit, but it was sturdy enough for little old me. Then I just kept heading North. Whenever I came to an intersection, I took the road that looked like it would go North, and I eventually ended up on Ellis Run Road.
Here’s where it gets interesting.
There is this MASSIVE house on Ellis Run Road. It had a servant’s entrance, and out-buildings, and it even had wings. You know, like, “Jeeves, put the Alcott’s luggage in the East Wing and have that new girl set their things in order. They’ll be guesting with us for the summer.”
Sorry, it’s hard to put a snooty, upper-class accent in writing.
I thought that it looked like a pretty sweet place to spend the night. I was mistaken. Before I sleep in a house, I have to clear it. This place had more rooms than some hotels I’ve stayed at. Go through the front door, one zombie right away. He was wearing an IZOD sweater, khakis, and loafers. After I dropped him I took his school ring, though I’m not really sure why. I just wanted it. The rest of the ground floor was free and clear, so I didn’t think it was going to be bad.
All ten bedrooms were on the second floor and there was at least one zombie in each room.
My shoulders were getting tired by the third room, but I was committed at that point. The sun was down, and I’d barricaded the doors on the ground floor. So with one of those double flashlight things you wear like a headband, I went room by room and bashed a total of fourteen zombie heads. By the end my forearms were on fire, and I had a hard time letting go of the hammers. My hands wouldn’t unclench. I ruined several very expensive rugs that night.
Anyway, I went back downstairs and crashed in the dining room. It was right near the kitchen, which I planned on looking through the next morning before I left, and it had this amazingly thick carpet. I put some chairs in front of the doors and slept on the floor. I’m sure the beds upstairs were amazing, but I’m not going to sleep in a room with a dead guy on the floor, and I was too tired to clear the bodies.
It was a shitty end to a long day, but I wasn’t able to care at that point.
*****
DAY 5
When I woke up I could barely move my arms. It was rough. I overslept, too.
I staggered into the kitchen and found that they still had running water, somehow. I’m choosing not to question it; gift horse, and all that. They also had the pantry from heaven. I thought that running water was great, but I just about had to change my panties after I opened up that pantry. I mean, good God, it was larger than my old bedroom.
These people didn’t starve to death.
They had an almost empty wine rack, and I remembered wine glasses and bottles all over the place upstairs, so I guess they might have died drunk. Cans of chicken and beef stock. Those little pouches of tuna. Multiple cases of fancy, expensive water. A jar of marshmallow cream that was three months short of expiring. (Score!) Did you know there was such a thing as classy peanut butter? Because they had that. They had a case of that shit. In case you were wondering, it tastes exactly the same as normal peanut butter.
They had candy, too. Oh God, they had so much candy. It was by the flour and baking stuff, so it must have been intended as raw ingredients, but my mouth doesn’t care. Hard toffee candies. Those little cinnamon buttons. M&Ms that looked expired, but I couldn’t find a date and they didn’t make me sick, so fuck it.
They had all kinds of good stuff, including little cans of caviar, which I left, because I hate that shit. Seriously, whoever first thought caviar was a good idea, that guy was messed up.
I spent a solid hour raiding that pantry before my bag was full and I had to stop. I didn’t even get around to checking the out-buildings. I REALLY regretted leaving the place. It was in the middle of nowhere, and I probably could have lived there all winter. S
eriously, there was enough food for maybe three people to live for three months, if they rationed, and if they could stomach nasty caviar.
That seven on my arm was a solid reminder that I couldn't afford to spend too much time foraging. That's what I call taking dead people's food: foraging. I don't like the word "scavenge." It sounds like I'm going after road kill or something. I have yet to go after road kill. I'm not taking it off the menu forever, but I'm calling it a plan X, which is one step above starving (plan Y), and two steps above cannibalism (plan Z). Get it? Plan Z?
Sorry, they’re not all winners.
I hit the road, killed the two zombies that were waiting for me outside, and continued to head North. At this point I would have been freaked out if there hadn't been two zombies waiting for me.
I mentioned earlier that it was getting colder. Heading North didn't help to improve that trend at all. That wasn't a big deal, in and of itself. I had to start thinking about what I was going to do about the oncoming winter and the potential snow. I had to break my own rules and hunker down a couple times last winter. It was a moment of weakness that lasted several days/weeks at a time, and repeated itself multiple times over the course of about three or four months. Pro-tip: Snow is cold, don't go out in it. Seriously, fuck snow.
I got lost in the woods on the fifth day, because I'm a genius, and I know fuck-all about walking north through a heavily wooded area. You should try it; all the cool kids are doing it.
I finally got un-lost, and stopped at a farm just south of Bartlett. I wasted most of a day digging for gold (food) that I could have come back for later, and then wandering around a remarkably small area of woods for about seven hours. At the end of the day (I consulted a map to more accurately report my failure) I had traveled about eight miles.
Fuck. My. Life.
Also, while looking at the map, I realized that there was nothing in the area that had a seven in its name, or looked like the number seven, or fucking rhymed with seven. I was really hoping I didn't go the wrong direction or something, and I was getting pretty emotional about it all.
I woke up in pain, got lost in the woods, and made what I considered to be bad time, while over-thinking the incredibly preposterous situation in which I found myself. As the last few days had passed I had started going deeper down that, 'My dead brother talked to me in a dream,' rabbit hole, and also the, 'Is my brother really dead or am I going insane?' rabbit hole. I was a bit of a wreck, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried myself to sleep that night. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not scared to own it.
*****
"Hey now, don't cry." I opened my eyes and my head was on his lap. "You're doing great."
I looked up at him, smiling down at me, and there was a veritable storm of emotions in my head. I couldn't think clearly, so I just held him and cried. I don't know how long we sat there, but at some point I stopped crying and we just sat in silence.
"Are you dead?" I finally asked.
"Yeah, Barbie" he sighed, "They got me. But I didn't go down easy. And when I finally got all the way over to the other side, I didn't let them keep me."
"Don't call me Barbie. And what do you mean, you didn't let them keep you? What other side?" I asked him.
"I made a deal," he said. "I've got permission to keep you and Liz safe, but then I'm done."
"I still don't understand. What do you mean, done?"
"Just that," he said. "Done. I don't get to participate any more after that. This is my one chance to do something about this whole mess, and I chose to help you, because I believe that you can save Liz, and the kids."
"You get one chance to do something, and you blow it on me?" I asked, incredulous. "Do you have any idea how stupid that is? I'm a total fuck up! I can barely keep myself alive, and you want me to save your girlfriend? Wait, is she your girlfriend, or what? Because that hasn't been made clear to me."
"She was the love of my life, and I'll love her until the stars fade to black," he said. "But she wasn't my girlfriend. She's just a woman who made me want to be a better man. She reminded me of you, in that way."
"What does that even mean?" I demanded. "What am I supposed to do to save her? I can't think of a single thing I've ever done that was worth doing. I was never any good on my own. If you couldn't keep her safe, then what the fuck am I supposed to do? I'm not as strong as you. I don't even know where to go!"
"Oh Barbie, no," he held me and whispered, "You were always the strong one. You never let me quit, even when I thought things were impossible. You believed in me in a way that I could never believe in myself, so much that I couldn’t let you down. I was only brave because you gave me something to protect. I was only strong because you gave me something to fight for. I was only good because I was trying to be good enough for you. All of the strength I ever had, you gave to me."
He took my shoulders and looked me in the eyes.
"I will never stop believing in you," he told me. "Not even in death. There's a light inside you, even if you can't see it yourself. You're a beacon on a hill, showing other people the way to go. That's why I was able to convince them to let me help you. Because if the world is going to survive, it needs people like you. The world's gone dark, Barbie. Give it some light."
*****
Have you ever had a shitty job?
The kind of job where it doesn't really matter if you show up or not, because it's going to suck either way? But you know that if you don't show up, you'll get fired, and you need a job because bills don't pay themselves. So you serve your time, and you take your shitty check to the bank, and it eats you up inside that the vapid boob-job teller makes WAY more money than you do, and she only got that job because she's pretty. And why can't you get a decent job? You're prettier than she is, when you decide to give a fuck and put any effort into it. Not like it matters at your current job. Nobody there cares if you haven't showered in three days and you show up without makeup. Besides, you probably wouldn't get the job anyway, and then you'd just feel shittier.
Because sometimes it's easier to give up and coast. Just take your life out of gear and let it roll down hill.
When I woke up on the sixth day, I realized how stupid and selfish I'd been. I was so scared of getting hurt that I wasn't willing to do anything to help. I remembered times when I'd seen other survivors, struggling to get by, and I could have helped them.
I once saw a young couple in Tennessee as I was walking down the road. I came up on them from behind, so they didn't know I was there, and I decided to spy on them for a while. I wanted to watch them and see how they worked.
They didn't have a clue. They were hunkered down at the edges of a small town, staying in their house, and only going outside to take a shit or to get more firewood. At least they were smart enough to only light fires at night, when people wouldn't see the smoke.
Men were going through the town, street by street, door by door, and they were looting everything worth taking. They'd drop the zombies, and they didn't kill the living, much, so that wasn't so bad. But they'd still take your stuff, whether you were living, dead or otherwise.
I could have at least warned them. I could have told them to take what they could and get out while they had the chance. Even after the men came with their trucks and their guns and took all their stuff, that couple was still there, in their lonely, empty house. I could have gone and talked to them, told them about running, and how it's more important to stay alive than it is to feel comfortable. I could have done something. Hell, I could have done anything.
But I chose to walk away.
I can't take that back.
God save me, I wish I could.
I decided that I was done being a ghost. It was time to be alive again.
Fuck it. If the world needs a light, then I'll strike a match and burn the weeds to the ground. I'll give them a light they can't ignore.
I walked out the front door and cracked a zombie skull without breaking stride. I turned toward Bartlett and started running.
*****
DAY 6
Pro-tip: If you want a good map of the area, go to the post office. They've got the best maps.
There were twelve zombies wandering around town, so I led them around for a while until I was able to get at them on-on-one. I can’t stress that enough: take them on one at a time. My shoulders were still a sore from that Resident Evil mansion I crashed at on the fifth night, but I kept moving so I wouldn't stiffen up, and that helped.
Guess what's on the map at the Bartlett Post Office, way down at the bottom, in tiny little letters?
Cemetery Road.
I must have walked past it when I got lost the day before.
I don't know how I knew, but I knew this was it. I was finally going to find Liz and the kids. The more I write that phrase, the more it sounds like a shitty band name. Liz and the Kids, opening for The Mountain Goats, tonight only.
I was so excited that I was shivering a little bit.
I started running, but I made myself slow down and jog the 4 miles it took to get there. That's all, just 4 miles. I was closer before I woke up that morning. I actually had to jog past the house I crashed at the night before. To think that I was that close, but missed it in the dark, was borderline-maddening.
When I got to Cemetery Road, I stopped. It came crashing down on me, all at once, and it was heavy. I mean, I had to know, but at the same time I didn't want to know. You know? If they were there, then it was true. My brother was dead, and I’d have to live with that. I suddenly remembered that he’d said our parents were dead too, which was another pile of fun times. Also, somehow he was visiting me in dreams, which was a bit of a mind fuck (please leave out the incest jokes, you perverts, that’s disgusting). Though, on the plus side, it would mean I wasn’t crazy.
