A Story Without Explanations-- Sorry

As I walk to my mail box today, I find the flag had fallen down on its own, so I put it back up.
Kind of a pain. Maybe it was that temblor earlier?

It's still foggy despite the fact it's two in the afternoon, which is a little weird. Then, out of
the corner of my eye, I saw a few people strolling out of the fog with their hands out,
gesturing towards me meekly. Kind of like zombies. To hell with zombies, I say. I jog back
inside because zombies never seem to run.

I think about this for a little while. Okay, fog in the afternoon: check. It's colder than it
should be: check. There are slow retarded zombies: check. Guess it's a zombie apocalypse,
damn. I had always hoped that if zombies came about it would be an isolated incident, but
what with the mid-day fog, I knew it was probably the more rare and exciting apocalypse
variety.

Well, as long as there are mindless zombies who would make me one of them, I guess I
should beat a few to death with a stick.

So, I find a long stick I stashed in my bedroom. At my front door, I put my ear to the door to
check for zombies. No sound, no heat. No zombies. Okay, I'm good, I can establish a
perimeter of a few meters around my porch and maybe the rest of the house, until the horde
grow stronger, at which point it seems I may need to quit with the stick, and pick up a pistol.
What, am I an idiot, what if I can't get back to my room fast enough? Realizing my error, I
gear up. Couple of pocket knives. Flashlight. Beretta 92G Elite II in a nice DeSantis. Few mags
on the belt. Ten more in my gay little man purse (Knew this would come in handy.). Stick in
hand, I exit my front door.

Zombie, side yard, two shots to the head. Four zombies, front street, head, chest, head;
head, head; chest, leg, head; head, ass (damn manpurse). One in the side street. Little guy,
like 5'7". Stick death to you. Okay, that wasn't as fun as I thought it would be. Another
zombie coming towards me from the McDonalds, he's running, and yelling? Guess he's not a
zombie.

"Don't shoot! Help me!"
"Okay, you carry the stick."
"Fine, I need to get back to my place, my computer is there. It has all my work!"
"Dude, it's a zombie apocalypse, what are you going to do with your school work?"
"I don't know! I need it though!"
"Dude, no you don't, and unless you have a fortified position in mind, you're carrying my
stick. I have a lot of food in my place. We could last a few weeks there. The Kroger's is right
over there..."

Zombie, from around the side of the building, face, face, back. Magazine change.

"Sorry, so anyway, we should get to the Kroger's before this zombie thing gets too out of
hand."
"That's too far away!"
"You want to survive long enough to see this thing through, or don't you!"
"Fine!"

We jog to the Kroger's, picking off zombies as we go.

"So, I'm Zack, what's your name?"
"Evan, not like it matters now."
Wheez.
"How would a name not matter now?"
"This is the end of civilization, right?"
"Not so long as we know each other's names."

Ten dead (well, you know...) zombies. That's a magazine and a half. The fog makes it hard to
see them til you're close. Geez. We slow down a bit.

"Okay, stay near me, do not go off on your own. We need to pick up a bunch of non-
perishables."
"Okay."

Three more dead zombies. Mag change. Man, the place is empty. At least there is food.

We grab the canned food, a whole cart full, and get out of there. Five more zombies on the
way back. Mag change. Evan is pushing the cart.

At the house, I help lift the cart over the embankment and onto the porch. Unlock door. Push
cart in. Lock door. Those retarded zombies can't handle a door, so I guess we're fine.

"Okay, well, good to be alive, right?" says Evan.
"No kidding."
"So, what's on TV?"
"Zombie!"
"No! What the hell, man?!"
"Oh, sorry, I guess that is all we can do now. ... Here's the remote. I'm going to reload my
mags. It's a good thing I bought enough to be prepared."
"Geez man, what are you paranoid?"
"Oh, fuck off!"

So, now prepared for sticking this out, we stay in the house, conserve food, and talk.

The TV has all kinds of crap about this on all the stations. Uninformed jerks on the 24-hour
news channels. The religion channels are spouting off on how this is the end-times, and now
Jesus is gonna come back and save the righteous for the ever after. Whatever. MTV is still on.
Heh, figures.

On day three, after breakfast waffles, I think out loud, "So if zombies only consume human
flesh, and really don't eat that much of it, I wonder how long until they all starve to death?"
Evan overhears me and posits, "What, you don't think they eat anything else?"
"Have you ever seen a zombie eat anything else than human flesh?"
"No, but I bet they could."
"Yeah, maybe they can, but assuming they don't, how long til they all starve to death?"
"I don't know. Bear Griils says a normal person can live ten days without food."
"Oh Bear Grills! What does the guy on Survivorman say?"
"I think he said like eight."
"Okay, lets say zombies, for some reason, last three times that without food. That's twenty-
four days. We have enough food to last at least that long. We ought to be okay"
"Assuming they don't get smarter and start eating normal things."
"Yeah, and I guess if that happens we can all have a nice friendly game of cards."
"I'm being serious."
"So am I. If they start getting smarter and eating normal things, that will mean the zombie-
ness will be wearing off, and society can get back to normal."
"What if they still prefer human flesh?"
"If they are smarter and still prefer human flesh, then they will at least know not to fuck with
the guy with the gun."
"Yeah, I guess so."

A few more days and the power goes out. Man those guys at Allegheny Power must have
lasted a while. Good thing I stashed a bunch of batteries for the flashlights.

On day 20, the fog begins to burn off in the sun. It has gotten a lot colder, though, but I bet
that is because the sun wasn't getting through for days.

I decide it was time to venture outside and see what there was to see. Evan gets the stick, I
get my gun and the door. Outside, it is a a bit brighter, and there, indeed, are some more
dead zombies just laying around. Some corpses are less decomposed than others, so I keep
an eye out.

"Guess they didn't get smarter, huh." says Evan.
"Doesn't look like it."
"You want to get my car and take a drive? See if there are more survivors?"
"Sure, where's your car?"
"At the Law School."

We drove about, and found other survivors, first at the bong place, on High Street, actually.
And there were more, here and there. It seems all the zombies had indeed starved to death.

A lot of the people are talking about heading out West, finding a place to farm, subsisting.
Doesn't sound like a bad idea

Zachary Santer-- Contributing Author