The sound of Silo

At the top of the silo, after hours of running, I leaned over the wall, and peered into a massive pile of grain. Wheat likely, but it was at least 20 feet below.

The undead scratched, grunted, clawed and moaned from below. They weren't getting up, and I sure as hell wasn't getting down. So our choices were grain, suicide, or stand as long as possible on the tiny iron rungs we had been climbing to get to the top.

Tom was talking, but all I could hear were words. I don't know how long since we'd eaten. It had been at least a week since we had any protein. I was hungry, I was thirsty, and I was afraid for Finn. He was sleeping too long now. I never put him down to develop his own mobility skills unless we were sleeping, and my breasts grew more dry with each day. He had eaten all my body had to give him, and I had nothing to nourish myself and make anymore milk. I feared he was starving.

My ears were ringing, my feet and hands bleeding and throbbing, and my vision was swimming. I clung to the wall. Tom stood next to me, still talking, and I still lacked the ability to focus. I just needed to rest.

To dive into the grain was uncertain.... can you drown in grain? It's not solid, so how deep in it would we go, and would be able to swim out? What about my poor, beautiful Finn? And once inside, do we just die? There is no one to come for us, and nowhere else to go.

I can't hold on forever. I can't hold on for an hour. I need to rest. Finn needs food, and things look grim.

Then I heard the boom and whiz of... well.... was it a bullet? Were we being shot at? Fed to the Zombies? I look to the farm house, and see movement behind the partially closed shutters.

People! OH GOD, PEOPLE!

Hillbillies, perhaps, and maybe no better than hippies, but they have a fortified home, and perhaps food and water. It is unclear as to whether we were being shot down, or the zombies were being shot at, but with nothing to lose, I untied Finn from my back and held him toward the house.

I shook him in the air and screamed, 'HELP MY BABY! PLEASE HELP MY BABY! We're thirsty, and we're tired, but PLEASE help my BOY!'.

Tom was yelling as well, but not at them. He was telling me to hide Finn, to protect him. 'He thinks they're shooting at us...' I thought. And I wonder, what difference does it make? Finn is nearly dead, and I can't save him from up here. We don't have long, either. Maybe a gunshot is better than being torn asunder by eternally starving teeth and rotting flesh.

Tom reaches past me to get Finn, and in our struggle, I tumble backwards.... into the silo, still holding an unconscious Finn by his arm... and I feel the wheat move past my body, and Tom's muffled cries from above.

Culvert-land

It has been dark for so long, and we're all mad for the light. How long has it been? A day, a week, a moment.... we're all lost for time at this point, and the darkness has made us hungry like I've never known. Though not for food.

When we catch the first glimmer of sunlight, there is silence, as if no one dare breathe, for fear it will melt away. Like desert travelers in search of water, we are at the end of our tunnels, and our ropes, and fearfully, madly dashing toward the light, which dances with the shadows of leaves and branches, and rustles in a most beautiful, echo-less sound.

Tom is in front, he has lead us here. With few words, and little confidence, he has somehow reassured us that this is the way out. He seems, however, to be showing signs of wear. The wear and the madness of the dark, that we have all felt in the pits of our bellies seems to be growing, expanding, and we're all at the edge of madness as we desperately clamor, stumble, and race toward the edge of the tunnel, and the light outside.

In a moment, I am cast aside with the madness for the light, and I clutch Finn to me, who has been quiet for far too long, and fall hard on my hip. I cry out for Tom, terrified I will be left behind here, in the darkness, forever. The hippies were always a little cracked, but their desperation for the light seems more than ours.. and I wonder if they have EVER seen the light of day. They have lived underground their whole lives... what this must look like to them...

Tom comes back for me, as I am getting up, hip sore and likely to bruise, and he helps me stumble forward toward the end of the tunnel, and the world outside. He makes no sound, and the tension of leading us through these tunnels has left him frayed and tired. It's hard to say at first how far we have to go. The light seems a mirage, that fools us with it's rays, and dancing shadows. It could be 10 feet, or it could be 100. But we trudge on, quickly, and urgently desperate to get out of here.

After a time that feels like hours but it likely moments, I hear the moaning... Tom must too, as he stops dead. Where is it coming from? We look ahead and see that the hippies have reached the edge, and now fearfully grasp the edge of the culvert, looking back at us in overt terror.

As we get closer it is easy to see that we are not at ground level. And the moaning is still audible. Tom has his knife pulled, and is ready to fight, but steps away from the edge, baffled. As I lean over to look down I can see that we are 30 feet off the ground, in a large drain culvert, looking down on a man made lake at some teen boys in a boat who look to be quickly overtaken by 4 or 5 of the undead. Once they are in the water, they will be difficult to fight, as they don't need air like we do. But if the lake is man-made, we can hope it is deep, and that the zeds have forgotten how to swim. The boys look terrified.

For a moment I am sad that these strong young men, who could be so useful to us in surviving, are at their ends. Tom must be thinking the same thing, and he climbs out onto a large tree branch near the culvert, and then summons for us to join him. The hippies are terrified, but he motions for silence, so that we can only trust his guidance, and so as he asks. He has led us this far in safety, and slowly, Sage, Juniper, Corinader, and Hawthorne climb into the tree, and begin down the trunk. Tom begins to whittle makeshift weapons with his knife out of the longer, thinner branches, and it is clear he means for us to fight.

I clutch Finn to my chest, who is now cooing happily in the sun, and hope that for his sake, this is an easy battle. I don't know how much more bloodshed I can bear, but my god, does that sun feel good on my skin.

It seems to warm me from the depths of my soul, and after a few moments, I am renewed, and ready to do what is right.

Stepping into the unknown

I can't believe I'm in the fucking freezer. I can't believe this is my life. I watch as Finn laughs joyously at the flour spilled on the floor, and how he can make it move and throw it around. His laughter echoes oddly against the sounds of screaming, groaning, thick wet thuds, and electric hissing.

I can't just sit here. I need to move, so I pace. I pace and pace and pace, until I trip, and I realize there is a trap door in the floor. My toe caught it just so-- where the fuck are my shoes? Goddamned hippies. We don't all enjoy being shoeless.

I put Finn behind a shelf of large sacks of grain, and nestle him into a bed of cabbage leaves. He is tired, and soon drifts off.

I move for the door-- this could be the way out, or the way to let them in. I pause, sucking up the will to move forward, and open the door.

There is nothing.

It is dark, it is damp, and there is a ladder going down. It smells a bit like waste, but there is no moaning here, and it seems like it might be a way out. It could just be a place to hide, but either option sounds good right now.

I have no light, so I wait minutes that seem like hours for my eyes to adjust. These are low tunnels, and they look to go pretty far in either direction. I follow along for a while, and find another ladder with another door. It appears that I have found the basement, and those zombies will probably be too dumb to get in.

Maybe there is a way out. I habe no time to explore further, as I have to get back to Finn.

He is still sleeping soundly, so I cover him in blankets and sneak out the freezer door, hoping the sounds of the battle from outside won't wake him.

As the freezer door shuts behind me, I see the chaos about me, and search the room for Tom. I see a toaster and grab it, what a fucking a weapon. A toaster. But, before I can get snarky, my eyes fix on Tom, who is being overcome by one of them.

I run, I leap, I bound, and I smash that fucker's head in. What a gratifying crunch. He was faceless and lifeless, and I think he was one of us at one point. He was also missing his shoes.

Tom looks angry, and asks about Finn-- I tell him I think I found a way out, Finn is sleeping, and we need to get out of here before they eat more of us.

With a few hollers and some fancy footwork, Sage, Juniper, Coriander and Hawthorne are heading toward the freezer. As I step over Jasmine, my throat catches. They were only dreams, but her kindness sustained me, and her lifeless body sent chills up my spine. Are there only 6 of us left?

Once in the freezer I collect Finn and tie him to me in a sling, and explain what I've found. We barricade the door from the crawlers outside, though it is unlikely they will get in, and begin to search for a light source for the tunnels below.

God, I hope we're doing the right thing.

Preparing for Kitchenloo

I wake up in an old industrial kitchen...

'But I thought I was already awake... how did I get here?'

I look to realize I am slumped quite uncomfortably in a corner against a cabinet, with Finn nestled sweetly in my lap.

'I thought I was in containment... what is going on here?'

There is madness around me. People moving swiftly and quietly fashioning crude weapons from kitchenware, cabinetry, and furniture.

I can hear the groaning in the not so distance halls.

'These are the hippies... I am still underground... but where is Tom?'

I sit up to get a better view but an stopped short by the unbelievable agony in my head and neck.

'Fuck, it must have been part of the sickness, a delirious day dream. I am still sick, and no one has told me what is wrong with me yet, or how I got sick. Will I die this way?'

A teenager I have never seen before sees that I am awake and calls for Tom, just as I begin to vomit from the pain in my head. I slump back to the floor, holding Finn tightly, and watch as a man tears the legs off of chairs, and alters a blender and a wire whisk into something nightmarish. I begin drifting....

The teenage girl is in my face now, "You mustn't fall asleep, there is going to be a battle, we need you to be awake now, for your baby!"

But all I can do is stare and nod... and the nodding makes me wretch again. This headache is literally crippling me.

'battle? what the hell is this underground hippie yapping about???'

And then i hear the groaning again, and I know they're coming for us. And I cannot even lift a finger to defend myself or my precious child.

'How long have I been like this?'

I drift....

Tom and the old bearded hippie are talking to me now. The hippie is Sage, the teenager is Jasmine. They are going to give me a shot... it might help... it might not. But we are cornered and we have to fight, so if the shot doesn't work, I have to hide. I need to protect my Finn, so I will have to stay quiet. Not even a peep, so that they won't hear us, and come for us.

'Oh God... where are you?'

'OUCH!'

I guess that was the shot.

Tom is telling me he loves me, and he will fight for us. He is telling me he needs me to wake up now, and get better. I can hear the tension, and fear in his voice. I can hear the tears welling up in his voice. I wish I could talk to him, tell him I love him too. Say goodbye...

a moment passes.... nothing changes.

and another.

and another.

and another.



Then my eyes are open and I can see, and the waves of pain seem less, so I sit up. I look at Tom, and he laughs and hugs me with tears in his eyes. He clutches me to him as if I might fall, and I weakly clutch back, crying with the relief of he pain, and the joy of reunion. Team Curry is back in action.

We are interrupted by Sage "I hate to break up the reunion, but we have a battle to prepare for, and we need both of your help."

I turn to Sage, accusingly, "When this shit is over I need you to tell me exactly what was in that shot, and why you didn't give it me days ago." With each moment, it seems, my vision is clearer, my head is lighter, and the pain is less powerful.

He responded, "We did, right away, and you improved. You were near death when we found you. We hoped your body would do the rest with time, but we no longer have any time. We had a limited supply of the serum, and have given you the last of it. I'm glad it has helped you, but now if one of us gets sick from the virus, we will surely perish." His face looked grave, and stoic. "But we can worry about that after we get out of here..."

I say, sheepishly, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you for helping me. Now can someone tell me what we're doing about those zombies? They're getting closer."

And Tom starts to fill me in on the battle that is to come, and our strategy...

Dear Diary...

I hated the old hippie, and I didn't trust these fuckers as far as I could throw them-- and that wasn't very far in my current condition. They all seem weird, and socially removed. It's like they have their own norms down here, and their methods of communicating, moving, and heirarchy are all so foreign. I've never been to another country before, but our differences didn't just stop at social niceties. I couldn't put my finger on it, but they were more primal than us, almost more animal...

I'm still sick-- real sick, but I don't vomit anymore and they say that is an improvement. Though they don't advise it, finn has been nursing like mad. I know I'm sick, but I want him to get my antibodies so he doesn't get sick too. They say it doesn't work like that, but fuck them. what do they know? Fucking troglodytes. I'm his mother and I decide how this goes, not them. I guess I'm not a very good house guest for trolls.

I'm more exhausted than ever, and Tom has had to recap for me what was said in our little 'debriefing', and has kept me abreast of news as it has come.

I am in containment. I have been here with Finn for a few days-- not sure how many. I was able to walk out of that room, but only for about an hour, and then I collapsed. We had to break down some walls and backtrack through these crazy tunnels to get away from the hourdes of undead that were now underground with us. No one is sure how they got here, since they are so dumb. But it only takes one...

I'm in a dimly lit room with a cot, bathroom facilities, this notebook and pencil, and not much else. I'm thankful for the dim lighting because this migraine is still fierce, but sometimes I think I feel it starting to wane. They say I have to stay in here until six days after the headache passes. Sometimes I think that will be the rest of my life. Tom is allowed to visit an hour each morning and afternoon. He brings me food-- if you can call it that, and tells me about the hippies. I spend most of my time sleeping, but I have horrible dreams, so I shower a lot, too. There's no soap or shampoo, but a little hot water is usually all the doctor ordered to clear my head.

Hazel comes in three times a day to 'check on me' and administer more medicine. She says she was the woman outside my door when I first came to, and she was in charge of my recovery. She seems dim, but well meaning, and against my better judgement I trust her. She says I nearly crippled sage with that kick. Good to know I can still pack a punch when I'm incapacitated. She seems impressed by my skill and strength. I get the impression she hasn't met too many 'emancipated' women from above ground before. Her adoration is annoying but cute.

Oh, it's Tom time to visit with us, and I'm eager to show him how well Finn has learned walking in the last several hours. He slept through Tom's last visit.

More later, goodbye for now.

Finding my Sea Legs

Tom is alive.

I heard the man say that outside the door, but he is captive someplace and they are trying to test him for something… and he is fighting like hell.

Finn is not with him. Finn is not with me. My heart sinks, and I start to feel nauseous again, after all. They have taken my baby, and done something to me to make me sick, and now I am tied to a cot, nauseous, weak, and with a migraine the likes I’ve never felt before. They better not have hurt my child, or there will be hell to pay.

Beyond the throb of my head, and the swimming in my ears, I can hear shouts and voices from somewhere far away. Is that my Tom?

I start to work my legs to loosen the straps around my knees. Slow, methodical, isometric movements stretch the fabric that binds me.

I pray to someone I can’t name for his guidance and safety. I plead and I cry, and I wait. My breasts throb and swell with the unconsumed milk they have made for my son, and tears stream copiously down my face as I search for my strength reserves. How long have I been here? How long since Finn has eaten?

There is someone outside my door. She sounds upset. I think she is crying. Why would my captor be crying? She is not a hostage, I heard her talking to that man about Tom. I think I hear her walk away, but I can’t be sure.

The strap around my knees is loosened, and I start to work the one around my ankles.

I will not sit here and wait. I must get out. I must find Tom, and I MUST find my son. I will kill whoever took my son from us. with my hands. I will not flinch, and I will not waiver. It won’t be hard, and I won’t regret it. He is my blood, and my life, and I created him, and he is my responsibility. He is my everything, and I will not let him down, or I don’t know if I can live with myself.

Who the fuck are these people? As if the Zombies weren’t enough! Where am I, and why? What happened to me in that cornfield? Was I tranqued? Did they make me sick? Am I going to die?

They said Tom got in a fight, and I worry about his well being. I know he is tough. Strong, robust, and healthy. He has always had great strength and endurance, and I hope they serve him now. I hope they haven’t hurt him. I can’t live out there on my own. We’re Team Curry, and we need to get out of here together.

The fabric is slack around my ankles, and I am able to slip them through the strap. I arch my back and work at pulling my knees up to my chest to get them out, as well, but this is harder than it sounds. Every movement strikes searing pain into my head and back, and renews the feeling of impending vomit in the back of my throat.

I vomit, and I rest. I need a few moments to build up my strength so I can get out of these straps. With one giant push, I free my knees, and as I catch my breath, I start to scoot down on the cot to get my chest free of the strap that was thankfully, on top of my breasts, rather than under them. Thank God for small favors, right? If it didn’t hurt so much, I might have laughed.

I fall to the floor of the room. It is cold and feels like linoleum. My vision isn’t so good, and my glasses are missing. I scan for something I can use to cut the rope off of my hands.

I hear voices outside. There is no time for my hands. I crawl next to the cot near the door, and assume the position. IMPACT taught me to use my legs to their fullest. Sick or not, I am fighting for my life here, and someone’s groin is about to get the worst pounding of it’s life. I hope the mother fucker’s junk is severed.

The handle of the door starts to turn, and I see the blinding fluorescent light from outside. It’s go time.

Apart Again

I am walking through a field of knee high grass with unbridled Goldenrod, Queen anne’s lace, and tiny purple flowers I cannot identify. The sun is high and he sky is the most perfect shade of blue with traces of fluffy white clouds on the horizon. It smells sweet, and I can hear birds chirping in the distance.

I am refreshed. I feel rested, calm, and peaceful. I realize I am watching myself stand there, as if I am God. I can see through my own eyes, and those of the sky. I am wearing a loose fitting, long dress and no shoes. I am pregnant, and I can feel the child inside of me swimming. It is a girl. My hair is long and softly blows in the wind, curling around my neck and shoulders.

Though I am alone, I do not feel lonely, or anxious. I do not know where I am, though that doesn’t seem to matter here. I am warm, comfortable, and happy. I don’t see any reason to question things that may disturb my nirvana. Ignorance is bliss here.

I wander through the open fields and see rabbits and squirrels frolicking and chittering. I see birds flying from the treetops on the horizon, and I enjoy the feel of the grass under my feet. The child within me swirls and swims a dazzling ballet, and my euphoric surroundings seem to stretch on for miles.

Without warning, I am doubled over, and the pain in my stomach is blinding. I cannot catch my breath, and I crumble to the ground with my hands on my stomach to protect the child that is now in danger from unseen forces.

I open my eyes to see a corn field around me, and a very rabid looking possum snarling at me. I am dirty, hot, and stinking. My stomach is revolting with cramps, and I quickly vomit in the direction of the angry possum, causing him to retreat. No sooner do I finish being sick, than I hear sounds in the corn around me.

In the moments that follow it becomes clear that I have become very ill. My head is spinning, and my eyes threaten to close. I am unable to stand, and am not sure if I am lying on the ground, or sitting up. There is no way I can defend myself from the walking dead in this state, and I desperately try to crawl away. However, sightless and pained, all I can do is wildly flail in place.

Over my labored breathing I think that I hear voices, but I can’t be sure. I try to force my eyes open, but am unable. I want to open them with my hands, but I realize that I cannot feel them. It’s as if I don’t have hands at all anymore. All I can feel is the searing, intense pain in my stomach, and a desperate longing to be asleep.

I can hear them coming for me as I lay there, and I am completely unable to defend myself. The violent retching is unstoppable, and my head pounds more loudly with each moment that passes. I feel as if death is upon me. I would beg for it if I could speak.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The group of people come upon the sick woman in the corn field. She appears to be unconscious, save for the intermittent vomiting. She is about 30, and looks as if she has been homeless for days.

Leader, “This must be one of them. I don’t think she is alone. There will be others nearby. There is no way she made it this far alone.”

Person 1: “But is she military? Look at her boots and pants, they are military issue fatigues.” The fear in his voice was unmistakable.

Leader, “No, she would have been innoculated if she were military, and there would be many more of them. Let’s collect her and search for the others. She needs the drug as soon as possible, and her friends will soon.”

With that, two of the larger men scooped up the flacid woman, and carried her away. There were 4 left in the group, and they set off in the direction of Tom's camp.

_________________________________________________________________

When I open my eyes, I do not know where I am, but when I try to call out I learn that I cannot speak. I realize I am tied to a cot someplace dark, and give my eyes time to adjust to the darkness. I try to sit up but am prevented from doing so by a headache the rival to which I have never felt.

My stomach is cramping like I’ve never felt before, and I can taste vomit in my mouth. It is clear I have been very sick, but I feel no nausea now. My breathing is ragged and frenzied, as if I had just been running. I want to get up and get out of here, but I can do nothing but lay here and rest.

What about Finnegan? And Tom? Are they where I am? I don’t hear much, and am not sure how I got here, or why I don’t remember it.

I decide to take inventory of my person so that I am better equipped to deal with situation in the event that something changes. I am clothed, and strapped in to a cot of some kind by my chest, knees and feet. My hands are bound. I am under a blanket, and a pillow is under my head and knees. Who takes such care with the comfort of their captives?

What the fuck is going on here?!?!? There are fucking zombies running rampant everywhere, then I get deathly ill, and abducted without my knowledge and am strapped to a cot in some strange place? Truly, I am unsure how to cope with all this… or if I even can.

Just as I begin to panic, I hear a voice outside.

_____________________________________________________________________

A dark haired young woman sits at the end of a long, meagerly lit corridor reading Gray’s Anatomy with a furrowed brow. She appears to be guarding a doorway when she is approached by a bald man with a white beard.

“Hazel, how is our visitor?” asked Sage, the leader from the scouting group seen earlier.

Hazel replied, “She has been asleep since we administered the drug. I’m not sure, but I think she may be comatose. It’s only been 10 hours, though, so it’s too early to tell. Were there more, or was she alone?”

Sage let out a heavy sigh. “She has a husband, and a son. But they did not come easily. Who can blame them, the world has gone apeshit up there. I’m sure I wouldn’t be too keen on strangers telling me they had taken my wife and that I needed to follow them underground to a former military testing facility.

He beat the hell out of Saffron and Rue when they tried to take him. He only came peacefully when he realized Rosemary had taken the child amidst the chaos. He is angry, and desperate to see his wife, and who can blame him. Right now Ginger is trying to administer a sedative so that we can test to see if he and the child have also been exposed to the virus. He is being less than cooperative”

Hazel’s eyes were wide, “Will we give them the drug? We only have so much…” she trailed off.

Sage quickly replied, “There has been a vote, and it has been decided that they must stay here in the community if we use our resources to help them. We have yet to discuss any of this with him yet, but I think he may be more rational after the sedative, and he sees that we have not harmed his wife or child. He has little choice though, because his wife will be staying with us, having already been saved by the drug.”

“I’m sure the community will be pleased to have new members. I wonder what they know how to do, and how they will contribute. We could really use a medic or a carpenter. Even a gardener would be helpful.” Said Hazel.

A man runs down the hall, “Sage! We need your help. Our visitor has taken Ginger hostage and is threatening to harm her if he is not allowed to see his wife and son.”

“Apparently I am needed elsewhere,” Sage smiled at the look of abject horror on Hazel’s face, and followed the man down the hall the way he had come.

Camp, Chaos, and Corn

Tom had been having bad dreams for eight days, now. I think we were all starting to show signs of PTSD now that we were in the relative safety of the camp. Several times each night he seemed to wake with a fury, ready to fight. I never asked him what he dreamt about, it seemed obvious. I, too, was dreaming, but of my father. Each time the circumstances varied, but each time the message was the same—be ready to get out, you’re not safe yet. I was grateful he wasn’t alive to see all this.

The first 48 hours in camp were the roughest. But we soon learned that things were not as they seemed. After two days, almost to the hour, we were all lead back to an open encampment behind the school. There were probably 25 open air tents, and several areas designated for kitchen, firearms, etc, and it was all closed in by a fence. The camp was outdoors, and there were about 100 people already living there. The perimeter of the camp was set a quarter of a mile out from the fence on all sides, and guarded by men with guns, and dogs. At all hours we heard the static of radio communiqué of the guards checking in from their posts. There was even a makeshift watch tower.

All in all, we were relieved to see that life would not consist of an elementary school gym, and were pleased to assist in the cooking and upkeep of the camp. There were cold showers that we were allowed to take in 60 second increments twice per week. They let me have 15 seconds longer so I could wash Finn, as well. One kindly, older officer even gave me an extra pair of fatigues and shoes since my skirt and torn flip flops weren’t going to make it much longer. They gave me fabric scraps to make cloth diapers for Finn, and as long as I washed them daily, I had enough. The food wasn’t great, but the safety and comeraderie was. We made friends and settled in, not sure if were there to ‘wait out’ the threat, or to create a new, enclosed civilization.

The guards and officers kept their distance from us for the most part. Their sleep tents were at the opposite end of camp from us, and it was clear they were trying to maintain some secrecy. We didn’t ask, and they didn’t tell—a policy we were all familiar with. We learned to clean firearms, and took turns digging latrines, doing dishes, cooking, and helping out wherever needed. It was beginning to feel like home.

On our second day in the open air camp, another paddy wagon arrived. We saw another group unloaded, checked and quarantined for 48 hours. Then again on our fifth day, but this time something went wrong. The people had been transported in the back of a semi-trailer, which appeared to have hit the building, and when they opened the doors, zombies spilled from the cargo hold. It took under 30 minutes to contain the threat, and we were all grateful, if not morosely astonished at their efficiency. That night, the truck was loaded with the bodies of the slain undead, and driven away, not to be seen again. Tom seemed to be really affected by this, and his dreams were especially turbulent that night. No one could say it wasn’t nerve-racking, but then, no one said much about the incident at all. The air was heavy with grief, and the sudden reminder of what we had all survived before we got to this place.

On our eighth night, I awoke at my father’s insistence, he said it was time to go soon, and to be watchful. I woke Tom when I heard the commotion, and we listened to the lookout tower soldier hollering to one of the guards on his radio to retreat post haste, and we heard dogs and shots erupting like wildfire from our left. An automatic weapon was unloading, and it was soon joined by another and another—a chorus or machine fire filled our ears and chests as we waited, and the camp seemed to erupt into chaos. Campers were crying and huddled, fearing the worst. Tom and I sat quietly on our cots, hoping for a sign of what was to come. I wondered if it was really time for us to leave.

After about fifteen minutes of this, we were told in no uncertain terms by a very persuasive soldier that we were to remain in our tents, be quiet, and await further instruction. He told us there was a potential security breach, but that protocol was being followed and we would remain safe. We heard shouts that a soldier was compromised (bitten…?), and that he needed to be quarantined. We were surprised that he hadn’t already changed…and the rumors began circulating.

By dawn, we had ascertained that the soldier had been asleep at his post when the lookout saw the threat, and tried to rouse him over the radio. We weren’t sure if he was bitten or not, but we did know he was being held in the quarantine gym, so must have been exposed somehow. Despite the rumors, campers settled back in to their daily routines despite their bleary eyes and weary hearts.

The next night I woke again, my father urging me forward, telling me it was no longer safe. I know it’s crazy, but I could feel in my bones that he was right. Something was wrong here, and it was too damned quiet. I woke Tom, told him my feeling, and insisted that we needed to leave. He asked the practical questions, “How could we leave? Where would we go? What would we use to protect ourselves? and Are you out of your fucking mind?”. I had no answers, but I knew it was time.

The soldiers moved quickly, quietly, and with purpose, as the other campers lay sleeping. Once more we heard gunfire, but this time it was coming from the school. My heart sunk as I realized that the quarantine was broken, and there were zombies inside the camp. The solider must have been bitten last night, and now he would infect us all. We were under attack from an undisclosed, and soon to be exponentially endless number of zombies, and one hurried glance told me that Tom was ready to leave now, as well.

We grabbed our blankets, and I quickly tied the baby to my back with them, using a pillow to pad his back in case I fell, or ran into something. I was surprised to see a pair of bolt-cutters from the manual labor tent emerge from under tom’s pillow. He didn’t meet my eyes, I knew he was embarrassed to have shown me his fear, but now his precaution told us how we would get out.

The campers were starting to stir now, but we waited until the coast was clear, and cut through the fence. We couldn’t afford to travel in high numbers, and we didn’t want to be apprehended and forced back in by the soldiers. One glance behind me revealed that a few had seen us but stayed on their cots, as if their stillness would protect them from the legions of undead that would soon be upon them.

We crawled on our bellies and made our way slowly through the tall grass until we were past the unguarded perimeter. All the soldiers must be in the camp now, trying to save it. We could hear screams and destruction from behind us, but we dared not look back to see our new friends ripped asunder. We had seen enough carnage to last a lifetime.

And then we ran. We ran all night, stopping only for a minute or so every half hour to rest. I never knew I had it in me. I managed to nurse while jogging a few times to comfort Finn, and I was grateful for the pillow and blankets so I could keep my hands free to swat away branches and debris.

We were in the country somewhere, and as day broke, we approached a small deserted town. Where were the zombies? Or the people? How could there be none here at all? I saw my question reflected in Tom’s incredulous expression, and we moved slowly and stealthily through the thoroughfare, hoping to find a clue or some food.

We were both too frightened and weary to search the homes just now, but we did manage to gather up a splintered baseball bat, a box of paper towels, and a few large rocks. We took our bounty with us into the surrounding corn fields, and began to erect a shelter.

I always hated those survival shows, but had never been happier to have seen them! We used the bolt cutters and corn stalks to erect a shelter, and laid down one blanket to keep the bugs off the baby, and the other overhead for some shade. I found a nearly dry creek bed, and used the pillowcase to filter some water from the mud. We were surrounded by feed corn, which was hard but still edible, and we did out best to eat some of that. We used the paper towels to keep Finn’s bottom clean and dry, since it seemed diapers were a thing of the past. By mid afternoon we had made camp, and I volunteered to take first watch while Tom slept with Finn on his chest.

As I stood watch my mind began to drift:

What the hell was next?

Where were we, and how would we stay safe?

Where would we go from here?

What the hell happened to that town, and why was no one in it?

I wonder if we can find a car there…

God, I’m hungry…

And then I was sleeping.

Paddy Wagon Field Trip

After Tom and I left in our neighbor’s car, we were almost immediately apprehended by some seriously disgruntled military folk, and loaded into a paddy wagon. Yes, a paddy wagon. We were in very close quarters with 8 other people who looked just as frightened and hesitant as I felt. No one spoke. I wondered if we were being quarantined, or led off to be killed. I felt like a prisoner of war, and the whole scene reminded me of Nazi prison camp movies. They weren’t answering questions, and we often just listened quietly as they fought and killed what we perceived to be huge numbers of zombies. If they failed, we would be sitting ducks in this locked wagon. At Tom’s insistence they grumpily gave me blanket and a few cloths to use as diapers for Finnegan. He had developed a hell of a diaper rash sitting in that nasty diaper during the trek form my van to my garage. They kept us there with no food and little water until nightfall, when be joined a military caravan heading to what they were calling the ‘safe camp’.

It took us hours to get there, and I’m not sure where we were, except that it was about an hour south of route 30. I got the impression they were taking the long way around and trying to complicate our route so we wouldn’t know where we were. The camp was in an old grade school. Something about the painted cinder-block walls brought me comfort.

Once we arrived at the camp, the uniformed officials explained that this is a holding facility, which is protected by the USMC. They told us we were survivors of a highly contagious mystery pandemic that was causing infected people to cannibalize other people, thus infecting their victims. They diplomatically avoided the word Zombie, and referred to them as ‘the infected’. The irony of propaganda and diplomacy at a time like this was ridiculous. They said we would be examined for contamination before we were allowed in, but that once admitted we would be given a bed, rations, and would be expected to contribute to the survival of the colony. Colony? This was getting sort of creepy... it reminded me of ‘28 days’ where the military nut jobs decided they needed to repopulate with a 13 year old girl.

But I think the word pandemic was what scared me most. I still held out hope that this was a local menace, to be contained and exterminated in a matter of weeks. After which I could get an insurance check for my house and start my family’s life all over again in a safely insulated, Starbucks-laden suburb. Was this to be a permanent shift in the survival of civilized life? What would become of our culture, values, and infrastructure? They wouldn’t answer any questions, and though unsettled, we were glad to be safe. Family units still clung to one another, though now there was a bit of chatter between the groups.

I looked around and guessed there were about 20 of us, and more than 100 uniforms. We didn’t stand a chance of rebelling, and let’s hope we wouldn’t have to. Next, they announced that the men were to be separated from the women for medical exams, and I was very distressed to be taken away from Tom. The look in his eyes as they lead the men out said so much... he was trying to be strong for me, but after being separated once, it was difficult to hide his fear that he wouldn’t see us again. He mouthed the words ‘I love you’ and just speaking them seemed to strengthen his resolve to be optimistic. He squared his shoulders and looked bravely ahead with his fists at his side as they lead the men inside. This moment had the opposite effect on me, and I melted into woeful sobs, tightly gripping my son to my chest. He looked so brave, and I hoped he wouldn’t have to be. The other women and children sobbed unabashedly, and the tension in the air seemed to rise in concert with our cries.

We were next lead to the 'medical wing' which was formerly a third grade classroom, and were told to strip down to our undergarments. It was strange to feel so vulnerable while surrounded by finger paintings and childhood masterpieces. The exams were humiliating but brief. There were no female officers, which seemed to heighten everyone’s wariness of the exam, and were put into a line to undergo partial exams from several different men. We were made to lay on a table and every inch of our bodies was looked over slowly and carefully for cuts and scrapes before passing us along to the next officer. They even parted our hair, checking our scalps for signs of infection. I couldn’t understand what they were looking for. All the zombies I had seen seemed to turn immediately. They checked Finn first, and he was quickly cleared for occupancy. My turn took longer. They lingered near my legs and feet which were torn up quite a bit from my trek in the woods. They took a long time checking them and cleaning them with iodine. I don’t know how they could tell if we were infected by just looking, but I suppose they were looking for bite marks. They were not gentle. The men wore rubber gloves, white coats, masks, guns, and goggles over their camoflaged fatigues.

We were examined out in the open in front of everyone, and even had to briefly remove our panties and bras. I refused at first, fearing their intentions, and wishing for Tom. I told them I would NOT submit to a pelvic exam. Thankfully, they only wanted to check for bite marks. I sarcastically asked if they knew anyone who had oral sex with a zombie and lived to tell about it. The officer coldly told me I could comply, or I would be coerced. I acquiesced to the rest of the humiliating exam while the elderly woman in front of me who had already finished her exam shivered and quietly cried while she did her best to comfort a distressed Finn. He seemed to take extra long moving my pubic hair about looking for wounds, and almost seemed to enjoy checking my butt, thighs, and breasts for marks. It took all I had not to spit in his face when he told me I was finished and could move on to the next man in the line. I won’t ever forget his face.

We were then allowed to dress and taken outside to be sniffed by the dogs. There must have been 20 German Shepherds out there, and we each prayed they wouldn’t bark at us. A few people were removed from the line and taken for ‘additional testing’, and their families roared with fear and grief—until they were taken as well. Little did we know we wouldn't see those people again. I could hear more dogs in the distance, and gunfire. I think they were being used to signal the arrival of more undead at the perimeter of the camp.

We were then reunited with the men who had undergone similar exams. Tom and I held each other in a wordless embrace that calmed my seething mind, and Finn abruptly stopped crying. We were then lead to men with clipboards who recorded our names, addresses, social security numbers, and a few other personal details before handing us all a bottle of water, a protein bar, and showing us into the gymnasium. Here we were told to find a cot with a scratchy pillow and a blanket for the night, and if nature called we were to use the buckets in the back of the gym. It wasn’t 4 star, but it was safe and we were together. Soon we were locked in, and we all did our best to sleep through the barking dogs, gunshots, and soft, muffled crying from the surrounding cots.

The next morning we were given water and some goopy oatmeal type stuff. It was flavorless and slimy, but it was food and I was glad to have it. We were told we could not go outside, but they brought in a basketball for the kids to play with, and the adults huddled in small groups, introducing themselves to one another and speculating on what was happening out there, and what was to happen to us. I expected to be given jobs to ‘aid the survival of the colony’ like they said yesterday, but we weren’t given any. Armed guards sat at the three entrances to the gym and we wondered if they were there to protect us, or to protect others from us. It was unbearably hot, and soon the gym smelled like body odor, feet, and open latrine gas.

I met a couple name Ava and Daneen. They were expecting a baby but hadn’t told the officers, and she wasn’t so pregnant yet that you could tell right away. I wondered which would be harder, protecting an unborn child like hers, or an infant like mine. He was a fireman with broad shoulders and a dark complexion, and he no doubt sought out Tom for being one of the stronger looking men of the group in case there was some kind of battle. She was sweet looking-- sable black hair with high cheekbones and full lips. They had been travelling from Park forest when apprehended, after being driven from the firehouse by zombies. He’d had to kill a lot of them, and agreed that their key vulnerability was their stupidity, and their strength was their numbers.

We were soon joined by two other couples and the same elderly woman who cared for Finn during my exam. Her name was Matilda, but went by Tilly, and she told me I was brave to have a mouth like that with those men. I disagreed that it was probably foolish to pick a fight just then, but like an animal, I bite when cornered. I thanked her for holding Finn and keeping him safe during my exam. I didn’t want to hand him over to them. They would have scared him mercilessly with their masks and goggles. Tilly’s kids were there, and they were also from old Matteson. I recognized the wife, Molly —she was a teller at my bank in her late-forties, and her husband, Scott, was a retired elementary school teacher. They were seized while out looking for their tween and teenage children, and were terrified to think that they may not see them again. The other couples names were Henry and Ramona. Henry was a pastor at a church in Richton Park, and Ramona was a homemaker who seemed the type to make just about anything from scratch. Perhaps it was just the circumstances, but they all seemed very picturesque.

We all speculated about how this started, and to an outside observer, we must have sounded like whacked-out conspiracy theorists. Some thought it was a virus, others a mutation, and others thought it was biological warfare from Al Quaeda. Some wondered if it was merely a disease with a very short incubation period. We were all able to agree that a swift, hard blow to the head seemed to kill them, but short of that they were impervious to pain, injury, or fear.

The guards would patrol the gym every couple of hours. Twice while Finn was asleep they would ask how long he had been down, and if that was normal. They even seemed apprehensive when I breastfed him. I pretended not to notice their vigilance, and I wondered why on Earth they would be so concerned with such a tiny little boy. He can barely crawl.

By the end of the first night we were all sitting in groups playing word games, telling stories, and smiling as if we were old friends on a camping trip, instead of zombie-killing-vigilante-hostages being held at gunpoint in a school gym with dogs barking outside to hunt the undead.

Before bed, Henry and Ramona lead us in prayer. Even in this climate of primitive fear, and dire circumstances, I could not bring myself to believe. This unsettled me more, as I had nothing for comfort, and right now nothing looked more bleak than our future in this camp. Feeling isolated and uncertain, Tom and I went to bed, and I took Finn onto my cot.

I dreamt of my dad. He told me we weren’t safe yet.... he held my son and told me to be vigilant, that the time for rest was not here yet. I awoke to find Tom watching me sleep, reached for his hand, and joined the choir of muffled cries as I listened to the dogs and gunshots in the distance.

Fighting in Flip Flops

Trudging forward, I notice the smell of burning gets stronger. It’s hard to see the smoke. It’s a cloudy night, but I’m sure it’s there. I just wish I knew which direction it was coming from. I’m only about a half a mile from home now, and Finn is finally sleeping quietly, tied to my chest in the Mei Tai. Thank God for small favors. There’s not much you can do to soothe a crying baby while fighting a zombie or running for your life. And his cries only call more of them.

When the van broke down, I cried for about 10 minutes before I could get a hold of myself. I was so adrenalized I couldn’t feel my body anymore. Everything seemed to tingle, and shake, and it was hard to catch my breath. I’m not sure if it was adrenaline, or panic. Maybe a little of both.

There were Zombies in the McDonalds. They couldn’t figure out how to get out, but they were in there, and they were not few. I finally decided that I couldn’t wait out the McZombies in my van. It was too far for me to go get gas, so I needed to walk home. I really didn’t want to leave my vehicle, but I didn’t have much choice. Sooner or later they would find me, and I don’t know how long I could hold out. You can’t exactly fortify a minivan.

I was so scared I threw up a couple of times while I was searching my vehicle for a suitable weapon. No such luck. I had my long ice scraper, and some bug spray. Not exactly ideal weapons for undead hand to hand combat. I just kept telling myself that I didn’t need to be stronger, I needed to be smarter and faster. I ditched the diaper bag and car seat, they were too bulky and rendered one arm useless. I still can’t believe I’m still alive, and I managed to protect Finn. Though I think he may be scarred for life, as little as he is. I hope he’s too small for that kind of damage.

I’m almost home, and am successfully evading zombies by climbing fences and skulking behind bushes and trees and the such. Tom will take care of us soon. He will have a plan. And he’d better have a really good fucking reason why he isn’t answering my calls. I will not even consider that he is hurt. He is strong, young, and determined. Above all, he is smart. If I’ve made it this far, I’m sure he has too. I’m wearing flimsy little $1 flip flops and a skirt- oh, and a 17 pound baby. Unencumbered, I’m sure he’s at home waiting to let us in, and ready with rations and a plan to survive.

I managed to run past the McZombies ok, but Finn started crying and more and more zombies started appearing from the businesses along the road. It soon became clear the main path was not the way to go. Outside the roller rink (I couldn’t fucking believe this) I had to fight a roller zombie. Roller blades on the undead are NOT helpful. Though they lack the agility to maneuver correctly, they can get moving pretty quickly downhill as long as they remain upright. When I saw him coming, I did a modified safe drop (to protect Finnegan) and did a side posture kick at his knee. I was hoping for a broken knee cap, but that didn’t happen. Though the heel is the strongest bone in the human body, it’s less effective when your target is on wheels. I did, however, knock him down, and I used my ice scraper to obliterate his eyes. Roller skates or not, if you can’t see me, I can get away.

So, after jetting past the roller zombie I came to the Richton Park police station. I hoped to break into a car, or steal a gun or something. But I don’t know how to break into or hotwire a car. I’ve only been trained on strategy by the movies. Where is my scrappy delinquent, or unlikely but funny black man to show me ghetto fabulous survival techniques? Anyway, I saw a few police zombies, but I thought it would be best to avoid them. They looked strong, and since I don't know how to fire a gun, I wasn’t sure it was worth the risk of acquiring one.

Since the streets were rather dense with the dead, I decided it was best to cut through residential areas. Old Plank Trail runs from just behind my house all the way to Joliet, and I hoped that would be a safe means to get home. There would be fewer brains in the forest preserve, and hopefully fewer zombies. I was hoping the laws of supply and demand were still in effect, since logic and reason seemed to be out of commission.

I was bleeding a lot along the side of my leg and hip from dropping and swivelling on the blacktop, and I was sure to have a beautifully bruised hip. My feet were bleeding too, from all the underbrush and rocks I was walking through. They didn’t seem to be able to smell me, which was a relief. I only encountered one other zombie on my way to the trail, and I was able to break her knee, use the bug spray in her eyes and run away. It was really hard not to scream as I fought her, because I was conditioned to scream and yell and make noise to help me find my strength in self defense class—and to attract attention. But right now, attention was the LAST thing I wanted. I threw up after the fight again. I was absolutely sick with nerves-- and it was hell to keep Finn quiet after each of these encounters. I gave him some Motrin before getting out of the van because that tends to make him drowsy, and I’m sure that is the only reason he’s not wailing right now.

After that last attack, something new inside me seemed to wake up. Though I was still pulsing with adrenaline, something more primal was beginning to emerge. It got easier to walk in these shitty flip flops, I grew more stealthy while walking in the woods, and all of my senses seemed to be on high alert—without all the puking. I could see zombies meandering about, and had it together enough to freeze and remain quiet until they passed, or to circumvent them entirely. I felt like a hunter, and I wasn’t so panicked anymore. I’m sure this is what helped me get this far.

I looked at my watch—a habit that seems ridiculous and out of place now, to see how long it had been since I last spoke to Tom. It’s approaching 11. We last spoke about 8:30, I think. That seems like days ago. I’m almost home, and I know he’s worried. I can’t wait to change my clothes, and get into some decent shoes. Eating and showering are on my list, too, but I don’t know how safe either of those things will be just yet, so my hopes aren’t too high. Bed sounds like a dream, and I know Finn is in serious need of a new diaper and some clean clothes.

As I round the bend of a side street only a few blocks from home I begin to realize the neighborhood is absolutely infested with Zombies. I recognized several of my neighbors milling about looking for lunch, and grew concerned that we wouldn’t be able to stay home long. It looks like the power is out, too. So much for waiting this out at home. I don’t know how we will transport the baby safely in the truck, and where the fuck do we have to go? I start to think about my mom and brother and sister, but I stop myself. Let’s just get through one obstacle at a time.

The crackling of the fire becomes clear, and the smell of the smoke becomes stronger. There are no fire engines, and this fire has clearly been at it a while. Looks like law enforcement as we know it is also out of commission. I have to get home and call my family asap, before the cell phone lines go down, too. For all I know, they already have. Though my phone is on me, it’s turned off so I don’t alert anyone unsavory to my presence.

I am dodging zombies left and right through the bushes, and praying that Finn stays asleep long enough for me to get us to safety, and to Tom. I am amazed at how easy it is to stay hidden. I know zombies aren’t bright, but I’m not exactly trained in guerilla tactics either. As long as I don’t make any noise, I should be home in minutes. I will have serious problems, though, if I do reveal myself. There are dozens of them, and unless I can climb up the side of a house in these flip flops with a baby strapped to my belly, I’ll be toast.

Walking through my neighbors yard, I gasp, and I break out into a run. My house is on fire. Where is my husband? I run out in the open, temporarily surged with panic and grief, praying to a God I don’t believe in, begging for my husband to still be alive. By the time I realize I’ve jeopardized my position, it’s too late to hide myself. The zombies see me, and the moaning begins. I see Jennie, my crotchety old neighbor who walks the streets and tells you if your lawn is too long, and my heart sinks.

As I reach the house, I am yelling for Tom without even realizing it. I sob and I scream for him, as if the volume of my calls will bring him to me sooner. As the neighborhood beings to shamble in my direction, and the moaning begins to drown out my cries, my garage door flies open and Tom screams for me to get inside. He’s holding a shovel and a lantern and is very angry at me for making so much noise. I’ve never been more delighted to be in trouble in all my life. The baby is screaming as I duck under the slamming garage door, and tears run copiously down our faces as we hold each other in the most powerful embrace of our lives. Even if we die, we’re doing it as a family.

Internal Dialog, Infernal Panic

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.

You’ve got to be kidding me. All those times Tom told me all about Zombies, ‘just in case’, and all those times I laughed at what a geek he was and told him his Zombie obsession was weird. Good God. This is just too hard to process. We’re looking at a potential pandemic, here. I’m beyond terrified. How on Earth can I protect Finnegan, or myself, for that matter? He’s just so perfect and deserves a chance to become who he is. I am so out of my element, here. And I am so scared.

And it’s not like our government has a good track record in handling disasters.... is FEMA going to provide out post Zombie- apocalypse housing? Please. I know we have a strong military, and it’s inevitable that we’re going to go under martial law once they realize what is happening. I just hope they are smarter than they act. I don’t have much faith that their numbers or power will do much good. After all, it only takes one idiot in charge to render everything useless. God, I hope I’m wrong.

I talked to Tom briefly, and he told me to turn around. And go where? There are FUCKING ZOMBIES everywhere, and my gut says to go AWAY from them, so I am. Like I’m going to fight for my life without him. I will NOT separate my family in a time of crisis. We are a team and we will do this together. My sister called us ‘Team Curry’ when I was in labor with Finn, and it stuck. Team Curry will do this together. I don’t know if I have the inner calm to do this alone anyhow.... I just can’t believe this is happening.

Sarah just called. She’s in her closet and afraid to come out, and never did get her long coveted boob job. It’s just as well. No good to be post-op of any kind with Zombies on the loose. She should really go to her parents’ house. They’re such Superheroes. I know they’re going to have the best fortress around. I told her I couldn’t talk, had to drive—driving really fast to get home. She says Cecil isn’t home yet. God, I hope he’s safe.

I keep seeing people everywhere, but I can’t tell if they’re Zombies or not. It’s hard to tell when you’re driving 100mph. Either way, there is an awful lot of foot traffic for a weeknight on some barely lit roads. I need to get home, and fast, and I think I have enough gas—but just barely. The low fuel light is on and has been for a while. I wonder if Tom has the house fortified yet... and how long we have to get provisions. I wish I had a better vehicle in case we have to flee.

Oh my God, how am I going to fight Zombies with my son? He’s so innocent and young and helpless. He can’t even crawl away. Fuck. Focus on something else...

This just can’t be happening. Everything I learned in school is useless, all of my skills and education are worth nothing if I can’t survive some hand to hand combat. And can I?... I mean I took those self defense courses, and I even helped teach a few, but my attacker has gone from a mugger/rapist to an undead bag of pathogens... all they have to do is puncture the skin the tiniest bit and it’s all over. I wish I could get one of those shark-proof chain mail suits divers wear.... I don’t know if I can do this. I just don't see how...

Oh my God, I’m so scared. What about my family, and my friends. Who will survive? How long until the phones and internet go down? I should charge my cell phone while I drive... How long before mass hysteria breaks loose? The rioting will only bring more Zombies, and more chaos. But I guess it’s human nature to freak when the going gets tough. I just hope we’re far enough away from them to be safe when they happen.

At what point will I have to decide if it’s death by Zombie, or death by my own hand? At what point does it get bad enough to warrant humanely putting down my son. Oh God, I can’t even think about that. I just... oh God.... I just don’t know if I can do this. I need to get to Tom before I lose it. I’m on the verge of panic, here, and Finn is in the backseat screaming. My teeth are clenched so hard my jaw hurts. I think I may have broken a tooth. Tom will know what to do.

Just Keep Driving. I’m almost home.

Oh my God.

The van is stopping.

I’m out of gas.

The Best Corn in the World

It’s Monday night, and I’m at the Joliet La Leche League meeting. Finnegan, my 5 month old son is teething, and he’s letting everyone know it. So, we pack up and leave early. I call Tom to tell him I’ll be home by about 8, but he doesn’t answer. He’s either on the can, or left his phone in the car. I settle in for the drive home, and turn on Finn’s light up toy that plays ‘If you’re happy and you know it’ and hope he falls asleep.

Across from the office, I see a lot of teenagers shuffling about and hanging out outside, and am surprised no one at the church has called the police yet. They’re really not into loitering at God’s house. Or at least at that one. I’m surprised there is no bonfire or music playing, though. Is Goth back? Those kids were seriously pale. Probably a new kind of emo. Thank you, Hot Topic, for breeding a new generation of pseudo-counter cultural teens.

I’m feeling melancholy, so I decide to take the long way home. It takes me past the plant where my dad was killed, and sometimes I feel closer to him when I take that way. I’m looking for some time with my thoughts, and Finn falls alseep quickly. The poor little guy is so tired Ahh, just me and the road and my thoughts. The farm roads are nice and dark and secluded. If you’re happy and you know it... I wish I could turn that stupid thing off.

I pass Glasscock’s Farm stand, and it’s still open. Strange, they’re usually packed up and shut down for the night by now. My dad always said they had ‘the best corn in the world!’ I see some commotion in the farm fields. That’s strange, why are people congregating in the corn fields? Maybe there’s something going on at the race track.

They’re moving slowly, and I think they must all be drunk. Are they lost tailgaters? And why so many? They are all walking toward the street, and don’t seem to mind much that I’m trying to drive on it. I think I hear a strange low moaning sound over the toy... If you’re happy and you know it... They get closer, and I’m laying on the horn, annoyed.

OH MY GOD.

ZOMBIES.

I hit the gas.

I need 4 wheel drive, supplies, and Tom. I don’t have much time.

If you’re happy and you know it...

This can’t be happening. Joliet is already infected. I’m heading East.

Colleen