‘Fake’.
That’s what we all thought when we saw the video of the homeless guy tearing out the cop’s throat with his bare teeth. Two point three million views and not one person thought it was real. Sure, the word ‘Zombie’ was jokingly bandied about in quite a few comments, but no-one was insane enough to truly believe it. Anyone who did sure as hell wasn’t wasting time watching videos on YouTube.
Most of us just dismissed it as some crazy bum who should have been locked in a padded cell rather than roaming the streets, and promptly forgot all about it five minutes later. The joys of the internet generation. If it isn’t right in front of our face, we have the attention span of a goldfish.
Later, after the shit hit the fan, I recalled that video and wondered, if we hadn’t lived in the age of sceptics, whether we might have seen it for what it was. Maybe if we’d been a little more credulous, we might have been more prepared. As it was, the warning went unheeded and Z-Day caught us all by surprise.
I was shopping when it happened. I count that as one of the luckiest moments of my life. I know, it’s a weird thing to consider lucky, but it really was. In some ways, it was bad, of course. After all, a crowded shopping centre isn’t the safest of places to be hanging out when the living suddenly become the living dead.
I figured out what was happening fairly early on. I was trying to ascertain the reason for the fleeing shoppers and terrified screams when a real live zombie…er…real dead zombie? Anyway, a walking dead guy grabbed hold of me and tried to munch on my arm like it was a chicken drumstick or something. Panicking somewhat, I grabbed a toaster and hit him in the face.
The thing stumbled and fell and I hit it again. Concentrating on his head, I hit him again and again until his brains were a pile of mush. I had no idea if the myth about having to destroy their brains was true or not, but I figured it couldn’t hurt, right? Better safe than sorry and all that rot.
Anyway, you’re probably thinking, ‘How is any of that lucky?’ Aside from the whole ‘not being zombified’ thing, that is. Well, I can’t think of very many better places to be on Z-Day, honestly. I was in a shopping centre. Think about it. What does a shopping centre have, besides hordes of potential zombie victims?
I’m a member of the digital generation. I’ve seen enough movies and TV shows to know that money becomes worthless in a disaster of this scale. Food, sex, bullets, booze and drugs. These are the currency of the apocalypse. And where was I? A fucking shopping centre! You can’t invent luck like that!
While everyone else was running about like headless chooks, screams attracting every newly turned zombie in the place, I raced to the luggage department and grabbed a few backpacks. Moving quickly through the rapidly emptying building, using my newly acquired cricket bat to dispose of the few zombies I was unable to avoid, I made my way downstairs to the pharmacy and began filling two of the bags with whatever medication I could find. Thinking for a moment, I also shoved in several boxes of tampons, figuring any women I came across would likely be grateful for them.
When I couldn’t shove another item into either bag, I snuck into the Asian Supermarket a few stores down. While this had the advantage of being closer than Woolies, that wasn’t the main reason for my selection. I chose this store because, if there is one thing that Asians excel at, it’s light-weight, well-preserved food. That shit will still be edible ten years from now.
Once I’d filled all the bags I could carry, trying hard to forget that what I was doing could technically be called looting, I did my best to sneak out of the building. Once again, a grim sort of luck was on my side. The few living people still trapped in the surrounding stores were making so much noise that most of the zombies didn’t even notice me. Those few that did were relatively easy to put down.
Hating myself for ignoring the cries for help, but knowing there was little I could do if I wanted to survive myself, I finally managed to reach the street. It was then that my luck ran out and I was forced to face the reality of surviving in this brave new world.
But I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t even want to think about that. All you need to know is that I survived. All you and your little girl need to know is that this is my last sheet of penicillin.
All I need to know is how much you are willing to pay.
Categories: Fiction Friday
Rafferty's Rules is Closing Down 
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