Victim #48

I really was an absolute idiot.

Believing all the movies and books and video games...all the fiction. Shambling and groaning and slow and stupid. All lies. No one in Hollywood had a clue about zombies, but I bought into the mythology, just like everyone else.

I feel like I should apologize, but if that's true, we should all atone...or maybe there is no penance. Only change.

In any case, I know there will come a day when we will ask about our birth...or death...or whatever we eventually call it. So, I'm writing this down. Typing actually. Although my fingers don't remember where the keys are, I've discovered it's easier to peck out words on the keyboard than trying to hold on to a pen.

The 24-hour news machine caught onto the outbreak almost as soon as it started, and I could feel the glee jolt through my moronic boyfriend, Wayne, when he realized he could live out his greatest video-game fantasy. No kidding, he revved up his chainsaw right there in the living room and posed with it like he was some kind of Sam Raimi action hero.

I'm glad we ate him.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I admit I was frightened. The biased news teams only showed gaping mouths and jaundiced flesh and joints bent entirely the wrong way. Maybe history will forgive them for their slipshod reporting. I imagine I wouldn't take the time to interview the undead. What would I have asked?

"Do you eat popcorn with your fingers?"

"No, I eat fingers by themselves."

So, Wayne dragged me to the mall. The one with the giant sporting goods store in the middle.

"Pretzels, ammo and entertainment enough to last us the whole damn zombiepocalypse," he chortled.

Did I mention he was a moron?

He didn't count on all the other Waynes with the same idea. The mall parking lot was a Trans Am ocean, but it didn't slow him down. His eyes glittered as he threw his own Pontiac into a powerslide right up to the food court entrance. He figured, the more Waynes the better.

Thing is, Wayne never was a gentleman. He went straight for the trunk and loaded himself down with shotguns, ammo belts, canteens, the aforementioned chainsaw, and I sat there in the passenger seat imagining a life in the United States of Wayneville. I couldn't deal with it. Zombie hell had to be a better option.

While he wrestled with the generator, I slipped out of the car and ran for hills. Well, ran in the direction of my friend Sally's house. She lived a few streets away from the mall, and she hated all things Wayne. I moved as quietly as I could, and stopped everytime I imagined I heard shuffling, but the streets were empty.

All the lights were on in Sally's house, and I could hear people inside, laughing and talking. What kind of idiot has a party during the zombiepocalypse? It was like they had no idea that the world was coming apart. I pounded on the door, and when no one answered, I let myself in.

I suppose I was asking for it. In more ways than one.

The zombies would be partying, wouldn't they? And I just staggered right into the middle of it all, sweating and gasping nonsense about the end of humanity!

OK, so maybe it was the end of my humanity, but they were very decent about it. Just a scratch, and I get to live...or whatever we end up calling it...forever.

Good old Wayne, he couldn't get anyone to let him into the mall, so he was sitting on the hood of his Trans Am right where I left him. I said we should take the chainsaw to Sally's and ride out the end of the world there. He managed a weak smile, and asked why I was slurring my words.

"Sally's got a full case of Wild Turkey...almost full...we started on it before I came back for you." I gave him a lopsided grin and led him back by the hand.

Maybe he was a moron, but he sure was tasty.

As for the rest of humanity? Well. All the rest of the Waynes can keep grazing on pretzels and Orange Julius. We do need a food supply after all.

The End

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