UNEARTHLY DESPAIR


The silence hangs oppressively like a thick cloud looming over the city. The concrete that surrounds takes up the echo of my footsteps for any to follow. I am running faster and farther than I knew I could and m y breath feels like jagged pieces of glass in my throat. I begin to scream in a keening tone that embarrassingly sounds to me like a little girl and thankfully there is no one to hear. Except those who are hunting me, those who savor that first taste, the undead hoping to consume my flesh.
Death and decay encompass this society and it is contagious, literally. So contagious that one can lose their entire family within minutes but I digress. Once upon a time the word “reborn” had an entirely different meaning; a meaning that spoke of hope and eternity. Now the word has taken on a sickening significance and speaks of a life of hell. Personally I prefer the term “undead” but there is a faction here that holds tightly to the remnants of these formerly alive personalities. They feel “undead” is disrespectful. As if these “people” give one damn about their former lives! There is another group who actually believes God is punishing sinners here on Earth and the plague is justified. Seriously? Talk about zealots!! No one deserves to die like this. I’d like to punish them for their stupidity. Needless to say I tend to stick with me, myself, and I.
I admit I have a sick fascination with the process of “rebirth.” I’m a mixture of a loner, techie, hunter, and I thrive on watching the Science Channel. Not to be stereotyped mind you as I am rather tough if I have to say so myself. I’ve witnessed with sheer terror the kill, death and rebirth of the undead. The inevitable day came when it was my family’s turn. My sister and I hiding, my mom whispering , “take care of her, Logan,” my father’s hand shaking as he gave the crossbow to me and shut the cellar door. None of it mattered though, the planning, the hiding place, the weapon. I proved to be helpless. I couldn’t save her. The portrait of her suffering is etched in my mind forever.

So when I say to you that humanity is screwed, it is not an overstatement. The peril one faces daily, hourly, moment by moment is not for the faint of heart. My epic advantage is I grew up with a father who loved to hunt, a mother who never hesitated when someone was hurt or bleeding, and a sister who never took crap from a soul. A savior I am not but capable enough to survive without a doubt.
Herein lies the key to survival; being capable, not overestimating one’s advantages or underestimating one’s limitations. I have a darn good idea of who I am and who I am not. Right now I am alone, hungry, vulnerable and searching for a safe place. My mom’s voice whispers in my head, “there is safety in numbers, Logan.” I can feel the tears coming but I have no time to reminisce and her logic doesn’t apply in these circumstances. I also remember that movie, Dumb and Dumber, which makes me think of some of the folks I’ve walked this journey with. I am far better off on my own.
I realize now that a safe place doesn’t always equate to being inside. A tree stand is a magnificent survival retreat as long as it has a vantage point from all sides and it well stocked with food, water, weather appropriate clothing and of course, my crossbow. If you didn’t know zombies can’t climb.
So it is while I’m in the process of developing just that, a tree-stand in the middle of this metropolitan nightmare I see a young girl wandering down an alley. I can’t believe my eyes and I rub them, truly believing I am hallucinating. She was fair, so slight and seemed to be wasting away. I pause, hesitate and my stomach tightens sickeningly as I deliberate my next actions. I do not welcome the company or responsibility but most of all the deep attachment that would come. I walk away. Again my mother’s voice, pleading, “take care of her Logan, keep her safe.”

I had failed once and would not consider failure again. The depth of despair trying to drown me was still too deep to reconcile. I will survive and the hunted will become the hunter. Yes, the girl could have been the moment of redemption, my saving grace, but the truth is, there is nothing left to be saved.