Undead Inside

What if after the Zombie Apocalypse, the human race just got used to living with the zombies around?

              I’m lying on my bed, just trying to take a nap to rejuvenate myself. Nothing in life is as important as being well rested, but unfortunately I can’t sleep on account of the annoying moaning just outside of my window. Like, geez, I don’t have the energy to deal with this kind of crap right now. I reach underneath my pillow and feel the metallic handle of my glock. I also feel to make sure the silencer is still screwed on the barrel, which it is. Immediately I feel a rushing sensation of peace, as I pull it out, fumble with opening the window, point it at the source of the moaning outside, and pull the trigger. Silence.

              I guess this is just the way we live now. Twenty years ago, the Earth was devastated by the Zombie Apocalypse. Only a few million people survived all over the world, and even then, they had nearly been eaten to extinction several times over the years. Luckily zombies decompose, so that leaves less of the billions that used to roam around in hoards.

              I had learned not to grow too attached to people. My first girlfriend showed up to prom with half of her arm missing, moaning about brains or something. That really made for an awkward picture, but my mother told me I had to come home with something. My best friend, Hector, didn’t even know his parents. I knew the story of how my dad killed them.

              Dad killed quite a lot of zombies. Apparently he had been expecting the Apocalypse to happen in the exact way it had, and had been preparing for it his entire life. He had guns, food storage, and a house full of zombie booby traps, making him almost invincible. People would often find him and had tried to set him up as a leader, and eventually most of them died, too. My mom survived, and that’s where I came from.

              Now we don’t really try to fight the zombies anymore. We haven’t given up on the world or anything, but when there are literally billions of undead walking around, what exactly is the point of trying to get rid of all of them? We’ve learned that they’re pretty slow and stupid, and if you really get bitten by a single zombie, you probably deserved it. I mean, sure, it sounds harsh, but really, the only risky thing about a zombie is if they catch you with a hoard and surround you. I usually avoid alleyways, as Dad always told me to avoid them. If I’m walking down the street and I see a zombie, I just draw my sword (what, don’t you carry one everywhere you go?), and slice the thing’s head off.

              I’ve been away from home at school in a place that was once called Anaheim, now designated as Casual Area 1138. This, and all of the cities surrounding it, is where the Apocalypse had taken the worst hits, but it was also one of the safer places to be now. Tons of people tried and died to “reclaim” the land for the human race, and were moderately successful. At least I can learn about how I can be an engineer in peace. Well, as peaceful as a zombie-infested world will allow it to be.

              My girlfriend has been calling me for a few hours now; she probably needs some help with studying for her math final. I guess I’d better go. I think I’ve had enough sleep, and I do love her, I think, but she does use my brains a lot. No, that’s not some clever way to say she’s a zombie. That hasn’t happened to this girl yet. I finally answer the phone and hear her shaking, frantic voice.

              “There’s one in my room!” she yelled into my ear angrily. “I can’t get to my guns in the living room, so hurry up and get over here you stupid jackass!!”

              Perfect, she’s in trouble. Has she really been trapped in a bedroom with a zombified roommate for this long? Aghh… well, I was taught by Dad to be a gentleman, even in this world. “I’m on my way, sweetie,” I say back to her.

              There’s a moment of silence on the other side of the line. “I love you,” she says tiredly, letting a few more grunts escape her mouth. “Just hurry up. She’s fat, and for some reason the door is locked from the outside.” I never really questioned her resourcefulness. Marisa was another child from my dad’s survival group.

              I hurry out to the courtyard to cross the way to her apartment. I live in room 104, she lives in 114. We like living close to each other, and thank heavens this apartment complex was coed. We had talks about her moving into my apartment, but there was always the issue that Hector lived in my apartment, too. There is dead grass all over the place, which hasn’t been kept to snuff in years. My dad had told me of a time when people cared what their homes looked like. It didn’t make much sense to me, but I guess when you kill a couple of zombies every day, you get used to bloodstains and bad odors.

              I walk through the open door into her living room, which had a nice TV on the wall, and an old video game console was plugged in. The title screen of the game was glowing on the screen. She had been playing some old game called Call of Duty, one where you can just kill endless waves of zombies until you die. It is definitely a fun game, and I feel disappointed that I ignored her calls until now. She probably just wanted to play with me. I need to be a better boyfriend.

              I’m pulled away from my thoughts at her yelling down the short hallway to the left. There were only two bedroom doors, one to hers, and the other to some other people. They don’t live here anymore; they had recently moved to a place six-feet-under. We had to kill them last week. Long story, but they had become zombies. Marisa’s taste in roommates has always been questionable. She didn’t have a good girl friend like Hector who she could rely on like I did. Well, I guess she does have me, and I consider myself to be a bit more reliable than Hector.

              I casually walk down the hall to the room and kick the door in, feeling it hit something huge on the other side. “Dwight!” shouts Marisa in joy. Ugh, why’d she call me Dwight? I was named after the American President, Dwight Eisenhower, but like him, I called myself Ike. It’s a much cooler name, and I just hate the name, Dwight. She knows this, and perhaps it’s just payback for not answering her calls right away.

              I go into the room and see that it’s just a complete mess. Her own 36” TV is on the floor, and her clothes and underwear are strewn around the room. Papers litter the bed she was now huddled on, with her phone in one hand, and a broomstick in the other. She’s wearing a simple Walking Dead t-shirt and black yoga pants. She’s thin, and she has dark hair with bright blue highlights throughout it, which is looking very disheveled at the moment. Even without eyeliner, her blue eyes are hard to look away from. What the door hit when I kicked it in was her fat-a*s roommate, Shelby. She has definitely seen better days. A large chunk of her flabby shoulder is missing and she has ugly pale skin.

              Without hesitation I draw my Japanese blade and stab it straight through the back of Shelby’s head, and her voluminous form crashes to the ground, the little amount of fresh blood in her system oozing out of the hole as I withdraw the blade. I decided not to go with decapitation. This is Marisa’s bedroom, and we don’t want it to smell too bad. You know, I really would’ve been sad if Marisa died today. Is that love?

              “You sure did take your damn time,” she says sarcastically, throwing the broomstick across the room. She runs to meet my loving arms, and presses herself against me as she wraps her arms around my back. “And now we need to move her body before it really starts to smell. You wouldn’t happen to have a wheelbarrow, or possibly a crane, would you?”

              “I’m guessing she locked herself in here with you,” I say, remembering that I had to kick open the door. “What did you tell her before?”

              “I was just pissed at her for eating my last Pop-Tart, so I told her she was dead to me,” she sighs. “Next thing I know, she’s standing in front of the closed door, bleeding everywhere. There was a key, but she swallowed it right before she died. That was like three hours ago. She only reanimated a little before you finally answered. I was thinking about breaking the broom so that I’d have a sharp end, but it’s the only broom I have here, and you know how hard it is to find a good broom these days!”

              It wasn’t weird for people to snap after getting bitten by a zombie. A lot of people actually tried killing their loved ones or people they hate by reanimating in front of them. I guess Shelby had lost it, too.

              “Hey, have I told you how great you look when you’re panicking?” I ask, trying to charm her. “Zombie killing is a good look for you!”

              “Why do I love such an idiot?” she asks me. She kisses me with her tender lips, and I feel the small butterflies begin to fly as they always do. When she breaks away, she trips over the body of Shelby, and instinctively I dodge her grasping hand as she collides with the carpeted floor. Normally I catch her, but grasping hands just aren’t what you wanna see.

Marisa had only one flaw that I’m concerned with, why I always need to be close to her when she goes out. When she’s not killing zombies (which she’s outstanding at), she is almost always going to trip over something. In fact, she’s incredibly clumsy. Give her a gun with some ammo, she’ll have it put together and fully loaded in less than a minute, but give her a can opener for soup, don’t expect the soup to make it into the bowl or even the opener into the sink without hearing some clangs, first.

“Thanks, Dwight,” she snarls, refusing to lift herself off the clattered floor.

“Would you stop calling me that already,” I sigh. I really hate the name. I reach my hand to her, and she takes it and pulls hard, but I pull harder until she is back on her feet.

“Ike does sound better for you,” she says, walking past me to the hallway. “But I know how much it pisses you off to hear that name, and you really took your sweet time to get here.”

Marisa has a knack for pointing out the obvious reasons she does things. It’s cute, but only I thought so. Hector tells me all the time that I should dump her, but I really don’t want to. There’s a few other girls around campus that would want to date me, but nah. They’re too plain. Either too plain, or extremely… disturbing. Marisa has a certain flair about her. And I really liked those yoga pants.

“Is Hector around?” she asks as I follow her into the living room to sit on one of cheap couches. “He’s pretty big isn’t he? You two can take care of the beached whale in there.” My dad used to tell me about how America was a fat place. It was considered rude or offensive to call someone fat, but now it’s more like a suggestion that they needed to slim down so they could survive. Even a fat man could outwalk a zombie, but for how long? Either way, there weren’t many fat people left, and we just lost another one.

“What, you can’t help at all?” I ask, sitting with her, stroking her hand. “I bet you and I wouldn’t have a huge problem with it.”

“Dude, I was locked in there for like four hours, I’m starving,” she starts, “which means that I’m weak.” Another thing, Marisa could not handle being hungry. When we’d venture to the old supply stores, the one closest to us here was called Target, she’d have to carry tons of snacks, otherwise she simply couldn’t function. Her arms won’t work right when she’s hungry.

“Fine, but it was only three hours,” I say, kissing her on her forehead and standing up to leave. “Hector’s probably at the gym. He’s always there after class.” I walk out the door and start heading over to the gym where Hector frequented himself. On my person, I have a Japanese Katana, a gift from my mom, and a small revolver that sounded like a popgun when it was fired tucked in my right pocket. It was small, but effective. The katana is sheathed at my right waist.

CA 1138’s gym is located just across the street from my apartment complex. I step outside the complex and look both ways before I cross the street. It’s as dead as ever, but I was taught never to cross a street without looking for cars or zombies. The grass is basically dead everywhere you look, but the areas surrounding trees always had a bit of life. The school’s maintenance crews made an effort to fix up the streets and keep them looking clean, but I could always see the patches of weeds that grew through the cracks everywhere. Surprisingly, however, the litter was always kept in check. They really care about that.

The sky is blue today, and the sun is still in the sky, though it is just reaching that setting point. I walk swiftly across the street, looking at the old gym. It isn’t that big, but it certainly is roomy. There are weeds growing from the cracks in the sidewalk in front of it, and the giant letters above the door still say “d’s Gym.” There are three letters which faded in front of the “d,” but I have no idea what they were.

The door is rusty on the metal parts, and the huge glass (glass doors, really 2016?) is completely shattered. I crouch through the small opening left by the shattered glass, as the doors are still locked and the bolt was powerful. It’s funny that we have to get into the gym this way, as the people who would need to go to the gym the most wouldn’t even fit through the opening.

 I can already hear Hector’s grunts across the room. He is a loud body-builder, especially when there are other people around. When I walk into the room, there he is, bench pressing what I think must’ve been 260 lbs. I could never do that much. I maxed out at around 180. I’m not a huge guy, but I’m pretty athletic, and people have told me that I am quite handsome in a rogue-ish sort of way. Hector looked like a tank. His arms were the size of tree trunks, and his chest was like the door of a fridge. I think he is 6’5”, because he is around five inches taller than me. His black hair was always slicked back away from his face, and right now he is wearing workout clothes, just drenched in sweat.

“Ike, hurry over here, I can’t get it back up!” he shouts at me across the room. He’s alone in there, which isn’t a good idea considering his routines. I run over to his place, jumping over a few of the rusty dumbbells that littered the place. It was dusty and smelled terrible in the gym. Nobody actually owns or takes care of it, but college students like Hector are always happy to sweat there.

I pass by a few of the other rusty workout machines, and grab the bar and begin to lift it back to its sitting position. “This is heavier than I thought!” I grunt, as our combined strength easily lifts it back. “You going for a new record or something?”

“Always, little guy,” he said in his deep, casual voice. “I need to be prepared for anything.” He sits up and clasps my hand.

“Good, because I need your help with a body,” I say, pulling him up to stand above me. Crap, he’s so heavy. “You remember Marisa’s roommate?”

“Ah, piss,” he says. “That cow?? I’d been wondering when that was gonna happen, but I didn’t think it’d be this soon.” He starts laughing, and I kind of start to chuckle with him.

“Why is this so funny to us?” I ask, trying to keep myself from losing control of my laughter. “I mean, she’s dead? Aren’t we supposed to be sad or something?” I’ve been wondering a lot lately whether or not I’m a sociopathic mess.

“I think it’s because it wasn’t us,” he says, slapping my back. “Don’t tell me that you don’t think you’re a good person, little virgin boy.”

Yes, that’s me, Ike the virgin. Seriously, why’d it matter? I could’ve slept with Marisa a thousand times, but for some reason, we just haven’t. I’ve known her for as long as I can possibly remember, and we’ve been friends for just as long. If we ever got close, I’d kind of chicken out of it. Meaning I’d think of an excuse and leave, despite how much I wanted to. Killing zombies? No problem. Doing that? Well, what would she say??

“You know why I haven’t done it,” I say. “I don’t even know how much longer Marisa’s going to survive, and I don’t wanna lose her if we’ve…” bull crap. I want to. But not yet.

“Right, right,” says Hector. “I’m just messin’ with ya. Life isn’t about sex, anymore, is it? So, where’s the body?”

“Marisa’s apartment.”

“You could just end it now, before she goes and trips on her own sword.”

“Bro, I’m not dumping her,” I say. “I’ve never wanted to.” I’m being honest. Seriously, I think I do love her, but I just have nothing to compare it to. “Why don’t you ever find yourself another girl?”

Hector had gone with his last girlfriend to the beach to check out the scenery he’d heard so much about. The sea was extremely dangerous now. Hordes of zombies have infested the waters and aimlessly walk around, coming out on random beaches and attacking people. He’d just left her for a moment to pee, and he never found her after that.

“She’s still out there, Ike,” he grunted, as he struggles to squeeze through the opening in the door. “Sure, maybe she’s dead, but I have to make sure her body’s not abused by that damn virus.” Hector had one goal in life. He wanted to live on the beach with a girl he loved, and damn, did he love Kalina.

Earlier I said that I lived in Casual Area 1138, right? So there are several designations by which we live.

There’s Safe Areas, meaning that there are absolutely no zombies anywhere around it. There’s only a handful of them, and they’re usually in places like Idaho, Canada, or Russia. Cold, rural, and not heavily populated. I grew up in one, apparently what was called the first one, SA 001.

Then we have where I live now, in a Casual Area, where zombies kind of roam free, but typically they aren’t seen in hordes. We live with it, and eventually these will become Safe Areas, if the citizens aren’t stupid. Too many Casual Areas have been lost to sheer stupidity.

They almost always border the Dangerous Areas. I’ve gone to these places a lot. They’re not that dangerous, but zombies roam in hordes all over. Places like San Diego, for example. Tons of zombies, but still relatively easy to survive there if I know where I’m going.

Then we have Restricted Areas. The whole place is basically one giant horde of zombies owning a city. Pretty much every single beach has been dedicated as a restricted area. There’s only one that I know of that has a rating as a DA, and that’s where Hector got cocky and lost Kalina.

“Did you come here without any weapons?” I ask, noticing that he didn’t even have a bag with him. “You have a death wish?”

“Like father, like son, I suppose,” says Hector, chuckling. “No, I haven’t seen any zombies around here in days, so I figured I’d leave my hatchet at home today.”

“Idiot,” I say, punching him hard on the arm. “I’ve seen two in our complex in the past hour.”

“Huh, guess I should start carrying it again,” says Hector.

We arrive at Marisa’s apartment, and she’s in a frenzy packing her stuff to leave. I didn’t tell her we were going anywhere...

“So, I guess I’m moving in with you guys now!” she says happily and innocently. “Hope you don’t mind!” I’ve only got one bedroom in my apartment with two beds. One for me, and one for Hector. I guess we have a couch, too, but… wait.

“Hold up!” I shout. “What??” Hector bursts into laughter at the situation that I’m finding myself in. “Where would you sleep?”

“Uh, gee, I dunno,” she taunts. “You have a nice, big bed don’t you?” I don’t think she’s implying that I move out to the couch, and while the idea sounds great to me, I also have an image of her turning into a zombie halfway through the night and… ugh…

“Y-yeah!” I reply, putting a fake smile on my face. “Sure!” I don’t know what I just did, but I hope it’s a good thing.

Author's Note

I made a few revisions. I changed the main character's name from Kyle to Ike, and I took an 's' out of Marissa. I also altered their dialogue to sound more real, and provided a new first paragraph. I also used more descriptive terms and edited out unnecessary details.

Reviews

[AUU]

I like this. It's well written. The tongue-and-cheek humor reminds me of Zombieland.

When you begin to reveal the world I instantly cried foul when Ike killed the zombie simply so he could fall asleep, but then you excellently subverted expectations by explaining that most of the zombies have rotted away. That was really subtle and a great trick for world building.

"(what, don’t you carry one everywhere you go?)"

As I said before the world kind of reminds me of Zombieland, but I thought some of the fourth-wall breaking in this case was a bit much. I understand this character is explaining his world to regular Joes (the readers), but you already kind of established this bizarre nonchalant zombie world. The above line just seems unnecessary. If you want to continue to talk about how bizzare the world is and still use the sword you can possibly have him pick up the sword from some ordinary place, like next to the toilet, or in his laundry basket.

Still. Matter of opinion. Great work.