Zombie Plan Episode 1

A comedy about the daily life of three unlikely individuals who are just trying to survive a zombie apocalypse.

- THE MORNING COMMUTE -

“Day 97 of the Zombie Apocalypse. My colleagues and I...”

“What ya doing there, Perry?”

Perry looked up at the long chin of Hobart pointing directly towards Perry’s green Earth Day t-shirt.   Hobart had one bushy eyebrow raised higher than the other as the two brown sagebrushes peered over the silver framed aviator sunglasses.  Perry looked into the two silver pools hiding Hobart’s eyes and saw only reflections of the tall buildings zipping past his v-shaped brown face.  The Sunlight gleaming off of the spires of passing blue glass gave off a twinkle in Hobart’s glasses.  Perry thought it made the gruff man look like some posing action hero out of a b-grade, low budget, reject of a horror film.  Hobart was a greasy, dirty, and somewhat buff man who looked like the offspring of Van Dessel and Larry the Cabal Guy.  He wore a camouflage jacket with tight blue jeans and a tan pair of old mud crusted cowboy boots.  Perry had especially noticed that his pointed chin was forever accented by a five o'clock shadow.  Perry thought Hobart must be the kind of man who shaves with a combat knife.

“What are you looking at?” Hobart asked, his right eyebrow rising even higher.

A long white finger covered in a black fishnet sleeve suddenly interrupted the staring contest as it shot in front of their faces pointing out the front window. “Keep your eyes on the road!”

Hobart and Perry turned their heads forward just in time to see the blue mailbox that was lying directly in front of their vehicle's lane of travel.  Hobart turned the steering wheel sharply to the left barely missing the mailbox by several inches.  Once the danger passed Hobart dodged the GMC Jimmy back into the right lane.

“Kind of a close one there.” Hobart chuckled.

“Gosh,” Brooklyn slouched down in the backseat, “you mind not getting us killed. I almost think walking would be safer than riding with you.”

Perry silently shook his head and turned back to his tape-recorder, pressing the little silver rewind button on the side. The recorder made a high pitched winding noise before coming to a stop with a click. Hobart kept his eyes on the road turning every once and a while to miss fallen street lamps or stationary vehicles abandoned in the middle of the roadway.

“Good thing we didn't hit rush hour.” Hobart said with a faint laugh that sounded like a motor dying.  The only reply was silence.

Perry kept his thoughts centered on what he was going to say to the tape-recorded. He lifted the little black device up to his mouth then clicked the record button on the side, “Day 97 of the Zombie Apocalypse. My colleagues and I...”

“What are you doing?” Hobart asked more pronounced this time.

“Do you mind?” Perry clicked the stop button on the tape recorder, “Now I have to start all over again.”

“All I wanted to know was what ya were doing.”

Perry rewound the tape again. “I'm making a recording for future posterity.”

“Posterity?” Hobart wrinkled his nose as if he had just smelt some bad cheese. “What posterity?”

“You know,” Perry replied, “so that future generations can learn from our exploits about how we, using survival instincts and good old-fashioned human ingenuity, were able to survive the zombie apocalypse.” As Perry spoke he had could feel a lofty air about his words as if he were saying things that transcended reality and were penetrated the very fabric of philosophy, sociology, and history.  Things the which, as Perry thought, were only ever said in the highest of academic social gatherings and luncheons.

“That has to be the lamest thing I've ever heard.” Brooklyn said, her voice sounding like the last bitter words of a rich dying invalid.

“It's for history’s sake,” Perry replied.  All-the-while Perry was repeating in his mind his own encouraging mantra that went something like this, “They just don’t understand you, Perry.  Simpletons never do.  After all you’re the doctor here, maybe a Podiatrist, but that’s still a doctor!” 

“But,” Brooklyn’s moaning voice pierced Perry’s concentration, “isn't it happening now?”

“I know it's happening now,” Perry snapped back, “but,” Perry regained his composure, “when future generations find this tape they will be able to revisit the daring times when humanity was struggling to survive.  They'll probably even make a monument in our honor.”

“Whatever,” Brooklyn replied, “it still sounds lame.”

“Lay off the man,” Hobart said staring into the review mirror with a smile, “it sounds like a great idea to record our Zombie Plan.”

“Zombie Plan?” Now Perry's nose wrinkled with disgust. “You make it sound so trivial.”

“That's what it is, isn't it?”

“Well, yeah, but.”

“Right, and you can start by telling the good people of the future all about my own personal favorite way of dealing with zombies.” Hobart reached his hand next to the gearshift and patted the scope on top of a long cold steal barrel. “My M110 Semi-Automatic Sniper System. Or as I affectionately like to call her, Lulu.”

“You know there is something wrong with you, right?” Perry said watching the man stroke the riffle.

“You're just jealous because me and Lulu have something special.”

“Know I know it is definitely safer to walk.” Brooklyn popped a round bubble of gum between her lips.

The right GMC Jimmy wheel bounced over a pile of ground asphalt left behind by some road construction crew. The flashing road sign they had left behind still pointed to the left lane, however, the left lane was full of abandoned vehicles.  Hobart corrected the problem by turned the SUV to the right and crashing through a work zone surrounded by orange barrels and cones.

Perry repeated the words, Zombie Plan, in his head over and over again, each time sounding worse than the first time he heard those words. “I am not going to give a name to the story of our heroic survival.”

“You're not going to call it anything?”

“That's right. I'm not going to call it anything.”  Perry crossed his arms, shut his eyes, and raised his chin towards the passenger window. “I am just going to leave the naming up to future generations who will be inspired by our selfless courage.”

“You could call it brain-fest,” Brooklyn laughed.  Perry turned and looked at the teenage girl in the back seat.  She wore the typical Goth fair: white t-shirt with ironically the words "bite me," written in red, black baggy pants with several chains daggling from the pockets, fishnet sleeves on her arms and knee high leather boots.  She was hardly distinguishable from the zombies, Perry thought to himself.  She gave him a smirk with her black lipstick colored lips.  He hated that smirk, as it was the only time the girl ever smiled and it was just so darn creepy. “Oh, how about Perry verses the Zombies? Or better yet, the idiot's guide to surviving a zombie Apocalypse.”

“I still think my idea was better,” Hobart said.  “We are definitely calling it Zombie Plan.”

“We are not calling it anything!” Perry shouted.

The GMC speed off down a street of turned over vehicles. Despite their differences Perry had got to know Hobart and Brooklyn quite well over the past two months. If anything, they all shared one thing in common: they were survivors. It was that one common bond which sealed their somewhat unusually relationship. They were in this thing together and even though Perry found the other two getting on his nerves on a regular basis, he still felt comfort knowing that they would be there for him in a pinch. As he stared at the little black recorded he began thinking about all the adventures that they had had together in their short time of knowing each other. At times they are quite the nuisance, Perry thought to himself, but they aren't that bad.

“Are we there yet?” Brooklyn wined.

“Hey,” Hobart chuckled, “Did I tell you two the one about the two whales?”

“Hobart,” Brooklyn piped up, “if you tell that dirty joke one more time!”

Then Perry’s mind wondered into visions of how enjoyable it would be to place a permanent piece of duct tape over both Hobart's and Brooklyn mouths.

The GMC Jimmy made a sharp left turn around a turned over hot dog stand as the left tire crunched the metal pole of the flattened red and white umbrella. The street was littered with papers and magazines that had blown away from a trashed newspaper stand. An oil truck was turned over into a coffee shop window as the broken yellow frame of a fallen red light sat lifeless in the middle of the intersection.

“Now if you two don't mind,” Perry held out the tape recorder waving it in the air, “I'd like to finish this sometime today.”

“Right,” Hobart said, “for posterity and all that. Go ahead with your recording.”

“Whatever.” Brooklyn crossed her arms and looked out the back window.

“Thank you.” Perry sat back comfortably in his seat clutching the tape recorder like candy. He clicked one of the little silver buttons on the small black tape recorder, “Day 97 of the Zombie Apocalypse. My colleagues and I...”

“How do you know what day it is?” Brooklyn said leaning over Perry's shoulder.

“Brooklyn!” Hobart shouted, “Sit down and buckle up.  Last thing I want is someone flying out my front windshield if we wreck.  Gotta have something up there to keep the zombies from gettin’ in.”

“You’re no fun.”  Brooklyn sat down with a pout then reached over and clicked her seatbelt.  “I just wanted to ask Perry how he knows what day it is?”
“Yeah Perry,” Hobart asked, “How do you know it’s the ninety-somethingith-day?” 
“I beat he kept a day planner.”

“No,” Perry rewound the tape annoyed, “I did not keep a day planner. I just counted back from today's date to when the whole zombie thing first started.”

“Just like how I remember my birthday.” Hobart added keeping his eyes on the road.  Both Perry and Brooklyn looked at Hobart and then at each other.  Perry was pretty sure Brooklyn was having the same question go through her mind as was going through his.

They both waited a second for Hobart to say something else or at least to give an explanation. Hobart was silent. Feeling it was now safe to go ahead Perry clicked the tape recorder on again, “Day 97 of the Zombie Apocalypse. My colleagues and I...”

“How do you know which day this whole zombie thing first started?” Brooklyn asked with a devious chuckle.

“Really!” Perry flipped the off switch and threw his hands in the air, “what is with you two? Can't a guy get a moment's peace?”

“Somebody needs a chill-pill.” Brooklyn rolled her eyes yet still chuckling.

“I'm still wondering that myself,” Hobart added.  “I mean, which day was it exactly that this whole thing got started?”

“Simple” Perry replied, “unlike some people I pay attention to the news and I distinctly remember hearing the story of the first incident.”

“Which was?”

“Which was when the first zombie appeared in downtown and everyone thought it was part of some movie publicity stunt.”

“You’re gonna have to fill me in on the story.” Hobart said lifting his outback hat with a finger and scratching his forehead.

Brooklyn excitedly interrupted Perry, “Ok so it happened during an on-location film shoot where this big Hollywood production was shooting this new zombie movie called Dusk of the Undead. It was going to be a totally wicked movie with Matthew McConaughey as a vampire-zombie. How rad is that? I wouldn't mind getting bitten by him if you know what I mean.”

“Ah, hem!" Perry interrupted Brooklyn.  "It just so happened that on the day of the shooting a real zombie wondered onto the set and started attacking people.”

“Real zombie on the set of a zombie movie,” Hobart smirked.  “That's what I call some dramatic irony."

"Oh and the media totally got it wrong.” Brooklyn added.

“How so?”

“The headline the next day said, 'Hollywood actor eats camera man: has the Hollywood diet gone too far.'”

Perry looked out his window at a smoldering pile of ash that had once been a park lying on the other side of a large black iron fence.

“97 days, huh?” Hobart asked.

“Since that zombie on the set incident.” Perry replied.

“But I thought the girl in the sewer incident was the first?”

“What?”

“You know, the one about the eight year old girl living off of the sewer rats.”

“That was totally unrelated to zombies.”

“Really? Wow. What are they teaching kids in schools these days?”

Just then a rotting corpse walked out from behind a large delivery van right in front of the GMC Jimmy. Hobart reacted slamming on the breaks but not before the glassy eyed face was pulled under the front grill. The GMC Jimmy bumped over the carcass before coming to a stop several feet away.

“Oh my gosh,” Brooklyn said, “I think you hit him.”

“Now that's what I call road kill.” Hobart said turning to Perry with a smirk. “Quick open your door and see if he is alright.”

“No way.” Perry shook his head

Hobart and Perry turned towards Brooklyn as she sat comfortably in the back arms and legs crossed taping her arm and looking off into the SUV’s ceiling as if nothing was going on.

“Alright then,” Hobart turned and smiled at Perry, “It’s up to you.”

“Why can’t you get out and look at it if you’re so interested?”

“Because it went under on your side and I’d have to get out and walk all the way around the vehicle to see it.  It’s easier if you just pop your head out.  You’ll be fine.  I’m sure it was just the one.”

“Oh yeah,” Perry grumbled, “famous last words.”  He unbuckled his seatbelt.  “Probably a whole horde of them out there just waiting for little ol’ Perry to stick his head out the door.”
“Quit you’re whining.”
Perry opened the passenger side door and poked his head out into the street. A gray skinned corpse with its arm bent backwards lay lifeless in the street. Its midsection was flatter than the rest of its body and had a big black tire track across its white button-up dress-shirt.

“Is it okay?” Hobart asked.

Perry kept watching the mess of rotting flesh on the pavement. “It's not moving.”

The broken arm began to twitch.  Then it flopped to the ground and started to push the upper portion of its body back up to vertical.  The glassy eyed face looked up from the ground at Perry and moaned.

Perry ducked back into the cab, shut the door and click the lock. “Looks like it's okay.”

Hobart put the vehicle in reverse and proceeded to backup. “I used to hate running over zombies,” Hobart said turning to look out the back window, “it was like running over a squirrel or somebody's cat.” The GMC Jimmy thumped again and a loud moan sounded form underneath the floor. “But then I just thought that really its like ridding the world of another pest.” Hobart put the vehicle in drive.

“You think cats are pests?” Perry asked.

The GMC Jimmy bumped again followed by a lower moan as Hobart started to drive forward.

“I meant squirrels,” Hobart looked into the rear view mirror and straightened the rim of his safari hat, “They're rodents aren't they? Kinda like rats.”

“So are hamsters,” Perry replied taking off his seeing glasses and wiped the clear lenses with the bottom portion of his t-shirt, “and they are considered pets not pests.”

“But no one keeps a pet squirrel.”

“They keep pet cats.”

“Cats, rats, squirrels, what's the difference?”

“Not a pet person are you?”

“I like dogs. Even had a pet beagle growing up.” Hobart sighed, “Good old Sarge.”

As the GMC Jimmy turned the corner around a brick apartment building Perry looked down the street to see a single broken fire hydrant spraying water across the road like a cascading rainbow. The gold colored sedan that had smashed the hydrant open had made its final resting place in the widow of a flower store. Yellow, white, purple and pink petals were strewn about the street like a botanical garden. A lipstick red moped lay flat on the sidewalk holding a stack of unopened white boxes with green letters that read, Dave's Famous Pizza, that were strapped to the back rack with a purple elastic cable. Hobart slowly eased the GMC Jimmy underneath the cascading water. The water droplets fell upon the windows washing away the green zombie juice left by numerous other j-walking encounters.

“I'm all of a sudden hungry for some pizza.” Perry said looking at the pizza boxes.

“If zombie's eat us do you think we could eat them? I wonder what cooked zombie tastes like?”

Perry found this thought rather disgusting as he felt his stomach turn. “I don't think I'm hungry anymore.”

“Hey did I tell you the one about the man, the dog, and the pig who got stranded on the deserted island?”

“Yes Hobart,” Brooklyn groaned, “no more jokes!”

“Yeah, but it’s a good one. See, there is this man, a pig, and a dog who got stranded on a deserted island and the man looks at the pig and thinks...”

...TO BE CONTINUED
 

Author's Note

This piece is an unedited free writing exercise I created during a 45-minute lunch break so do not expect Dickens or Poe here.

Reviews

[Emily Rose]

You had me with the first sentence. I'm really not that much of a zombie fan, but any story that begins with the sentence "Day 97 of the zombie apocalypse" smacks of parody and therefore must be worth checking out. And it was a amusing little story, into which you managed to cram a lot of character development. I can picture Perry in my head, a high-strung, scrawny little nerd whose intellect doesn't do him much good in the world of the Zombie Apocalypse." They play to their stereotypes quite well, although Hobart initially struck me as a jock, but is far too clever to be a stereotypical one (considering that he knows the meaning of the word "posterity" and all). For all your character development, though, there was something that struck me. You didn't quite make me believe that they'd been together for two months. Two months in such close contact, particularly in the midst of a traumatic experience, would've brought them considerably closer than they were acting. It seemed to me like they just met, which makes sense because as you were writing the characters you were just figuring out their dynamic together. So I think it might be a good idea to go back and change that "two months" bit to a more believable stint of time. A week, perhaps. Maybe two. But not two months. If Perry is as anal as you're portraying him to be, he would've started his recording project long before then, anyway.

A few grammar points:

"Perry looked up at the long chin of Hobart pointing at his own green Earth Day t-shirt." This is unclear. At first the name threw me off, since "Hobart" is a really unusual name, but the more confusing thing is the ambiguity of the sentence. Is the "long chin" Hobart's? Is Hobart's long chin pointing at Hobart's green Earth Day t-shirt or is the t-shirt Perry's? Is Hobart (or Perry) pointing with his finger and not his chin? So yes. I think you mean that Hobart has a long chin and is pointing at Perry's t-shirt, but I'm really not sure.

"you mind not getting us killed." Question mark! The period makes it feel less sarcastic than it sounds in my head.

"Brooklyn added deflating Perry." I think you need a comma between "added" and "deflating."

"Isn't it happening know" and "I know it's happening know" I think you mean "happening now" (I make this mistake all the time!)

"Now Perry's nose were wrinkled" "were" should be "was"

"Well, yeah, but." I don't think he meant to stop the sentence there. I think a dash would work better after "but"

"Perry said watching the man stroke the riffle" "riffle" should be "rifle," although "riffle" sounds to me like a breed of some cute, fluffy animal (one which could easily be named "Lulu" XD)

""Know I know it is definitely safer to walk." should be "Now I know"

"their somewhat unusually relationship" should be "somewhat unusual relationship"

"if you tell that dirty joke one more time!" This sounds like the beginning of a threat, and should probably end with a dash

""its like running over a squirrel" should be "it's" (easy mistake to make, especially considering how many different itses you had to use in that last paragraph) same deal with this one "but its a good one"

But enough of my nitpicking. This was a highly amusing story, and I really like how you played with the characters. Character development is clearly one of your strengths! Good job.