I carried the shovel back into the house and thought about getting drunk. I wasn't a drinker before the ZA, but I think it might be something I take up. None of the zombies are that into alcohol, and I think about how I could make a joke to them about how they lurch around despite not being drunk. What would a drunk zombie look like? Probably sad. I bet zombies are the saddest drunks ever. I bet they just sit around and talk about the good old days before they became zombies and how they wished that they'd done more with their pre-zombie lives. I bet zombies are existential fucks if you give them enough whiskey.
I'm out of booze and am going to have to go over to Ron's if I want a refill. Honestly, some other folks have probably got a little bit tucked away somewhere, but I kind of feel like I need to stretch my legs. Otherwise, I'll just sit around and stare at the paisley pattern on my couch and wonder why I chose it. I don't know how to sew or do anything useful, so I guess I'll just have to live with it forever now because you can bet the zombies tore the shit out of all the IKEA stores in the vicinity if they remembered anything about being alive. Maybe to a zombie an IKEA is still a place of horror.
I probably shouldn't be walking over to Ron's house what with all the flesh eating zombies about. But there is this sort of tacit assumption that I'm making here that being a zombie is a bad sort of thing. Maybe they are walking around delighted inside. Who the hell knows? Wouldn't it be nice to be on the winning team for once? What's so great about being human?
Just then, off in the distance I see someone running, and I can tell that it's not a zombie by the way that it doesn't lurch but sprints, and I realize that I am rooting for the form, which is a middle aged woman to get away from the three zombies who are clumsily lurching after. Perhaps the great thing about being a human is the ability to root for other humans. Do zombies cheer for each other?
And then I'm out in the yard with my shovel swinging it around and smashing various zombies in the chest, sending them reeling back while this horrified woman screams and screams and screams as if the world was ending. "We're going to be all right," I tell her, grabbing her arm while the zombies recollect their bearings and kind of amble around trying to figure out just why someone is beating the shit out of them.
Bernice isn't really my type, but this is the sort of luck I've always had with the ladies. She told me straight away that I wasn't her type either and not to get any ideas about the world being over because until she had found out that there were literally no other options left she wouldn't even consider it. I could have pointed out that I'd saved her life out in the yard, but Bernice is busy trying to fashion one of my couch legs into some sort of club spear.
"Where do we go next?" I ask her.
"I've always wanted to see Montana?" she says. "Maybe we should start walking towards Montana?"
I realize right then that Bernice is already insane and that I'm trapped in the ZA with a person who is just plain nuts because imagine a zombie Grizzly Bear. Just imagine him, Bernice! No club spear is going to save you from that kind of wrath.
