Craig of the Dead

12. A Tendency to Die

I opened my eyes, blinking them a couple of times to adjust to the light.

"FUCK! I DIDN'T EVEN LAST A COUPLE FUCKING HOURS? COME ON!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. Good, got that out of the way. Some birds squawked at the sudden outburst, but no other noises were made. Mom would have stormed in, telling me to watch my mouth, spewing profanity as she spoke. I had never re-spawned without her home, but ever since the first zombie-death with her and dad gone, I had just woken up in my bed. No mom there. As if my curse wasn't unpredictable enough.

Man, where the hell was everyone?

"Uhhggg..." I moaned, forcing myself out of bed. The old frame squeaked as I wriggled my feet in the carpet, stretching and yawning. I could see spots of all sorts of colors and sizes staining the fuzz, causing it to smell and making it a perfect home for bugs, rats, and other critters.

"What is this, the ninth time since the zombie outbreak?" I complained to no one in particular. I have always had a, how should I put it? Tendency to die. Death would follow me around, even from my early years. I have memories of exploding and decapitation as early as pre-school. As I got older, it had gotten worse. Now, I was an expert. Ask me anything about burning, being shot, bleeding to death, being stabbed, being choked, being smashed, being run over, and I can tell you whatever you need to know. Every. Single. Detail. Of course, you could always just watch it happen. Watch every gory death after another. Good luck remembering what you saw, though. For now, I was the only one who had to live with it. The memories, the experiences, the pain.

I had learned to just go with it. Every time I had tried to figure out more or dive deeper in my curse, it only seemed to set me back. I tried my best to live a normal life. However, ever since that first zombie appeared, my death toll had skyrocketed. I had already died about eight times I would say, and always for the same reason. Zombies trying to fuck with me. One time, I had gone completely all out, I think becoming a full fledged zombie. It wouldn't be the first time. I couldn't remember exactly what happened, but I know that my brain got all fuzzy and muddled, and I couldn't feel anything at all. Then, everything just shut down. Later, I woke up in my bed. I don't know how long it took for me to turn into a complete zombie, but I wasn't wasting that kind of time. I had gotten used to carrying a gun around with me, but it never seemed to help much. Even if I shot everything and anything that moved, some walker always would be one step ahead of me, sneaking up from behind and ready to pounce. Eventually, I got sick of waiting for the disease to turn me into a zombie. If I got bit, I put a bullet in my head. However, I had just recently been infected within hours of me waking up again. That was record. And it was starting to become a pain in my ass.

I heard some squeals coming from the ground, the sound of little feet sprinting across the carpet.

"Hey guys." I gave a small wave to the three rats that were scurrying on the ground. They stopped at my feet for a moment and began to squeak. Yeah, I know it was stupid, talking to rats, but there was something different about these guys. They got me. They would always be in my room when I re-spawned, waiting for me. "You might as well just stay in here." I said, walking past them to my closet. I was already wearing my parka, I would always wake up with it on after I died, even if I didn't die with it on. I should just leave it on, it didn't really effect much.

"I guess I should just keep searching around, huh?" I muttered to myself. "I think I saw some smoke or something coming from an alley, that might be a fire. It wasn't too far from here, either. Maybe whoever's there saw Karen."

I had to find her. I had to. It was my fault she was gone.

All I wanted to do was go above and beyond for her, be everything she ever needed or wanted. If she wanted to have the last waffle, then I would gladly give her mine. I didn't need to eat every night. If she needed consolation, then the Mysterion costume was going on. I didn't need to sleep every night, either. If she needed headache medicine, then guess who was going to get that for her.

Now she was gone. Now she was gone and it was all my fault. Kevin wouldn't help her, he was dumber than a bag of rocks. He probably was off getting drunk or high on whatever he could find. Honestly, I couldn't give my rat's ass about Kevin, but Karen... she must be so afraid and alone. I had promised to always be there for her, to be her pillar, her anchor, her big brother. When I had gone on the medicine run, however, I had been ambushed by zombies. They cornered me and I was trapped and, well, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. They ate me alive. It was really scary and really painful. That's all there is to it. When I had woken up in my bed and dashed back to our little hideout, a small little tent on the side of the road, both of my siblings were missing.

"You see, this is what happens when you try to do nice things. Some motherfuckers eat you." I slipped on some tennis-shoes and headed to my kitchen, grabbing a pop tart on my way out. I had just recently died not to far from my home, so my first course of action was to go and get my gun. I was having enough trouble saying alive with a gun. Without, I would probably die before noon.

"Don't worry, Karen. I'm coming for you." I said, forging ahead to continue my search.