Picky Eater

Braindead Are Dumb

I never thought the pandemic would last this long. Seriously, how hard is it to just stay home with the doors locked? Let law enforcement and the military take down the roamers. This new disease would run its course, and then we could all go on and continue with our lives. But along with repelling attempts to station the military in every neighborhood, people also protested orders to stay indoors. They waved signs declaring that they'd rather live free than die imprisoned. I can't say that I felt much pity for those idiots when they got chewed alive by brain-thirsty infected corpses.

Unfortunately, as those protesters got devoured, several of them joined the ranks of the undead, adding to the terrors walking the streets.

As I reverse out of my driveway and turn down the road, I see one of them. A red hat sits askew on top of their flesh-rotted head and a sign drags behind them, clutched in a near-skeletal hand. It looks up at me as I drive past, but my Toyota easily evades the slow-moving form. Driving this way is sort of fun. Like one of those demo-derby video games. Only real-life.

My drive is less than a mile, and I don't hit any trouble until I reach Amy's Convenience Store. It's in a small neighborhood shopping center with just a few stores: a dry cleaner, a liquor store, and the market. It's not a place I ever went to often. Maybe run in and grab a lotto ticket if the jackpot was something crazy high. Honestly, the produce was never fresh and the place always seemed deserted, which is why I'm surprised by all the cars packed in the parking lot.

Instead of turning into the lot, I just pull over to the side of the road, place the car in park, grab the keys from the ignition, and sling my black messenger bag over one shoulder. I tap my helmet–still secure–and tentatively open my car door. I immediately hear growling. And shouts. Clang!

Shit.

Maybe I should get back in the car and try to navigate across town to the Trader Joe's. Try to find some of Kevin's real favorite snacks: those extra salty sesame chips, peanut-butter cup trail mix, and This Strawberry Walked into a Bar cereal bars.

"Help!" I hear a man scream.

With my knife-stick in my hand, I jump out of the car. I slam the door too hard, because immediately I see two dead heads coming my way. The smell is awful. Worse than awful. I once accidentally left a grocery bag with a package of chicken breasts in my trunk over a hot Labor Day weekend. This is ten times worse. A thousand times worse. My eyes water, blurring my vision.

The fuckers are slow-moving. Decaying muscles don't work very well, after all. But even though they are only slow-lumbering in my direction, they are still intimidatingly large. Both are men. Or used to be. Tall guys who probably played sports once upon a time. One of them wears a hard hat and the remnants of a safety vest, the other is dressed in gym shorts and a ratty tee. There's no way I'd survive a hand-to-hand fight with either of them, nevermind both at once. My broomstick feels flimsy and insufficient.

This is the closest I've been to a zombie in real-life and I'm surprised by how human they still look. Discolored. Badly beaten up. But still very human.

"What are you doing? Run!" says the same voice who had yelled for help a minute earlier.

I shake myself from my stupor and charge down the sidewalk to the parking lot's entrance. Over the jam of cars, I see a guy standing in front of the market's main entrance. He's an older guy with a gray-streaked beard, and short like me, but better built. He gives me a double thumbs up and then waves for me to approach him.

Is this a trap? I look around. The two undead are following me, two hungry cats who've just heard the can opener, but they're the only ones walking out in the open. I don't see any other living people, either. So, with a twinge of apprehension, I use the walkway to make my way to the front of the store, making a wide arc away from any parked cars, just in case there's a nasty surprise waiting to grab at my ankles from an undercarriage.

"Thanks for distracting them," he says, his voice low. "Not sure if much is left on these shelves, but we might have more luck if we help each other out. You know, yelling at the dead, having them ping pong between us. They might be deadly, but they are dumb."

"Braindead," I agree.

His offer of kindness surprises me. In the first days of the pandemic, before everything really went to hell, there'd been stories in the news about people attacking each other at stores. Even stabbings over toilet paper, of all things. Brawls breaking out in the canned food aisle. Zombies are slow-moving and brainless. People can be ruthless. People are scarier.

But his offer also makes sense. It'll be easier to avoid the zombies if there are two of us working together as a team. We may need to split the spoils, but we'll have a better chance of getting out alive, and that's what I promised my family that I would do.

So, with a nod, we both walk through the door. A bell rings as we enter, alerting any creeping zombie of our presence.

The putrid air hits my nostrils with a punch. I don't need to see a walking corpse to know that we aren't alone. We make our way past the shopping basket return area and approach the small produce section. Rotten fruits and moldy vegetables add to the pungent and heavy air. What a waste.

"Let's split up," the man suggests. "If any of 'em get too close, give a holler and I'll run to distract them so you can escape. You do the same for me. Ok?"

"Ok, good plan," I say and then head for the breakfast aisle.

The shelves in the store are almost as pitiful as my pantry at home. Other people have been here before. Probably many times over the past months. Most of the shelves are bare of anything still edible. I find a crunched up box of s'mores Pop Tarts and I toss them into my bag. There are also a few boxes of Grape-Nuts cereal. I guess even during a pandemic no one wants those for breakfast. I take them too. Even if Kevin is picky, I can't afford to be.

At the end of the aisle, one of the shelves is knocked over. Maybe, just maybe, I'll find some buried treasure.

But before I have time to investigate, I hear the bell of the door opening. I go still, hoping to go unfound, but within a minute there is a shuffle followed by a growl behind me.