The Undead Situation Read Free Page A

undead, but that didn’t mean one wasn’t there. Crowbar on the ready, I glimpsed into my spare room. It was empty, as was the bathroom next to it. Leaning the other way, I took a step forward, glancing into my bedroom. It, too, was clear.
    I went to the end of the hall, which opened up into the living area, and stopped cold. In the corner of the room, near my records, a woman swayed back and forth, facing the wall. Adorned in a tweed business suit with minor rips and stains, she appeared relatively normal. Her hair was still up in a tight bun, revealing mottled gray skin. The only giveaway was a bullet wound through the back of her neck.
    She turned around slowly then caught sight of me. Her on switch triggered, she lurched forward, trying to close the distance between us. I took a step down the hall and watched as she stumbled, almost losing her footing. With steady hands, I gripped the crowbar and raised it above my head, waiting for her to stand up.
    I brought the curved end down, lodging it into the top of her head. She snarled and gnashed her teeth at me, trying to move forward, but I held her at bay with the crowbar. It didn’t go in deep enough to actually kill her, but it kept her at a safe distance.
    Thick brown liquid dribbled down her chin as she swung her arms out. I pushed her back, using the crowbar as leverage, until we were both on the balcony. Good thing I left the sliding glass door open.
    Cracking indicated her skullcap was going to give way. I pushed her until she was at the edge of the railing, gave the crowbar a quick tug, releasing it and a chunk of bone. Before she had the chance to lunge at me, I gave her a hard kick in the chest, knocking her back, sailing down to the hard asphalt below. Her body landed at an odd angle and the back of her skull exploded. Safe at last, I tapped the crowbar on the railing until the piece of skull and hair fell off.
    Inside, I dumped out my backpack on the dining room table. Candy scattered everywhere, and I sorted it by level of deliciousness, like a little kid on Halloween.
    Mission accomplished.
     
    * * *
     
    I stopped keeping track after awhile. What was the point in keeping track of days when you didn’t have anything to do? No appointments, no dates, no work. Nothing. I didn’t have a calendar to begin with, so it didn’t matter. (Actually, now that I think about it, I didn’t have obligations before either. Only nowadays, I couldn’t leave the apartment if I wanted to. That was really the only difference of pre-apocalyptic life for me.)
    Resources were not an issue. The city water had stopped flowing a long time ago, but water was easy enough to collect. I set every container possible outside to catch rain, which worked out well since I lived in Washington. I transferred full containers to the bathtub whenever possible.
    Entertainment was an issue. Guns & Ammo didn’t amuse forever, which forced me to search the apartment for something else to do. There were a couple boxes of my old college books, so I set to work on those.
    I read them all, then I read them again. If I had that kind of determination while in college, I might’ve stuck around. But I didn’t, and I don’t regret it. The apocalypse made me a smarter person. I wonder if the same could be said about other survivors.
    (Ah, the history of college…Instead of finishing my degree in pharmacy, I found a buddy who forged an entire background for me. I got all the benefits of having the degree, without the work or debt. The whole idea seemed clever to me, and landed me jobs in drugstores.)
    After I finished reading all those college books, I understood physics. My mind grasped how a light year worked, and I could recount the evolutionary history of man in a heartbeat. Even the lighter books were appealing, like art history or geography. If the world was ever rebuilt, I’d be one hell of a commodity.
    For now, however, book smarts were useless at the end of an apocalypse day, so when I