Aim for the Head?

I am relying far too much on this diary to save my sanity.

I plan on driving into Indianapolis today, if only to cross it and emerge from the other side. I don't plan on stopping. I have already gone through what it might be like to drive through the city. Zombies are few and far between in rural areas, but they will be rampant like the plague in the city. Of course, that also means there is a better chance of me seeing another human.

I was depressed last night. I finished my diary entry, truly wondering about the last question I had wrote. Ironically, I decided that then was the time for another cigarette. I made the mistake of going outside of my truck to smoke. Because, you see, even though I picked up a habit I swore I would never even consider when things were normal, there is that nostalgic and insistent part of my mind that says maybe one day things will be normal again. That's why I still don't smoke in my truck. One day, if things are normal again, the stench of my truck will be a reminder to the people I've killed (although no longer people), and the depression I have gone through.

A zombie wandered out from behind a car, then, on the highway I had planned on calling my home for the night in my truck. The zombie used to be a middle aged man, overweight and with that unmistakeable grayish tinge to his skin that gave away the fact he was no longer human. He had cocked his head at me, studying me with his newly found animalistic instinct, watching the smoke rise from my cigarette.

I knew, then, that I would have to fight. Knowing it would attract him further but having no choice, I swung open the door to my truck with a creak, my cigarette falling to the pavement. I grabbed my guitar, waiting for the zombie as it broke into a run, its bloodshot and no longer human eyes focused on a much needed meal.

I had held my guitar in a position ready to knock the zombie's head from his shoulders, simply waiting for the stupid thing to come to me. As he neared, I aimed for the head. Always the head, as popular culture claimed, as a zombie could not be killed any other way, or so I thought. Then something happened I hadn't counted on: I missed.

I hit the zombie's shoulder with the guitar, not causing hardly any damage at all. He stumbled, confused, and I had taken the opportunity to jump into my truck, hardly slamming the door behind me before the zombie grabbed at me, his inhuman fingers only grabbing at glass. Starting my truck, I had slammed the accelerator, leaving the zombie behind. Watching him chase me in an awkward run, I decided what I had to do, if only to take one more of these things out of existence.

I put the truck in reverse. The dumb zombie continued to run toward the back of my truck, probably no longer thinking about why, just knowing it had been doing so and would continue to do so before it lost its momentum. I went faster and faster in reverse, debating whether to watch or not. Then, the zombie and the back of my truck connected with a slam!, the tailgate hitting its chest and flipping it onto the ground. Two sets of tires thudded before the body of the zombie appeared before me.

Bloodied and bruised, it had no injuries to the head, but it wasn't moving. In a daring move, I exited my truck and went to the body. Part of me wondered if it was a ploy, then I quickly dismissed that, knowing that my past few days of experience with zombies showed clearly that the virus turned these people into no more than dumb predators reacting on instinct. I studied the body for a bit. It had bleeding wounds, losing a massive amount of blood, but again, no injury to the head. Just to make sure, I kicked the zombie in the side, waiting for a reaction.

There wasn't one. It would seem that popular culture had it wrong again. This morning, I killed two zombies out of necessity while looking in a farmhouse for some clothes on the outskirts of the city. To test my theory, I aimed everywhere but the head with the axe I had found in a tree trunk outside. I have found, in conclusion, that zombies can be killed in any way that a human can be when it comes to losing blood and such. It makes sense, now that I think of it, since zombies are not undead creatures but humans who have become infected with a virus that reminds me so much of rabies with a sick twist. If it loses enough blood, it simply cannot continue to exist.

I may write again tonight, diary. I actually have faith that I will. Realizing all this new information about the zombies makes me feel like I do have purpose here. Perhaps one day I will find someone to share my findings with. Of course, by that point, they may know themselves. Oh well. It gives me a reason to hope, no matter how tiny and sad that reason is.

I am currently following the distant sight of a car into the city. I know that if it is a moving, driving car, it has a human driver. I can only hope I can make my way through this highway's maze of car to catch them, perhaps group up with them and see if they know anything else about this virus.

Even if they don't, it's another human. That makes it worth it.