Light of the Fire

I am writing by the light of the rising sun coming over the eastern skyline. Sunrises are more beautiful now than ever, if only because they mean I have survived another night.

Last night, I planned on writing again. I took a cigarette lighter that I recently acquired from the overrun gas station down the street and started a fire in a overfilled trash can outside of McDonald's. I started a diary entry, only to hear the distant moans of curious and hungry creatures. (I should, really, start to officially call them zombies, although I do not want to associate the word with these demented things. The word zombie, to me, used to mean something you could shoot for points in a videogame, or something you could watch as you ate popcorn in a theater. Zombies used to give me entertainment. Now, only fear.)

I must think that the fire attracted them. Any flash of light, loud noise, or any clue of life attracts them. It is easier to ask what does not attract them then what does. And, perhaps popular culture was wrong about one thing: they do not walk slowly. No, it is to my unfortunate realization and experience that zombies do not walk. They run when in sight of food. Sure, when no signs are obvious, they shuffle and even fall over themselves, in the midst of their rabies-like virus. Sometimes they even fight amongst each other and try to eat one another, although zombie flesh seems to not satisfy zombie hunger.

Speaking of which, I saw another human last night. A girl no older than seventeen, she was, and she was running.

Unfortunately, I never got to speak to her. Once the zombies were through, I tried to find any remnants of who she was when she was alive. I found a locket. Although not heart-shaped, it had a picture of two older people, I have to assume her parents, and on the other side, a curious choice in the form of a Siamese cat. I took the locket, and put it around my own neck, in memory of a stranger who was more like me than 99% of the human population as it stands. I hope, someday, someone keeps something of mine, if only to say that this diary, or this shirt, or this shoe belonged to one of the last humans.

At that point, though, will it matter?

I killed more zombies last night. I had to, to get to the girl's remains and find the locket. Four of them had feasted on her, and all four were lying in crumbled piles when I was through with them. I used the only weapon I had, the only thing I held when the infection hit, my beloved guitar. I never quite learned to play a guitar, but I was learning. Now, I have to use the guitar to learn how to kill. How ironic.

It is amazing how, before the infection, strangers were indifferent to one another. You hear about shootings and killings on the news, but do you truly care? Do you sit and think about the victim and the family, if they are not somehow related or connected to you? Probably not. People are cruel to one another just to be cruel. Lack of common courtesy was one of the most mild ways to be cruel to your fellow human without, perhaps, thinking of the consequences. If one person in the world is sick, you can bet the world goes on without a care.

Now, though, it is different. One begins to realize the importance of such strangers only when all your family and friends have turned into horrific creatures that only want to feast on you. For these three days, all I have wanted to see was strangers that were still human. Strangers with whom I could group with and raise my chances of survival, while raising theirs. That is assuming, of course, that we will survive, and that life will go on after the infection, which is highly unlikely and almost impractical to think of at this point.

The sun is completely up now, so I will be on my way. I have already cleaned my guitar. I have seen too much blood in the last three days to want any of it within reach. I feel exhausted. I am just heading down this highway that heads east, hoping to come across anyone who has a plan. These zombies never sleep. Whether day or night, they shuffle around, waiting for something to pass by that still has a sane mind. Unfortunately, I still do.

One fortunate thing is, of course, that I live in a very rural part of Indiana, a place where zombies are infrequent because the population was. Of course, I am heading east, and the first city I'm driving by in my old pick up is Indianapolis. A city that is pretty well populated...or, at least, just more populated than the country.

I am not looking forward to that. Then again, there is not much to look forward to.