More Dreams of the Zombie Apocalypse
I was back in Reno somewhere, in a cul-de-sac near Kings Row and Severn. I was afraid. We knew the zombies were about. Across the street, we saw a body, prone on a lawn, start to struggle to its feet. It had the familiar jerking motion often associated with the undead.
We ran into a nearby house, looking for blunt weapons. Blunt trauma (in this scenario) was the best way to deal damage to the undead ones. Into the house through the open garage and into the storage room beyond we ran; we found various lengths of rattan lying neatly in a pile. I grabbed a sword-length piece and handed it to the football player. I took a longer section. I didn't see what the others grabbed, but I knew they were arming themselves.
Back in the garage, a zombie granny crawled towards us. She didn't have the rotted flesh of many zombies; she was still fresh. Her purple flowered dress drug on the floor. I could tell from her gapping maw and vacuous stare that she wanted to eat my flesh. I freaked. I remember using the rattan like a spear, repeatedly punching her face with the blunt end of the wood staff. I tried to drive the end of the pole into her eye sockets. I figured it might be easier to deliver blunt trauma to the brain that way. Someone else was helping me, but to no avail. She kept sliding towards us, snakelike, our blows doing little or nothing to her. There was no sign of the football player. I never saw him again.
#
Out in the street again. There was a large wooden coffee table, about a five foot square with carved legs that look like pawns from a chessboard, in the middle of the road. Around the table on the asphalt were piles of paper back books. People were milling about trying to stack the books into piles as a gigantic horde of the undead closed in on us. I messed around trying to stack some books in an excited fervor. I need to save these books! I may want to read them someday. As I struggled, a zombie started to materialize out of the air in from of me. I realized it is coming through a wormhole from extra dimensional space. Its head and a grasping arm reached for me. Its outline was blurred and wave like, similar to the visual distortion caused by a migraine headache. I grabbed my rattan staff from somewhere and started beating in the zombie's face. My blows have to obvious effect, but the zombie groans and slowly vanished.
#
Some unknown amount of time went gone by. I climbed along the outside of an apartment building high above the ground. As I went from one balcony to another, I had to ignore my fear of falling. I gulped. Grabbing for secure foot and hand holds, I climbed onto the balcony above. The sliding glass door was open, and I went inside. It was a bedroom. A girl, dark hair and almond skin beckoned me from the bed. She was familiar somehow. She pulled me under the sheet and rubbed her body against mine. Oddly, the sensation was more disturbing than arousing. I remembered a dream then. I was walking through halls and rooms of a giant crumbling sand castle. Through a window, I saw my ex-girlfriend Shannon walking on the beach. She was crying, water pouring from her eyes, and I realized the waves breaking on the shore were an ocean of tears. I know her heart was broken. "Just remember," I yelled, "You broke up with me!" I wasn't angry, though. My heart felt broken too.
#
Back in the bedroom with the girl. She pulled my head down towards her intending a kiss, but a spider erupted from under the skin above her lips. I pulled away and stood over her watching as she flopped helplessy on the bed. Her eyes were glazed and her mouth slack. She reminded me of the old granny zombie, but I knew she wasn't undead. I turned and walked out of the bedroom into the living room where a group of people are gathered around a television watching a movie about zombies. Jerry Garcia was there. So was Larry Niven and Lance Armstrong. Philip K. Dick narrated on the television screen. On the screen, a group of people gathered around a gray painted house in a cul-de-sac. I recognized this as the house from earlier, except the film is from over fifty years ago. The house was subtly different. I recognized where pieces where missing, things that would be added on in later years. I liked seeing the house as it was way back when. It seemed right somehow.
#
I walked into the television set. The screen expanded to encompass me and I went to join the crowd of people there. Josh Goldman was there. So was Andy Orwoll and Seth. Someone was carrying the tribble known as Donatien. I tried talking to them, explaining That I was from the future and things were different then. Noone seemed to want to listen. I felt a creeping dread that maybe zombies were somewhere about. Then, a hand closed around mine. I looked down and saw Cynthia standing next to me. She smiled and I felt infused with warmth. Both of us leaked a tear as we looked at each other. Then, she nodded her head as if to say, "Let's get out of here." We walked off screen, and the credits began to roll.
The End
We ran into a nearby house, looking for blunt weapons. Blunt trauma (in this scenario) was the best way to deal damage to the undead ones. Into the house through the open garage and into the storage room beyond we ran; we found various lengths of rattan lying neatly in a pile. I grabbed a sword-length piece and handed it to the football player. I took a longer section. I didn't see what the others grabbed, but I knew they were arming themselves.
Back in the garage, a zombie granny crawled towards us. She didn't have the rotted flesh of many zombies; she was still fresh. Her purple flowered dress drug on the floor. I could tell from her gapping maw and vacuous stare that she wanted to eat my flesh. I freaked. I remember using the rattan like a spear, repeatedly punching her face with the blunt end of the wood staff. I tried to drive the end of the pole into her eye sockets. I figured it might be easier to deliver blunt trauma to the brain that way. Someone else was helping me, but to no avail. She kept sliding towards us, snakelike, our blows doing little or nothing to her. There was no sign of the football player. I never saw him again.
#
Out in the street again. There was a large wooden coffee table, about a five foot square with carved legs that look like pawns from a chessboard, in the middle of the road. Around the table on the asphalt were piles of paper back books. People were milling about trying to stack the books into piles as a gigantic horde of the undead closed in on us. I messed around trying to stack some books in an excited fervor. I need to save these books! I may want to read them someday. As I struggled, a zombie started to materialize out of the air in from of me. I realized it is coming through a wormhole from extra dimensional space. Its head and a grasping arm reached for me. Its outline was blurred and wave like, similar to the visual distortion caused by a migraine headache. I grabbed my rattan staff from somewhere and started beating in the zombie's face. My blows have to obvious effect, but the zombie groans and slowly vanished.
#
Some unknown amount of time went gone by. I climbed along the outside of an apartment building high above the ground. As I went from one balcony to another, I had to ignore my fear of falling. I gulped. Grabbing for secure foot and hand holds, I climbed onto the balcony above. The sliding glass door was open, and I went inside. It was a bedroom. A girl, dark hair and almond skin beckoned me from the bed. She was familiar somehow. She pulled me under the sheet and rubbed her body against mine. Oddly, the sensation was more disturbing than arousing. I remembered a dream then. I was walking through halls and rooms of a giant crumbling sand castle. Through a window, I saw my ex-girlfriend Shannon walking on the beach. She was crying, water pouring from her eyes, and I realized the waves breaking on the shore were an ocean of tears. I know her heart was broken. "Just remember," I yelled, "You broke up with me!" I wasn't angry, though. My heart felt broken too.
#
Back in the bedroom with the girl. She pulled my head down towards her intending a kiss, but a spider erupted from under the skin above her lips. I pulled away and stood over her watching as she flopped helplessy on the bed. Her eyes were glazed and her mouth slack. She reminded me of the old granny zombie, but I knew she wasn't undead. I turned and walked out of the bedroom into the living room where a group of people are gathered around a television watching a movie about zombies. Jerry Garcia was there. So was Larry Niven and Lance Armstrong. Philip K. Dick narrated on the television screen. On the screen, a group of people gathered around a gray painted house in a cul-de-sac. I recognized this as the house from earlier, except the film is from over fifty years ago. The house was subtly different. I recognized where pieces where missing, things that would be added on in later years. I liked seeing the house as it was way back when. It seemed right somehow.
#
I walked into the television set. The screen expanded to encompass me and I went to join the crowd of people there. Josh Goldman was there. So was Andy Orwoll and Seth. Someone was carrying the tribble known as Donatien. I tried talking to them, explaining That I was from the future and things were different then. Noone seemed to want to listen. I felt a creeping dread that maybe zombies were somewhere about. Then, a hand closed around mine. I looked down and saw Cynthia standing next to me. She smiled and I felt infused with warmth. Both of us leaked a tear as we looked at each other. Then, she nodded her head as if to say, "Let's get out of here." We walked off screen, and the credits began to roll.
The End