It is coming to a close, and I can’t believe it.
Last night, I slept on the couch in the middle level den. It was difficult to fall asleep at first, what with all of the moaning, and little brother Jon, zombified, on the back deck still trying to get in, but eventually I did. I slept with the beat-stick of a short sword that my wifey purchased for me. It is hand forged and I found it in Prague two Thanksgivings ago; I never thought I’d be using it for home-defense. Anyway, it was lying on the coffee table next to me. I left my boots on, just in case I needed to, you know, not get bitten on the foot should I have to run outside, or something crazy like that. You never know what’s gonna happen with the undead roaming about. The boots were difficult to get comfortable in, and were continually cutting off the circulation to my right foot.
Everyone else was on the third floor: my wife and kid were in our room; Nicole had taken to my brother David’s room, and Blake and Tini were in my parent’s room. It was quiet compared to earlier. Nicole was going on about killing zombies and getting out there to fight, Tini had been complaining about her broken collar bone, Blake was still rambling on and on about what happened at his work…my daughter was crying, Izzy had rampant morning sickness. I guess it was easy to filter out the sound of the dead after everyone else had gone to sleep.
I woke up at about 8:30 to the sound of breaking wood. I cleared the sleep from my eyes and realized that I had fallen asleep with my contacts in. Luckily, I got my right eye’s contact in straight, but my left one seemed to have taken a flying leap out of my eye. I could still see decently, as my right eye was my dominant eye.
I stood up and reached for the sword with my right arm, but I only ended up toppling to the floor and sending the sword to the other side of the table. My right foot was dead asleep, and my body was playing games with me. My whole equilibrium was off as I had just stood up way too quickly. I gave myself a moment and listened to the sound of zombies entering through one of the boarded up windows. It sounded like it was coming from the living room, but I couldn’t tell which window, I was hoping it was the one in the corner, and not the one right by the stairs.
I pulled myself up, kicked my right foot around a bit, and picked up my sword, testing its balance in my hand. I glanced over at the kitchen table and my right eye found the hammer I had used to take a zombie out earlier. If I was going to beat the zombies back, I was going to want that to nail the bookshelf to the wall and over the broken window. Next to it was a box of nails, which I shoved into my pocket. With hammer in my left had, and my sword in my right, I made my way to the living room. I passed into the foyer and yelled up to my guests, “zombies in the house!” In retrospect, I probably should have yelled “help” and not something that could be confused with humorous slang, but whatever.
The window they broke through was not the one in the corner; it was the one by the stairs. Already a zombie was sloppily making his way up the stairs. I ran by and hit it in the hip with the hammer over the banister, the blow was sufficient enough to send him sprawling to the first level. The next zombie I went for was a woman. I recognized her only after I had opened up her temple with the sword; she was a neighbor at the opening of our street. Two more zombies entered the window, and I decided I needed to get up the stairs.
I clambered on top of the side table my mom used to accent the foyer; it was pushed up against the half-wall that the stairs ascended. I had climbed on top of the damn thing before while messing around with my brothers, so I knew it would be sturdy enough to hold me. Once on top of the table, I kicked my left leg up and over the banister, essentially mounting it. I used the hammer to knock another zombie down the stairs. I took a moment to assess my situation, and I cracked a smile…this was ridiculous. I decided I needed both of my feet to not be separated by a banister and swung my right foot over the banister. This worked out well, except that I now had my back facing the zombie horde, which was now moving into my house. While turning around, I tried to take a step up the stairs, but only succeeded in falling down and busting up the hardwood floor with the hammer. I felt something bite my hip, and I had to turn my head way too far to the left in order to look at my left leg with my good eye. I saw red start to wick up into the fabric of my pants, and after a moment’s confusion, realized that the wound was from the goddamn nails I put in my pocket and not a zombie bite. Relieved and yet somehow still pissed, I tried to remember the last time I had my Tetanus shot.
The upside was that I was now facing the zombies, even if it was while I was lying on my back, and bleeding from my hip. I heard a door open up behind me and some foot steps. I chanced a glance up and behind me, and it was Izzy, running from our bedroom to the bathroom. It seems the stench of zombies set off her morning sickness. “Lock the damn door!” I called up to her.
I returned my concentration back to the zombies to see two fighting their way to get to me, and I found myself back peddling up the stairs in some strange crab-walk-like way. I made it up to the landing, just as one of the zombies, apparently the fittest of the two, hovered over me, ready to strike. I took the hammer and smashed it in the top of the head and then placed my foot on its sternum and pushed. My hammer went with the zombie down the stairs, where I saw it dislodge itself from the zombie’s head…great.
I scrambled to my feet and held my sword, ready to bust up on some zombie skulls. I turned and called out, again, “zombies, fuckers, get the fuck up!” Nothing. Jesus H Macy, I was screwed.
I never had anyone break into my house, but I always imagined I’d feel violated, like my privacy had been taken from me. Looking down at the amassing crowd invading my home, with their grotesque features and putrid stench, I realized that, yup, I did feel violated; but in a way that would be akin to having someone throw shit at me.
It was pretty easy hacking the zombies in the bottleneck of the stairs, until my hand got sweaty and the sword went flying down to the first floor…fuck.
I pulled out my utility knife, and fucking broke the blade off in the next available zombie’s temple. It was not my intention to do that, but I was pretty positive it looked damn cool. Coolness factor aside, I was down to my knees and bows, and that left me at a great disadvantage.
That’s when it happened. The zombies just started falling over as if they were suffering from narcolepsy or something. All of them, down as if I hit them in the head. My first thought was that I must have killed the zombie master with my knife and that is what stopped them, but I quickly threw that out as it was the old lady from down the street who lives in the basement of her son’s house.
I went upstairs and unlocked the door to the bathroom to find Izzy still in front of the bowl. It seemed my appearance and smell set off another round of retching. I told her, “get me some new clothes when you’re done, I’m gonna take a shower.” She glared at me as I passed into the shower, fully clothed, and probably kept glaring at me for a bit after I had pulled the shower curtain closed and turned the water on. Since my wife loves me, she brought me my clothes, but tossed them over the shower curtain while I was still bathing. It was clearly punishment for having spoken to her so gruffly while she was puking.
After the shower and some new, slightly damp clothes, I checked the internet and it looks like this phenomenon has been going on all morning. Hurray. The end is over. I’m sad about the friends that didn’t make it, but I have to say I’m glad we’re fine. I tried my cell phone to get a hold of the rest of my family, but the lines were still busy, probably even busier now that the zombies are falling over.
So, yeah. My house is full of the dead undead, and I guess I’m gonna start throwing them into the front yard for some sort of zombie removal service to deal with.
The back deck was quiet; Jon was lying there in front of the door, dead. The only wound on his body a horrible bite mark on his leg. I wrapped him up in some trash bags and I figure I’ll put him in the basement movie room until I get the garage freezer emptied out. It is coldest in the basement and we can have a proper funeral for him when things settle out.
Good luck to all you survivors out there, I hope you’re able to find the loved ones you were not able to contact.