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Rated: E · Short Story · Other · #1889152
A short story narrative of a survivor's thoughts of a post-zombie world.
Living in a post-zombie apocalyptic world isn’t as bad as some people would think.  Sure, there’s more of them than there are of us but I think the numbers are slowly shifting in our favor.  The streets aren’t quite as littered by the shambling masses so it’s a little easier to get around without worrying about becoming dinner.  The smell is probably one of the worst things; the stench of rotting bodies, walking or not, isn’t something a person can get used to very easily.  I used to dread the rain since it hid them to a point, but not now; It washes away the reek, at least for a while.  Those times make it easier to breathe.  There’s also been more and more often lately where you can drive down a street or highway and not encounter any of the shamblers.  Parts of them, maybe, but not ALL of them.

There are still the bad things, of course.  A lot of us survivors don’t know what happened to family and friends, and we have absolutely NO clue of what’s going on overseas in Europe and other countries.  Are they as bad off as us, or were they even inflicted by the zombies at all?  I do feel bad for anyone who has family over there; at least being here there’s a better chance of finding a loved one.  Supplies can be scarce too, depending what part of the states you’re in or happen to be passing through.  I’ve come across some survivors who were lucky enough to find a little corner to call their own and even grow some food.  These folks usually don’t mind sharing so long as you help out in some way.  Others are just plain mean though I guess I can’t blame them too much, having lived through what they did, and still are.  Maybe they’re just scared or worried about the shamblers over-running things again.  That’s always a possibility and we all know it.

I’m more of a wanderer, myself.  I’ve come across a good number of others willing to offer a place for the night or a quick meal but I’m always back on the road the next day.  I can’t help but think it a bit ironic, too; before the zombies I never minded being a loner but now that the vast majority of humans are gone I find myself craving that interaction.  I’ve gotten offers to stay in a few of the live zones I’ve come across but everything’s still too uncertain right now.  I don’t want to be the reason a person’s farm fails or a group doesn’t have enough to survive.  It’s easier, right now, for me to be one of the vagabonds.  I do well enough on my own and yeah, I do get a little sad or lonely about things, but I press on.  The short amount of times I get to spend in those live zones helps and it’s heartening to see them popping up in more places.

I’ve had a few people ask why I’m one of the wanderers and in the past I just kind of shrugged it off.  All the time alone gives a person time to do little more than think, though.  I’m one of those who don’t know what happened to her family and I guess that’s part of it.  There’s some sort of drive deep in my bones to try and find them or at least figure out what happened.  I’ll be the first to admit I’m scared to do it, though.  The fear of the unknown can be crippling.  Part of me wants to go full speed ahead out to the Midwest where my brother lived but that other half holds me back.  I guess one of these days I’ll just have to grit my teeth and hurdle on forward.  It’s really so unlike me but things are changing every day.  You either have to shift and adjust with them or risk being cast aside.  Or eaten.
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