Zombies, P.T.S.D, And a Bad Freaking Day

Springfield MO January 20, 2013



The sound of my voice screaming out “Fuck you” woke me from the nightmare I was having once again. As my eyes opened, the only noise that I could hear was the pounding in my eardrums from the adrenaline rush, and my hands were shaking so badly that I could barely hold onto the nine mm. that I’d grabbed upon waking. My stomach felt as though I’d been punched by a heavy weight prize fighter, and my throat felt as though a constrictor was wrapped tightly around it.

Slowly I began the breathing the techniques that I’d learned from my shrink by breathing in through my nose, and slowly expelling that breath through my mouth. My heart rate began to get back to a normal pace as I concentrated solely on my breathing. I still felt the urge to put my fist through something, or get up and pace around the room, though the compulsion began to dim as I began to look around the room where I was at.





Yep, I was still in the tiny shithole that I’d taken refuge in a few weeks back. On the floor of the small warehouse was my makeshift bed of a few blankets, one stolen pillow, and some camping supplies. I’d lined the walls that had windows with as many boxes as I could, hoping that it would cut down on any light that might show outside. My nine was with me at all times, but I’d stolen as many guns as I could when I’d taken the camping supplies on that first day.





It had always been a private joke between my husband and I; that the world would one day be over ran with deadheads, yet it seemed god wanted in on this joke too. Surprise, the god damn dead do walk, they do eat live people, and smell like putrid shithouses. I knew to go straight to the places that had camping supplies, guns, freeze dried food, and things that would help me survive for a while in this lifeless land. This was a lonely pity party of one, so my supplies should last me for a few more days. I’d felt loneliness for most of my marriage, yet this solitary role that I was now taking felt as though the world was crushing me from the inside out. I am also frightened that my two girls are in either the same type of situation as I am, or worse. Although my daughters were both now adults, I didn’t know if they’d be strong enough to battle through the ravenous dead to make it.





As for my husband, I really didn’t know if he was still alive or not. I’d tried to get a hold of him by calling his cell, then his work phone, but there was no response from either one. Our marriage was like a rollercoaster, except that it wasn’t as fun. There was definitely a hell of a lot more downs than up. As soon as I thought it was safe to get comfortable, another downward loop would come along crashing us both into the bowels of fiery hell. Addiction does that though, it rips families’ apart, trust gets shit canned, and painful wounds simply fester along the way. Two months ago we’d both agreed that we needed professional help, which is how I learned that I suffered from freaking P.T.S.D. Slowly we’d begun to each make a little progress, now I didn’t know if he was even alive, or if he was one of those shambling flesh eaters that were the majority here on our planet.



  On the day that the impossible happened I was taking a break from cleaning the house, I’d turned on the afternoon news, only to see a mob of people on the screen. At first I simply thought it was people who were pissed off at our government taking out their frustrations on anyone that got into their way. Then the story got twisted into some nightmarish televised event. The woman began describing details of those attacks as so violent that people were tearing flesh from one another. As she talked of individuals actually eating others, I began to think that this was an elaborate joke, like the time when kids had changed the work signs on the freeway that warned of zombies ahead.



I really wish I hadn’t turned on that broadcast now. A newscaster was standing outside of the Whitehouse, waiting for the President to issue a statement about the violent events that were taking place not only here in America, but in certain cities around the world. As she stood there on that snowy afternoon, I noticed that the camera was not steady; it was shaky footage to say the least.



The young blond woman kept glancing around her as she continued to talk of the frightening events, telling of people who were almost torn to shreds, getting up and going after anyone that had been unfortunate enough to be in their path. The scene switched to one of madness and mayhem in some large city on the west coast. There were thousands of people stuck on a freeway, yet while they tried to trudge on slowly, people were surrounding the vehicles ripping individuals out of their vehicles. As I watched those poor people being ripped to shreds I felt as though the world was falling out from all around me.  I suddenly knew nothing but blackness as I fainted and fell to my bedroom’s shaggy carpeted floor. I recall hearing screaming as the fog lifted from my brain. As I grabbed my bed to help me to my feet I glanced at the television as the sounds of a blood curdling scream erupted from it. That poor lovely young newscaster was being torn apart from those creatures. Thoughts of my daughters imploded through my brain, fear for them coursing through my entire being like an electric current. 



        I dialed both of their numbers at least a dozen times, only getting their voice mail each time. I finally left them both a message telling each that I loved them very much, and to please find some place to hole up for their safety. I also told them to remember what their father said he’d do if the world ever fell to shit. It was all I could do, although I felt as though it wasn’t enough. Then I grabbed as much stuff as I could take with me, and threw it into my Mustang.



        I headed downtown towards the new sports store that had opened up last year. My instinct told me that everyone else would be heading towards Wallyworld, to the grocery stores, or any other place that would have canned food, water, plus flash lights. As I circled the parking lot, I prayed that there wouldn’t be that big of a crowd here. My spirits began to rise a little bit as I watched the people that were coming out of the sports store carrying canoes, some sports stuff, but mostly things that they wouldn’t need. “Frigging hell, there just might be a chance that I can make it,” I muttered.



I parked as close to the front of the store as I could, took out my nine, then I made my way into the slightly packed store. It seemed as though it was a freaking black Friday, most of the people seemed to be going after the bigger items as though it were a damn race. That was fine by me; I already had a plan in my head of what I’d need from this place. Walking down the aisle that held the camping stuff, I loaded a cart with freeze dried meals, some propane canisters, batteries, flash lights, sleeping bags, plus the guns and ammo. Some of the shoppers noticed what I’d taken and suddenly wanted those things for themselves. Well that wasn’t going to happen. I pointed my gun at the other looters, and told them in a no nonsense tone, that if they tried to take my stuff they’d find their heads blown the hell off. Luckily for me they seemed to back off to go find easier pickings. “Yay me, something is actually going my way.” Throwing my new found treasures into the trunk of the car, I tried to figure out where to go to next. That was actually when my luck ran out, a huge mob of the dead heads were making their way towards the parking lot.

I seriously thought my heart was going to give out on me; my fear was so great that I couldn’t move at first. Someone bumped into me as I stood there watching others die a gruesome death by being ripped to shreds, and that thankfully shook me out of that paralyzing fear long enough to get into my vehicle and take off.



I recall driving through the vehicle cluttered streets trying to find a place that I could at least get my shit together for a little while; all the while praying that no one would try to yank me out of my baby. There were so many damn vehicles that I felt as though I were playing pinball with my vehicle as I went along at a snail’s pace through them. Some of the zoms were staggering around on broken limbs, all trying to stagger over towards me. My nine was sitting on the seat right next to me, because there was no way in hell I was going to become zom chow if I could help it.



With my automobile damn near crawling along I took the time to have a good look around at my dismal surroundings. Off in the distance I noticed huge plumes of smoke rising into the already darkening sky; a few survivors were shooting off rounds as they ran off, plus there was the endless auto grave yard that I kept trying to maneuver around so that I wouldn’t become stuck too.

Thankfully there was a small opening up through some of the metal junk heaps that turned left onto Division Street. A voice inside of my head kept up a mantra, “keep going woman and you’ll stay alive, stop and you’ll fricking die for sure.”  Gradually I inched along until I saw a wide open parking lot with an empty looking warehouse sitting beside it. Checking out the area, I decided to take a chance to see if this place was as skeletal as it seemed.



I got out of my vehicle with my gun in my right hand. This was going to be risky as hell, but I needed to physically check out this spot, plus it would save on some gas to do this manually. As I exited the vehicle the first thing I noticed was a acrid scent in the air, it was a combination of burning buildings, something rotten like it was spoiled, also there was a faint coppery scent carried along on the wind. With my eyes stinging from the hazy air and my lungs beginning to burn, I went up to the building with a prayer on my lips.



What I saw at first was that the top part of the first two floors had window frames that were held by nothing but some plastic sheeting that seemed like it was trying to protect the interior from any outside elements. The bottom floor looked as though it were any other business building in the area. Wide darkened Plexiglas windows adorned the few spaces in the front of it, and as I made my way to the back, there was only one door that had an emergency exit sign posted above it.



As cautiously and quietly as I could, I tried the door to see if it were unlocked. Luck of the Irish must’ve been smiling on me, because the knob turned as though it were a well greased wheel. The interior inside was dim and empty; it felt as though I was all alone. I couldn’t trust in my gut instinct though, so I tip toed around making sure that there really was no one else in here with me.



After a few minutes of searching, I noticed that there were two small office spaces that held nothing but a few long forgotten nails on the ground. Off on the right side of the building, tucked in by the very door I’d come through was a set of stairs. I walked up them with the least amount of noise I could make. Deadheads weren’t the only danger I was now facing in this surreal world. I’d read in the papers that the homeless used places like this to sleep in when they couldn’t get into a shelter, and I didn’t want to run into some crazed junkie upon my search.



The next floor up was exactly the same as the one down below, except for the empty windows of course. There were some building materials that were scattered around the room, as if the crew were taking a lunch break and would be back at anytime to finish their job. That didn’t seem likely to me now that things like jobs, lunch breaks, and paychecks were a thing of the past. A deep sadness tried to intrude upon me, as though it were the ghosts of the workers crying out for justice, yet I shrugged it off so that I could make sure the last floor was clear.



My first impression as I made it to the top of the last floor was surprise. What caught my attention at first was that there were quite a few boxes scattered around the room. Of course other than that the place was as empty as the other two floors, yet my curiosity got the better of me, so I made my way over to the boxes. A lot of it was office things, but in a few of the boxes there were packages of coffee, creamer packets, and various types of sweeteners. I didn’t drink coffee very often anymore due to my having acid reflux problems, but this was a great alternative to drinking nothing but water in the days to come.



Once I’d made sure that I was truly alone I brought the boxes down to where I’d be staying at for the time being. Bringing in the things from my Mustang was more of a tricky deal. I’d go upstairs, look through a peek hole I’d made in the plastic, see if there were any flesh eaters outside, and if there were how many, then if there weren’t that many around I’d  sneak outside. It took me at least seven small trips to bring most of the stuff in to the building, and by the time I’d finished, all I wanted to do was to take a nice nap.  At the end of that first day, my body ached all over, I was cold and tired, and also I was terrified from the endless moans from the dead.



It seemed impossible that all of this had kicked off a few weeks ago. A routine developed over time that seemed to keep me closer to sanity in this insane world. I’d get up, use the unflushable toilet upstairs, eat a small meal, try to call my loved ones, and then I’d go over my supplies. A few days ago I noticed that I was beginning to run low on a few necessary items. I was down to a few jugs of water that I’d filled up back at my house, the freeze dried food would last me only few more weeks, plus I needed more propane for the gas camping stove.

The thought of going back outside made my insides cramp up, icy fingers of dread slid over my skin, and the damn tunnel vision kicked in. I’d been trying to conserve the Ativan prescription that was in my purse, yet I knew that if I didn’t take one that there was no way I’d make it to the door, let alone outside.

I began to reach for my purse, but stopped as I heard shots being fired close by. I ran up to the third floor as quickly as I could, trying to dislodge my heart from my throat as adrenaline pumped through me at warp speed. In the last week and a half there was no other noise than the hungry zoms, so I didn’t know whether to feel fear, or elation that I wasn’t the only one left alive.



Peering through my peep hole, I didn’t see anything at first glance. I could still hear gunfire, a ting sound as if a can had been kicked, plus the sound of glass being crunched into the ground. Adjusting my sight so that I was looking more to the side of this building I noticed a man wearing a soldier’s uniform coming up quick. He’d turn to fire off more shots from his rifle, trying to hit the zoms that were behind him. I could see the signs of fatigue that were evident on him, the weariness that seemed to haunt his expression, yet I hesitated to call out to him.

Thousands of suggestions ran through my head all at once, making it tough to calm down long enough to catch one of them. Emotions ran astray, fear being the numero Uno riding shotgun in my head. I really fricking hated having P.T.S.D. I knew that this soldier needed my help. He was someone that fought to protect all of our asses, yet that damn fear rode me hard and put me away a shivering mess. A part of me knew that this man wasn’t going to hurt me, or at least the logical part of my brain knew that. But whoever said that this disorder was logical?