The Walking Dead??

The Walking Dead???

I remember when my son excitedly said, “Dad! You need to watch this show!” Without any parental consent, he switched the TV from my beloved BEWITCHED reruns (Loved Elizabeth Montgomery!) to a new series called THE WALKING DEAD. I started to protest the interruption, but instead reluctantly started watching as Chad settled on the couch beside me. Time spent with my son in any capacity was worth the sacrifice. But Samantha was particularly cute in that episode. 

THE WALKING DEAD was crap. Zombies? In Atlanta? Harder to believe than a nose twitching witch and not as hot !

I had heard of the new series from the geeks at work. I thought it sounded stupid from their descriptions of the series and the cast of characters, but watching it was infinitely worse. But Chad seemed enthralled and so I pretended to be also.

All for a bit of father-son bonding.

Chad is our only child. Shortly after his birth, Grace suffered a prolapsed uterus. Repeated procedures failed to correct the issue. Finally the doctor said she needed a hysterectomy. Chad was four years old when the decision was made to proceed, He cried and begged us not to do it. He wanted a baby brother. He would have been an excellent big brother too. 

 I made a vow to fill in as a substitute as much as possible. Not as a baby brother but a loving companion. 

It was an imperfect plan. Some things were not possible or probable. My buddies and I had an annual fishing trip and he begged to go with me. But it would have been a nightmare for my friends to have a five year old with us. The beer drinking, all-night poker and dirty jokes that were an integral part of the trip would have to be curtailed. It broke his heart to be left behind. Mine too. Five years later, I thought he was ready. But he was less enthusiastic and was totally bored, especially when the fish weren't biting. Afterwards, he refused any offers to go fishing. A golden opportunity lost. 

I bought him a Playstation and he loved it. He was always asking me to play with him. But I lack the dexterity to hit buttons and combinations like he could. I didn’t enjoy constantly wrecking my race car or being killed by various characters, all controlled by my son. I relegated my Playstation controller to his friends. He had more fun playing with them. So did I.

Cub Scouts didn’t catch his interest. I had loved Scouting.

Chad decided to learn to play the bass guitar. Seems he has a natural talent for music and soon was playing numerous stringed instruments, keyboards and synthesizers. I have small hands and struggled to hit the correct frets to strum a guitar. Picking specific keys without looking intensely at them was an impossibility. But he knew kids who could play and a succession of bands with names like PEDOPHILE PRIESTS or THE DUNGIES came and went.

Our common interests seemed to be centered on TV shows. I can’t say I actually liked many of the shows he did. But I pretended to. Scooby Doo was a cartoon I especially loathed. Chad loved it. But I sat there beside him feigning interest. There were a few I enjoyed. SpongeBob eventually grew on me. Ren and Stimpy was a winner. I laughed at the antics of the strangely drawn cat and chihuahua duo. Courage the Cowardly Dog made me chuckle. I loved Happy Tree Friends. Watching the cast of adorably cute characters fall into chainsaws, shark tanks, and broken glass causing them to be flayed, dismembered, and decapitated strangely exhilarated and delighted me. Chad and I howled with laughter. 

Chad amazed me when, at the age of ten, we watched the entire series of OZ. He asked a few embarrassing questions but I believed he was mature enough and since he has never run afoul of the law, I think he was actually scared straight. Frankly, so was I.

But zombies? Maybe I missed it but they never explained how they came to be. They just happened. And since my work often took me to Atlanta, I tried to imagine it actually taking place. Occasionally I recognized a location from the show and had to laugh. 

Zombies? 

So I watched The Walking Dead with my son. Or tried to, at least. Occasionally I fell asleep. The results of advancing years and boredom. And one time I awoke because of a sharp pain in my left hand. I was surprised to see a bite mark, oozing blood. Chad looked as surprised as I was and obviously was embarrassed. “Don’t know why I did that…” was his only explanation. 

I laughed it off but later wondered about it for a while. Why would he do something so out of character?

I washed the wound with soap and hot water. He barely broke the skin but I still slathered on a thick coating of Neosporin. Surely that would set it straight. 

But it didn’t. The wound grew red and sensitive. It began to itch and I scratched relentlessly. It got worse and kept me awake at night. And when I did sleep, strange dreams haunted me. Dreams of murder and bloodshed. I awoke exhausted after them.

And I noticed many other people incessantly scratching and rubbing parts of their bodies. Interesting. But I never saw a relationship between their skin problems and my misery. Surely nobody had playfully nipped them! And I blamed the lighting in the house when Chad’s skin took on a strange greenish appearance. He was fighting teenage acne and I assumed that was the reason.

I guess I should have been more shocked when I came home after work and found the half eaten remains of my wife. She was laying behind the couch in the family room and Chad was nonchalantly chewing on her left leg which had been separated at the knee. I was more upset that he was ignoring the house rule of NO EATING ON THE COUCH. It was a very expensive piece of furniture and the bloodstains were not likely to come out of the cloth material. Doris would be very angry and rightfully so. The fact that rigor mortis had already set in her half consumed body escaped my attention totally. 

And five minutes later, I was barely aware that I was noisily gnawing at her liver, while seated beside Chad. Eating. On the forbidden couch…

The next day it was nearly 3:00 pm before I woke up and realized I had forgotten to go to work. How unusual. I had twenty years of perfect attendance at my job. I dialed my boss’ phone at work but he didn’t answer. I called the whole staff and nobody answered. I promptly forgot about it and instead gnawed on the last of Doris’ fingers. I glanced at the last fingernail and was shocked to see the polish was chipped. Doris always took such wonderful care of her hands. “She needs a manicure”. I thought.

I woke up from a stupor two days later. My belly was grumbling. I gnawed at the tendons and bits of flesh that were all that remained of my late wife, but it wasn’t enough. I opted to go to the 7-11, a few blocks away. But it was hard traveling. Maybe I am getting weak from hunger or perhaps it's something else, but my walking gait was uneven and challenging. Instead of walking in a straight line, I was lurching. I moved more left and right than forward. My left leg was particularly weaker than the right and I tended to drag it. “Odd,” I thought. And my hands were curling inward as well. “Polio?” I wondered. As a child I had received the vaccine. “Stroke?” More likely. I resolved to call my doctor and make an appointment. 

Never did. 

A block away I heard the horrible shrieks and screams of a young child. I scrambled as quickly as I could in that direction. I was responding more with a sense of excitement than a desire to help. Soon I saw an overturned baby carriage in the street and sitting at the curb I saw Jessica Sponson. Sweet, beautiful Jessica. She and her husband Richard had moved into the neighborhood two years ago. Doris and I had introduced ourselves and welcomed them to the area. They came over for drinks one evening and we joined them for a barbecue one Sunday afternoon. Richard was in IT for a local firm and Jessica was a nurse at the hospital. 

Jessica regularly jogged past our house every evening and she was one of the highlights of my day. I managed to take the trash out at the same time as she went past, just to watch her lithe figure on its journey. Late twenties, she was slender and her beautiful face would have rivulets of sweat cascading down. She had beautiful auburn colored hair and it either swung loosely behind her in a ponytail or was done in a french braid. She was gorgeous. Her long legs kept a steady pace inside of the cotton shorts she routinely wore. To my everlasting masculine joy, she did not wear a bra and her breasts bounced freely under her Columbia sweatshirt. She was always concentrating on her efforts and I doubt she knew I was watching. I was mesmerized and she was my fantasy girl in my nightly shower and I imagined all types of sexual adventures between us. She, me and my bar of soap.

But my daily peepshow had ended after she became pregnant and stopped jogging past our house. Four months before, Doris informed me that Jessica had given birth to a seven pound baby girl. I pretended I wasn’t sure who Jessica was. I don’t think Doris was fooled. 

But here was Jessica, sitting on the curb and blood was streaming down her mouth and throat as she was chewing loudly on the living flesh of her infant daughter. The baby was writhing in Jessica’s hands and Jessica was struggling to control the blood slicked infant. The baby was screaming in pain and fear. The baby’s bare belly had a ragged open wound that blood was freely running from. A bit of perforated intestine was visible through the hole. 

I paid no attention to the fact that Jessica was topless and her magnificent breasts, the breasts that had often inspired my nightly shower fantasies, were exposed to my open gaze. No, my attention was fully on that gaping wound on the baby’s midsection. The ripped and shredded flesh that Jessica was enthusiastically chewing was all I could concentrate on. I was hypnotized by the sight and scent of the blood.

I took a step towards the madonna and child, staring hungrily at the infant and Jessica let out a scream of pure rage at me. The sound that came from her was primeval and animalistic. Her blood covered teeth were bared at me in a warning that promised extreme violence if I continued towards them. There were no words in the message. Only grunts, barks and growls. She twisted her torso, taking the babe away from my view. Because of her daughter’s struggles and the blood covering most of her, she nearly lost her grip. She shifted the baby until she had her by one chubby ankle. Then she twirled the baby in an arc and slammed her head against the concrete curb. Once, twice and on the third time, the tiny body convulsed, shuddered and went still.

Reluctantly I moved away. Her beautiful brown eyes, now devoid of any emotion or thought, watched me intently as I headed towards the 7-11. Finally, Jessica returned to her meal. I heard her lips smacking noisily as her teeth pulled more flesh from her daughter’s corpse.

I lurched and stumbled my way to the 7-11. Normally the Korean family, who owned this location, kept it sparkling clean and pristine but it was far from that now. The trash cans were overturned and the windows were smashed. Blood was puddled and pooled everywhere. Streaks of blood indicated bleeding bodies being dragged across the floor. Crimson splatters decorated the counters, coffee pots and glass doors fronting the coolers. Blood soaked clothing, now rags, were scattered across the floor. 

My attention was drawn to the rotating hot dog grill. Shriveled tubes of animal body parts, including legally allowed rat feces, spun in a circle. I grabbed one and ignored the burning sensation as I crammed it into my salivating mouth. I was barely aware of the blisters forming on my tongue from the overcooked protein. There was no blood or juice remaining in the dogs but I feasted on them anyway.

I retraced my steps back towards the darkened lair I had once called home. Jessica was gone and I sniffed the pavement trying to pick up the smell of Jessica’s last meal. I also licked the asphalt, hoping to get a taste of the young flesh. Nothing.

The front door was open and I returned to the cool darkness. I barely noticed that Chad was asleep on the carpet behind the couch. My memories of my son were quickly fading and I struggled to remember who the snoring body was. Several others were slumbering deeply in the room. I recalled nobody. 

I curled up in a ball, like a feral dog on the couch. Exhausted, I fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

Raging hunger dragged me from my slumber, many hours later. There was no sight of Chad, nor his companions. But the air was alive with the sounds of police and fire sirens. Gunshots rang out frequently. Sometimes single shots. Sometimes loud repeated volleys. Twice I heard the sounds of many footsteps rapidly passing by the house. It was as if a marathon had just started and the runners were sprinting to be the leaders. Or the followers. Hunted? Or hunters?

Screams also ripped through the air. Screams of pain. Screams of rage. Or just… screams. Wordless attempts to communicate. My mind was picking up bits of memories. I was reminded of wolves howling. Or baboons shrieking back and forth.

I drifted back to sleep.

No telling how much time passed before I woke again. There were again sleeping bodies spread throughout the first floor of the house. Many were nude or barely clothed. And the stench was unbearable. The smells of unwashed bodies, unbrushed teeth. There were piles of shit and wet carpet soaked with piss. And the aroma of decay and rot permeated the air.

I ventured out again to search for living or newly dead flesh. My neighbor’s cocker spaniel was cowering in its kennel in their garage. No water nor food and splattered with its own body waste had driven the poor creature half mad and it struggled to get away as I pulled it from its prison. But the desperation of my hunger was stronger than its want to live and I literally pulled the beast apart and gorged on the flesh and blood. 

I had been forty pounds overweight. My doctor warned me that the excess weight would eventually kill me. Instead the stored fat extended my life once food became almost impossible to find. We were now too slow to chase down other creatures to kill and consume. Food was a challenge. Our backyard had several large koi ponds and since I stopped adding water to counter the summer heat, the water level dropped and eventually I was able to trap them. I found bird nests with eggs or hatchlings. 

Lack of regular and nutritional food caused our bodies to fall apart and decay. Hair fell out in batches. Skin began to scale and flake off. Eyes receded into skulls. Teeth fell out. Others withered away and died from starvation or were found and consumed by those stronger. As other zombies weakened, I could overpower them. But their sickened flesh offered little by way of nourishment. 

Chad returned home. I think it was habit more than a feeling of belonging. A mole on his right arm was the only recognizable part of him. He was reduced to skin and bone. The bits of hair that were left were gray and thin. Not the thick brown hair he inherited from Doris. He crawled in with one leg dragging useless behind him. My son.

I had so few teeth remaining that chewing him was nearly impossible. But I succeeded.

I survived. Sort of. Barely. 

What is survival? How is it defined? My body functioned but only at the most basic levels. I was mobile. I had vision, hearing, digestion. I felt heat, cold, pain, hunger. But my world was rapidly shutting down. De-evolving, if you can imagine it. I still had the ability of speech but it consisted of grunts, whistles, snarls, basic guttural sounds. There would be no more Gettysburg Addresses, or I Had A Dream speeches. 

Existence has been reduced to eating, sleeping and shitting. Man has become an amoeba with limbs. 

There is no pleasure. No appreciation of beauty, art or love. It took many centuries of evolution for man to achieve the pinnacle of life and become king of the food chain. And only months to lose it all. 

Packs of dogs roam everywhere. Once our best friend; now our greatest foe. They no longer approach with wagging tails and barks of welcome and love. Now they attack with howls of hate and growls of freedom. 

I’m getting weaker. The last food I ate was a toad two days ago. With no teeth remaining I struggled to swallow the reptile but somehow managed. My belly has shrunk to nothing and my legs are like broom handles. 

There’s very few of us remaining. Less competition for food but less food to find. I curl up on the sofa. Too weak to search for food. Too tired to care. Finally, darkness claims me.