Walking With Virgil: In the Beginning

Moving Out

When accounts of the “living dead” started hitting the wires, people were, for good reason, quite skeptical. It’s not something you just up and believe. There’s no such thing as Santa, there’s no such thing as the Tooth Fairy, and there’s no such things as Zombies. Turns out, one of those three came into reality and unfortunately it’s not the lady that gives money for loose molars. What we got were zombies; full on moaning, gnashing, snarling zombies and, unfortunately, not the shuffling kind. We like calling them the “living dead,” but they’re not truly dead. The only thing dead about the infected is their humanity. The virus doesn’t kill you, it puts you in a coma and when you come to, well, you’re like a dog with a really bad case of rabies. Nothing but pure aggression and a hunger that can destroy a Vegas buffet in the blink of an eye. Everything goes back to baser instincts and the “human” turns into their truer self, pure animal.

Can’t say I’m not glad that they’re not really undead. That would just be creepy. I don’t want a head snapping at me after I cut it off. Physiologically speaking, everyone is still “human.” You can break bones and they slow down, you can shoot the gut and they can die. I’m thankful for that. I’m a horrible shot. I wouldn’t be able to hit the head if my life depended on it and, well, in this situation it does. The infected exhibit the same level of fitness they did before succumbing to the virus, albeit with a little boost from suddenly over sized adrenal glands. A little bit faster, a little bit stronger, and feeling no pain. Makes for a hell of a fight. Also means that you have to have massive cardio to make it out there. You’ll get tired before they do, I guarantee it. The fatties not so much, but Lord help you if you catch a hoard with some endurance athletes or sprinters.

Basically, we’re on our own now. Things are getting pretty chaotic and the government is just bunkered down being a bunch of pussies. The military? Well, they’re spread too thin to get to everyone. Borders have to be secured at the same time as trying to keep things clean on the inside. I don’t blame them for skipping over “hot zones” like my little hamlet. I’ll be honest with you, I hate my town. I’ve hated it for years and I’ve always wanted to move, but you get lulled into complacency. You always complain about your home life, but when you stop and think about how much money it will cost to move out on your own, you just sit and say, “Well, someday.” It literally had to take the end of the world to convince me to move. I’m still in my parent’s house, but not for long. Man cannot live on canned vienna sausages alone.

Mostly everyone is infected. Sometimes the wires buzz with a few pockets of people who are bunkered down like me. Once I get everything ready, I’m kicking my doors down and partying my way downtown, grab my friends who are still alive, and head for a green zone. Not the safest plan, but it’s better than sitting in a town that the rest of the world turned its back on, right? Oh, right, my name’s Virgil and I’m about to walk into hell.