This post pushes us past the halfway mark of Zombie Week 2012…sad times, but don’t worry there are still three more rotting, groaning, brain-munching posts to come! Today I want to talk about a subject that will affect everyone – if you happen to be stuck in the Zombocalypse that is – having to kill people you know.
You watch George walk off into the next garden, he doesn’t seem that upset you didn’t want to go with him but the tall fence before him has definitely upset him. After numerous attempts he finally manages to haul himself, and his wobbling beer belly, over the fence and he drops out of sight. You don’t need anyone else slowing you down, not some randomer from the OTHER side of the street anyway.
There are more important matters at hand. You need to get to your partners house and make sure they haven’t suddenly developed a taste for frontal lobes. You set off running.
Bowser is keeping a few paces ahead, and having much more fun, he’s also a lot fitter than you (you make a mental note to take up jogging). When you finally reach your partner’s house you see the front door is ajar.
Bowser bashes his way into the house ruining any element of surprise you might have had.
There’s blood. Lots of it, but no sign of zombies downstairs.
The stairs creak noisily as you attempt to creep upstairs. Jesus, did they always make this much noise? The bathroom door is open but your partner isn’t in there – makes a change. The bedroom door is shut but the handle is turning. Slowly, back and forth as if the person beyond the door doesn’t know how to work it.
You don’t want to open the door but you know you have to.
Mr. Spatula just won’t cut it anymore, you throw it away and pick a hammer from the hallway floor. After all that moaning that your partner was taking weeks to fix that shelf you’ve never been gladder in your life that they procrastinate – and leave dangerous objects at the head of the stairs.
You decide to go for the band-aid technique, grasping at the handle and jerking it open in one fluid movement. Your partner stands there slack-jawed and drooling. You resist immediately driving the hammer through their forehead…after all maybe they just woke up? The ribs sticking out of their torso put halt to that idea – also you’re pretty sure that when you were going out your partner had TWO eyes…and a skull protecting their squishy brains.
They reach out and grab for you. Memories of your relationship come flooding into your mind as you step back into the corridor. Their smile, those funny jokes they always used to tell, that funny thing they did with their toes when you were having…*cough* You picture yourself sitting on a picnic blanket with them on a warm summer’s day. Then they spoil that image by lunging forward and spilling a long section of intestines from the hole in their ribcage.
You weigh the hammer in your hand…
But could you do it? Could you sink a claw hammer into the brain of someone you used to snuggle on the sofa with? Could you reach out for their loose intestinal tract and use it to strangle your snookums?
If they’re already dead then aren’t you putting them out of their (and your) misery? Do you really want to live with the fact that they’re still out there somewhere eating people? Are they actually aware of any past memories? But what if there’s a cure, what if in six months time instead of being shot on site, the undead are rounded up and cured?
Maybe this could work, you could take them along, or find somewhere to stash them until you got a better handle on the situation…but then again the hammer is already in your hand, your partners grey matter is already exposed – it would only take one hit.
What do you do?