Monday, March 28, 2011

3... ah screw it.. I dont know what day it is.

    Its been a good weekend. There was some action next door last night. I was outside carefully watching while me and my son washed the jeep. It was way overdue. Zombie gunk was still on the spikes I installed 3 months ago. Lazy I guess. I heard the next door neighbors fighting in their back yard. Never a good thing. The more noise, the more zombies. This 'is' one thing that carries over true from the zombie movies. If you make your self known, they will come. I give credit to zombies for several thousands of quiet neighborhoods across America.

    Anyway, after a few harsh words, a trash bag flew over the fence and landed in their side yard. Me and my son looked at each other. My son pressed his index finger over his lips and pointed behind me. A zombie had made its way over because of the noise. We quietly shuffled to the far side of the jeep, leaving the water hose running all over the drive way. The zombie dragged both feet one by one towards the fence where the noise was coming from. I looked down and my son raised his shirt to reveal a Desert Eagle tightly packed inside his belt. I low-browed him and turned my palms up in wonder where he got it from. He again placed his finger over his lips, and pointed in another direction.

    10 or 20 zombies were coming from behind a new building that was just constructed across the street. Sunday is the day of rest, literally in this neighborhood. There are usually kids of all ages running out like the ice cream truck just pulled up, to take care of zombies. Or tie them up to the car for a quick game of Zombie Go, but not this time. Me and my son were alone. We heard the argument escalating from across the fence as the mom, or some lady said, "Just go then!" At that... a man in his 20's started shouting back, doors slammed, glass breaks, and out he came to the front yard, were he met a hand full (if not more) of very hungry zombies. A cigarette was half lit when it fell out of his mouth.

    From experience, I have learned to pick my battles. But my son, with no fear and an obvious life to save had other plans. He got up with out question and ran from our position. He was across the yard just as my neighbor was about to be ripped to shreds. I got up quickly and pounded 2 good, loud bangs on my front door and went to help out. By the time I crossed my driveway the neighbor was back on his feet, un-bitten and making his way back inside his house. His wife was apologizing and dragging him in with all her might. I looked at the mass of zombies that were making their way towards my son and myself. There were already 4 or 5 laying 'completely' lifeless on the grass and my son was skillfully dismantling them as they came to him. He had his gun turned backwards as he was pistol whipping them to avoid the loud crack that a Desert Eagle makes. I was weapon less.  Forced to use my hands and feet. I prefer my feet. I don't like to get zombies on my hands if I can help it. Call me a wussy.
I kicked the knees out as they lunged for me and spun around with an elbow to the back of the neck to end it. It is pretty efficient but 30 zombies is hard for 2 people to take down regardless of your method or skill level. I was actually grabbed by one and felt the sheer strength of the living dead. Its been awhile. Probably since I was attacked inside Zombie Burger a while back. But the feeling is unforgettable.  To be held close like that with the moans of the dead looking lifeless into me with dead eyes is not a place you want to spend too much time in.

    Then, I heard the garage door open. My wife and other son had heard my pounding on the door and came to join the party. My son had a stick of some kind, one that I hadn't seen before. And my wife had her pistol with silencer and something that glistened when the sun hit it, but I was too busy to make it out. My son used the long stick to keep his distance from the zombies. One very firm, baseball swing style whack the to head seemed to stun them and he came in closer to snap the neck. My wife on the other hand was going through her clip like she had another... and she did. She was walking up and pulling the trigger prisoner style as they dropped like flies.  The glistening item I saw turned out to be a pair of brass knuckles I gave her for our anniversary last year to honor our first lives we saved as a couple.

    The zombies a year ago were no where near this hungry or loud. We had to get them all down, before other zombies heard the commotion. And the crowd that stood around was like one that gathers after a car wreck or a country town football game. Quiet and lifeless as the zombies we were relieving. Aside from the whacks of my sons stick, the small tweet of the silenced pistol, the thud of my other sons Desert Eagle across the temple of the zombies and the other... miscellaneous sounds you usually hear inside a zombie take down, It was dead quiet... (no pun intended) The neighbors said nothing, they just watched.

    When it was over, we looked at each other and ourselves to make sure we survived 'again'. There were at least a dozen or more zombies than I originally thought, laid out on the front lawn of my neighbors. We stood there weapons drawn,  out of breath, while we looked around... for any more.  There were none.  Our glances ended up on the people standing across the street and through their windows, just staring at us. I heard someone slurp, and reach the bottom of their Whataburger shake, but that's it.
Still catching her breath, my wife says, "do you want salad with dinner tonight?" We all nodded and stepped over our enemies on the way back to our yard. If we didn't blow it off like we do, then it would stick with us... and ultimately ruin us. But we are zombie fighters. So we have to move on.

    20 minutes later the ASMZ showed up with their white vans and little electronic devices to pick up the mess and get some kind of reading from around the house. My guess is for radiation. I heard the radiation from Japan has reached Vegas already and could be here too. But guess who was driving the van...? The Canary. The same driver of the van that drove off from 'my' drive way the other day after his buddies were killed by zombies right at my front door. I was outside and we exchanged looks again. He knows I recognize him.

    Anyway, be careful out there. There seems to be more zombies every day, and not a lot of explanation as to why they are here, how they came about, or if they'll ever go away. And if you live in a quiet neighborhood....well, count your blessings.

No comments:

Post a Comment