A PZ Chronic
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It was getting late and I could feel the night breeze rising in the air. Equipped with a backpack and a baseball bat in hand, I opened the cupboards and took everything I could. The windows and doors had been destroyed by the inexhaustible force of those who walk the earth; It was time to look for another shelter. One day ago this place was completely different. I had just had a quick snack, tired of my last-day fruit diet, I refrained from eating just a quarter of a snack pack trying to ration the food when I started to hear a buzz. I thought it was the silence, no matter how contradictory this comparison may be, but the sound grew rapidly in intensity and within seconds there was no doubt of its origin: the sound of a helicopter.

 

Thousands of impulses washed over me at that moment, the cold sweat running down my forehead and the fear of not knowing what decision is right. For a moment I even thought that this would be my salvation, that a stair would roll and that it would take me to a safe place where there were other survivors, but my hopes died that night. I wanted to scream for help, but for a long time I got used to the idea that I couldn't make any noise anymore and the scream got stuck in my throat. The helicopter flew past me down the street, and as soon as I thought of following it, there was no way out; Through the second floor window I could see the horde approaching in its slow steps. At first I heard one, two, three knocks, suddenly five, six, ten, twenty, an army of lifeless beings thrashing on the walls, doors, and windows. Beats and grunts of the undead. The sound of horror.

 

I think if it had taken 2 seconds longer to act, I wouldn't be writing this now. I made a makeshift rope with sheets as fast as I could and tied it to the second floor, and using a sledgehammer destroyed the flimsy wooden ladder as fast as I could. I was climbing the rope when they finished breaking the boards and windows, stumbling toward me as fast as they could move. Not only was I scared to death of them, but also afraid of having a heart attack. My heart was beating so heavy that my chest hurt. I had never been so afraid, or how my pessimistic mind was tolding me, so sure, that I was going to die. As I was about to go down the second floor window, the alarm from a not too far away house went off. The same way they went in, went out, walking aimlessly into the darkness.

 

It took me a while to recover. First I cried for the joy of surviving and then I cried wondering why I did not die. I thought it would be easier if I had died there, because I imagine that sooner or later my destiny is going to be the same. I stared at reality and realized that there was no point in crying, and if even if my destiny were the same, I wouldn't give up. Not without a fight. I took advantage that the stairs were broken and slept right there, my mind exhausted by stress and tiredness.

 

In the morning I used the sheet rope that I managed to pull before they could tear down and check the area. There were none of them there, but the whole floor was destroyed. How stupid to thought that I was safe! I learned a lesson: You are never safe, even if you spend all day nailing boards to every window. Why bother if they will break them anyway when the inevitable happens?

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