ZOMBIE BOOKS

myself of the voice that tells me I’m one of them, Amy wordlessly stands guard while the monsters get their comeuppance.
“You saw them die, didn’t you?” I ask one night, zombie fire fading to a glowing smolder behind the barn.  She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to.
Specks of ash and red sparks flit skyward and I think she realizes for the first time that she may never find her brother.  Her arm slips around my waist, she rests her forehead on my shoulder, and for the first time I realize that I don’t want her to leave.
◊◊◊
I’ve done a lot of extra driving since Amy came along.  Gas isn’t exactly attained with ease anymore, so I sit Amy down and tell her that we need to change our plan of attack.  I tell her we can’t just keep scouring the town at random.  That if we are going to continue the search, we have to set a goal, and maybe a timeframe.
“If we don’t find him within an amount of time that you agree on,” I’m choking on my words and feeling like an idiot, but I force the words out anyway, “I think you should make a plan to settle somewhere.”
She cocks her head at me.
“Like here,” I add.  “With me.”
“Kyle, I…”  Her words die before they even begin.
“I’m just saying… you know.  How long can you last searching for someone who might not even be there?”  Carefully. Carefully.  “You should put a time limit on the search, and have a plan for after.”
“Okay, Kyle.”
“Just in case, you know, Tom is… well… lost… or…”
“Okay, Kyle.”  Her voice is cool and even.  No hint of worry or anxiety.  “But let’s find Tom, and then we can all live here together.  We’ll round up zombies and take care of each other.  The three of us.”
“And…” The word comes out low and stretched.
“And if we can’t find Tom,” she finishes for me, “I’ll stay here with you and it will be just the two of us.”
I know I’m smiling like an idiot, but I don’t care.  Two years of being shunned.  Two years of solitude.  Two years of running from what I am and hating myself for it.  And now… Now here is someone who accepts me.  Likes me. Wants to stay.  So yeah, I’m grinning like a fool, but whatever.
It’s like I just got adopted.
“Let’s go find Tom,” I say finally.
She smiles back at me and I feel like I could tear down a building for her.
Hell.  I just might.
◊◊◊
We all have a past.  It’s the life we were trying to live beyond.  The mistakes we made.  The opportunities we let slip by while we focused on some daft detail that seemed so important at that moment we were willing to sacrifice all else for it.  We all have a future we hope will come.  One where we get to make up for our mistakes.  One where we get to try again to be the person we aspire to become.  That in the end – preferably being laid in a tomb and not shuffling around downtown Spokane – when people think of us they will remember the great things we had done and all that we had accomplished.  They will stand out around our graves and praise the life we led, honoring us in death.
When the outbreak first hit, it was all about survival.  Don’t get killed.  Find food.
Then it was all about helping out.  Kill the zombies.  Help your neighbors.
Then the world changed.  People turned on people.  The planet got angry.  We stopped caring about each other and started considering everyone around us as either a competitor for Earth’s diminishing resources or a potential zombie.
Then life got messy.  You learned to trust no one.  You learned to make your own way, and to hell with everyone else.  Every man became a tribe unto himself.  If another tribe threatened you, you killed it before it did you first.  The only humanity that mattered was the humanity flowing through your own veins.
Then a change.
Something happens in your life that reminds you of who you were; who you want to be.  A presence enters your life and suddenly it becomes important again to do great things and to be remembered.  Life is not longer about merely existing until death, because now there’s Amy.  Now there is someone else to whom you must give answer for what you do with your life.  If she outlives me, what will she say about me?  How will the world remember Kyle Moore?
◊◊◊
We decide to head to Long Lake and see if her brother has made camp out there.  Amy seems to think that she’s going to find him searching for their family, like he’s wandering around the lake waiting to bump into her.
Part of me hopes she’s wrong.
I tell Amy that I don’t want to spend the night on the lake.  That I think we should be back at the house before dark.  She shivers and agrees.  It occurs to me that this is most likely the very place Amy watched her family be consumed by a horde.  I scan the horizon quickly and wish I were perched above my ally, safe, waiting to snag another dead-head like Mr. Chubbs.
We march for a few hours, taking breaks for a little water when we find some high ground.  There’s sage, trees, birds, and water.
And no sign of Tom.
The day is wearing on, and I’m eager to get back to the ranch.
“Amy?” I ask with as much sympathy in my voice as I can muster.  “It’s about time, isn’t it?”
“I thought we would find him this time.”  It not the quiver in the lip that kills me.  It’s the resignation in her voice.  Like he’s dead. Like she’s already begun to mourn him.
We start back to the main road and the van, arm in arm.
It’s nice.  It’s sad, but it’s human, so it’s good.
I spot it first.  A lone shuffler.  But I know better.  They’re never truly alone.
“Amy.