The Apocalypse Arrives

The cigarette was my only light, glowing dimly against the dark sky as I inhaled, watching the thin smoke curl up into nothing. I leaned against the rough brick wall of the office building, savoring the quiet. These night shifts were all the same—hours of silence, with only the hum of the vending machines inside and the distant drone of the city keeping me company.

Twenty-five years, I thought. Twenty-five years, and what do I have to show for it? A security guard gig at some mid-tier office building. Not that it was a bad job, but I'd always known—no, believed—I was meant for more.

Even now, at twenty-five, I was still waiting for something to happen, for some sign that there was more to life than this. Magic, powers, destiny—all the things I'd been obsessed with for as long as I could remember.

I'd tried everything to find it. Since I was a kid, I'd studied ancient rituals, delved into religious texts, practiced meditation, astral projection, you name it. I'd poured years into trying to find some evidence of magic, or the supernatural, and unfortunately, I'd come up empty time and time again. I'd pretty much given up, by now. I mean, sure, every once in a while I'd try to move something with my mind, but I'd mostly accepted that life was just utterly mundane. And yet, part of me still clung to the hope that one day I'd wake up to discover I was more than just another nobody. That the world would finally reveal its secrets to me.

Hah. I looked down at my waist, where my Glock 19 hung. Power... this was all I really had, and it was far from special, and on top of that, I could barely ever even use it outside of the firing range. I sighed, lamenting the boring planet I'd been born on. I just wanted the world to give me something more.

But the world had other plans, it seemed. So here I was, smoking on the clock, staring up at the moon and thinking about nothing in particular, when something strange happened. I flicked the ash from my cigarette, watching it float down toward the ground—and then it didn't. It just hung there, suspended in midair, as if someone had pressed pause on reality itself.

I blinked, unsure if my eyes were playing tricks on me. But no, the ash was still there, floating, frozen in place. The hum of the lights, the distant traffic, even the wind—it all stopped. For a single breath, the world held itself perfectly still, a moment of absolute silence pressing down around me. And then, just as suddenly, the ash dropped, the sounds returned, and I was left standing there, heart pounding, wondering if I'd imagined the whole thing.

But I didn't have long to wonder. As I recalibrated myself, I noticed a figure stumbling across the parking lot toward me, swaying like a puppet with cut strings. My first thought was that it was some drunk, lost and wandering through the wrong part of town. But as he got closer, a chill crept up my spine. His movements weren't just sluggish—they were wrong, as if he had forgotten how to walk. And then there was the smell. Even from a distance, I could catch the sickly, rotten stench wafting off him, turning my stomach.

I raised my flashlight, the beam cutting through the dark and landing on his face. Or what was left of it. His skin was pale, splotched with decay, his eyes cloudy and unfocused. Chunks of flesh hung from his cheeks, and I could see his teeth through a tear in his cheek, the grin of a corpse.

A thrill ran through me. I knew what I was seeing, but it felt impossible. This couldn't be real. Zombies weren't real. And yet, there he was, groaning and reaching out with hands that were little more than bone and sinew. Every inch of my skin was tingling, a lifetime's worth of anticipation coiling into a single, electric moment. Could it be? Could it really be happening?

Still, I wasn't ready to act just yet. There was a slim chance that I was wrong, that this was some twisted prank, or some poor guy suffering from a disease I couldn't name. I felt around for the steel bar we use to block the door, gripping it tightly, not breaking my sight on what I was nearly certain was a zombie. I raised it, my stance widening as he dragged himself closer.

"Hey! Stop!" I barked, holding the makeshift weapon like I knew what I was doing. The words felt hollow, swallowed by the dark. "I'm serious, man. Come any closer, and I'll… I'll hit you with this, for real."

I couldn't just attack and kill the guy. I mean, what if I'd just gone schizophrenic? I at least needed to issue a warning so that I could classify this as self-defense.

In fact, for a moment, I half-expected him to laugh, to snap out of it and reveal the hidden cameras, the joke, the lie. But he only groaned, a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate in my bones. He staggered forward, arms outstretched, mouth open in a slack, hungry gape. I swung.

The bar connected with a sickening crunch. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. The zombie stumbled over for a moment before returning to a standing position, now angrier, and lunging at me. I struck him again, right in the head, in the dent I'd left before. And again and again, as the zombie hit the ground, until his head was completely crushed. I stood there, panting, staring down at the mess I'd made of his skull. My heart was racing, and my hands shaking, but there was a grin pulling at my lips. I felt a fierce satisfaction—this was real. It was all real. 

That's when I saw them. More figures, moving in slow, jerking strides, emerging from the shadows like they'd been waiting all along. My heart skipped, a flicker of fear creeping in, but it was buried under the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of knowing I was finally part of something extraordinary.

I scrambled back into the office, slamming the door shut and twisting the lock until I heard it click. I threw myself into action, piling chairs against the door, stacking anything I could find to create a makeshift barricade. My mind was racing, and I was grinning like an idiot. It was finally happening.

In the break room, I grabbed jugs of water, snacks from the fridge, anything I thought might help me survive the night. I didn't have a plan yet, but I knew I'd need supplies. While there was enough water to last me a decent while, food was pretty scarce- just some forgotten lunches and snacks. Well, the zombie apocalypse had seemingly just started. There was a small grocery store across the street... if I were to go now, I could probably loot it before anyone else. It was two in the morning. Barely anyone would even be awake to notice that the apocalypse had started.

I glanced out the window towards the store, and my breath caught. Across the street, dozens of them—zombies—were shuffling aimlessly, their hollow eyes searching, their mouths drooling. I knew I'd need food, but between me and it was a sea of the undead, and I had only fifteen rounds in my gun. Not that I particularly wanted to fire it, anyway- I'd seen enough of TWD to know that I could attract way more if I did.

So, I'd need to arm myself with melee weapons. My eyes darted as I made my way around all three stories of the small office building, taking in every detail, looking for anything I could use.

Soon, I'd find the maintenance closet, packed with a bunch of useful stuff. Most notably, a shit ton of duct tape and a crowbar. Finding the crowbar gave me an idea. I used it to pry up some of the rough carpeting from the floor. Using some scissors, I roughly measured it to my body, making several cuts here and there, stapling and taping. Before long, I'd fitted some makeshift carpet armor to my forearms, abdomen, and legs. This way, if I got surpise-attacked by a zombie, I at least could protect most of my body against bites and scratches. Aside from that, I pulled the blades off of two paper cutters, making sheathes for each out of cardboard and duct tape before fashioning them to my waist. I wasn't sure if these zombies worked like the ones in movies, where a bite would turn you, but it couldn't hurt to be safe. 

Well, that raised another question. Where did all these zombies come from? If these were all people that had been turned, there would have been mass panic. Besides, they were pretty well decomposed, as if they'd been zombies for a long time. Maybe... some secret illuminati-type organization released them? Ah, I gathered my thoughts. I had no time for conspiracy theories. It was time to survive. I was on fire, alive in a way I hadn't been in years.

It was time to go. I had to get to the grocery store before other people started looting. I gradually made my way back down to the front entrance, undoing my shoddy barricade and slipping out of the glass doors. Fortunately, there were only a few zombies in the parking lot. There were far more in the street ahead, but their view of me was obscured by shrubbery.

The first order of business was taking care of the zombies in the parking lot. This wasn't too challenging- I was able to single them out easily under the cover of darkness, bashing their heads in one by one with my crowbar. Then, I started to formulate a plan to make it across without garnering too much attention.

I'd have to be careful. Stealthy. There was fear, certainly, but it was mixed with a giddy excitement that made my blood sing. I'd waited my whole life for this moment, and I was going to savor every second of it.