Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

I was a man at war. My walking stick, a spartan spear of the times. A skip of a step turned to a charge, then a full blown sprint. The zombies closest to me gathered around the produce section. About a dozen and I was coming straight to 'em. Their stumbles turned to a charge of their own. The ground reverberated, as if a stampede of elephants shook the floor. Groans turned to barks. They tore through each other, tunnel visioned on me alone. Like most Americans, they hastily ran out the produce section. My breaths turned to grunts, then to bellows from deep within my chest. 

The first walking corpse lunged for me like a lion pouncing. I swung the round end of my cane straight into its neck. Its head lobbed off, the copse falling to my feet. No remorse on my consciousness anymore, these creatures looked and acted more like animals. I smiled as the head squashed on landing. The rest of the herd skidded to halt. They lined up as if I were surrounded by a ring of fire. Each one twitching and faking a charge, waiting for the right opportunity. The zombies were dumb but a survival instinct was intact deep down. That's right, deep down inside they were scared, scared of me. 

I hooked one closer with my cane. Kicked him straight into another. The rest jumped into the crucible, so I bashed my way out, leaving their circle with a body falling behind me. I took the heat to them, wildly thrashing my stick until each one had hit the floor. I could hear the skids on the floor as more undead began to find their way to me. I roared in defiance of their numbers. 

I went straight to the cereal aisle. A one way hall with nothing but a straight line of zombies waiting for me and the dusted over once vibrant cereal mascots spectating. A couple overhead swings and I caved the heads in of the first few. Then I swept the legs of the next, stomping his skull underneath my feet. My dirt stained shoes received a fresh coat of blue and green splattered all over. One after the other I swung my way through the aisle until I passed all the way through. 

I reached the refrigerated section. Hands on my knees and hunched over I panted in exhaustion. It had been a while since I had done any extensive cardio like this. To my right, probably the biggest zombie I had ever seen sat in a scooter. Y'know the Michelin man? The tire commercial mascot who's like this big lumpy plump guy? Yeah, that zombie was like a decaying Michelin man complete with the melting ice cream cone body figure and ankles as thick as tree trunks. He saw me and went feral, barking and foaming at the mouth. He plopped right off his scooter onto the tile floor. I couldn't help but laugh at the guy at first. 

I walked closer to turn his brains to mush like spoiled milk and put him out of his misery. That's when he pushed himself back up. Towering over me, he overshadowed my size in both height and width. I had to crane my neck up like I was in the front row of a movie theater. I stepped back away from the monster's line of hot breath. Just another zombie. I thought to myself. Just a big S.o.B at that. Just swing like ya always do. So that's what I did, and when I did, I realized the grave mistake I made. Through the rolls of his stomach my walking stick slid in like butter, until it slowed down and all of a sudden my new age spartan spear had sunk into quicksand. A shot of my heartbeat came with the realization that it was his turn to swing. 

I went flying one way and my walking stick another. I crashed into a pile of coke cans, each rolling over me onto the floor. I had no time to recollect myself as the undead beast charged me without pause. I spun off the floor and pushed myself up, watching him crash right next to me with the force of a truck. A deep, base-filled roar sent me scrambling off. I picked up my stick and made my way to an aisle over. My ass had no plans on staying, but, unfortunately for me God does not care about my plans and across the aisle I just entered was another giant pudgy corpse stomping his way through to me. 

Now pincered in the seasonings section, things were starting to get spicy. I had to think quickly or stop thinking entirely and get eaten. As they squeezed their way through I saw the flesh rip off their arms on the shelves to their sides. I saw muscles. Horrific, green, rotten, and spasming muscles contracting with each movement through the holes in their skin. My mind began to tie things together. Muscles, spasm, contract, ions… Salt!  No more time to think. They were on me. 

Grabbing a salt container, I yanked the lid open and chucked some at the zombie in front of me. The giant fell to his knees, uncontrollably shaking and foaming at the mouth. He seized onto the floor. Jumping as high as I could, I slammed both my feet into his head. I felt the sensation of mush turn to cracking bone. Shit, shit, shit. I thought to myself, nearly doing so as well as my new friend closed in on me ankle deep in his buddies brains. In front of me, a herd of normal zombies had found their way to our little gathering too. 

As I normally felt in most parties, I had to get out of this place. I grabbed onto a shelf and yanked myself up. I gripped onto the cold steel edges with buy one get one free labels for dear life. The big man tried to go for my dangling legs. A quick kick to his face gave me some time to climb over the shelf. 

It was only when I had stood atop that I realized what happened. A warm feeling like my leg was in water. A sharp sting singeing across. He scratched me. Years of learning to master this world, live with no problems, casually passing through, and the fucker slashed me. That pain brought me back. Back to the real world. Back to the real me. Not some guy who was empty and shifting around, no, but a young man who's frustrated, angry, upset, hurt. 

I looked once more down on this abnormal zombie, now licking the droplets of my blood beading from the shelf. Other zombies from across the store conglomerated around, pushing and shoving like its black friday and I'm a PS5. Honestly, that animalistic behavior was the most human thing I'd seen in a while. Maybe more human than I've been, yet it set me ablaze in agony more than any wound could. Maybe I was envious. God sent everyone to an afterlife and left me with this mockery of a world to suffer with. Maybe I was always this way. Like this was what I had always hated about life. It was just full of toppling and desperation, devoid of the peace I wanted to live with. Maybe I was lost. A world was left to me and I was stuck living an empty lie and I was finally brought to my senses. 

I pushed away a few hands and grabbed another salt container below. Unscrewing the lid, I slammed the cap down onto the floor for good measure. I wanted the whole audience here so I could end this and get on with whatever my life was supposed to be. As my leg was giving in to the pain, I felt the weight of my backpack as I trembled. Funny, I almost forgot it was there. I whipped my arm across, leaving a cloud of salt to rain onto the undead. 

When the dust had settled, so had I. My eyes stung, I could barely open them. From what I could glance, I caved in all of their heads. It was a macabre sight to behold. Ironically enough the salt in the air seized my leg so hard, I had to take a moment of my own to pause and writhe. Even more ironically, that pain was probably going to keep me alive. Salt disinfects y'know… OK, moving on… 

I got my victory. A hollow one at that. I treaded the quiet halls of Walmart, observing what I had fought for. All this so I could drag on that empty life I was living, what was I thinking? The truth is, I began to miss something. Something I had neither in the real world nor this. I was missing purpose. 

I strolled past the gun aisle of the store. I found myself entranced, beneath the rusty flickering exit sign were racks filled with unimaginable amounts of arms. On the floor were boxes of munition littered about torn clothes, the last signs of someone's final stand before their body raised once more. I felt the gravitational pull, my mind telling me to check it out on innocent curiosity. After all, it could protect me better than a walking stick, right? I kept walking. I knew the truth that was hard to face. I wasn't so tough. Not tough enough that I was living without guns as a challenge or some code, no. Simply, I didn't trust myself. I told myself this right from the very start. If I had a gun, I don't know if I'd kill myself or not. No, why wouldn't I when it could be so easy? But I wanted to keep living for some reason, so I kept walking. 

The now ruins of this once great complex were littered all about. Shelves overturned, lights flickering spastically, but the loud sights had nothing on the opaque noise. The click of every step as my heels hit the ground, my panting as I tried to catch my breath, and the ruffling of my clothes were all too audible to me in the pin drop silence. One thing that got to me was how there never were any corpses lying around. Not a skeleton of someone who'd given up hope nor the bloody body of someone who met an untimely end. Instead, the dead had continued on, leaving nobody to rest. Truly it was a cruel world, crueler knowing I was left alive through it all. 

I shifted aimlessly, peering my head down one place and casually reading the labels of everything I passed by. Normally, I would've grabbed everything I wanted - ransacking and prowling for my favorite goods to take home with me. Those were the times I was the happiest. Not when I was reaping my efforts spending weeks on end eating who knows what from which store, but the moments when I had felt like I had accomplished something big. And those moments were short lived, after all, who did I have to celebrate with? Man, believe me I wanted to enjoy this moment just like all the others. I wasn't trying to be such a downer, but I had no choice. I felt like I woke up out of a coma I was stuck in for years and all I had left with me was this strong sense of mortality that hit me. What have I been doing with my life? The thought was playing on repeat in my head, and to be honest you and I both know the answer now. I'll give you a hint, I told you exactly on the first page. Jack shit, man, I was doing Jack shit. I was gonna spend my life wasting away. But what could I do? 

Half the TV's in the electronics section were still shining with advertisements. The whirring of computers was faint, only a few still had their fans spinning. Everywhere smelt like burnt circuitry. It's weird how obsolete they had become. There was a time when almost everything in my life was on a screen. School, socials, work, games - I'm so glad I got my head out of there. 

Past the electronics was the books section. I would've walked right past it, but it was so neatly kept. Untouched by time as most libraries are. Reading could be a good hobby. I thought maybe a book could bring some value into my life as most librarians claimed they could (they're liars). I ran my hand from book to book, mustering dust into the air. My hand went from cookbooks to copies of classic American literature, not a single one bringing me to a stop. Not until my hand landed on the book. The book of all books, the only book that ever matters, and the book I never should have forgotten: The Holy Quran. Surrounded by only empty space on the shelf, it sat there alone as if it were waiting for me. 

I know what you're thinking. Shit, he's a goddamn muslim. Who let a terrorist write? I'm closing this awful book NOW. #neverforget. Sorry, I know you're probably not thinking that. I didn't mean to assume. I'm sure you're probably very tolerant. Probably. 

I latched onto the book and brought it into my arms. Not even to read, no, but to feel. How long my days have been, how many days has it been? I believed until I forgot, and I forgot in my time of most need. It was as if I had found myself once more. I look back at every day I had wasted since this had all started, not once had I prayed. I assumed I was abandoned, but that can't be true. God said he's always with me, closer to me than my own jugular vein. If every single bit of life was rid of by this world then I'm the only one left to pray. Who was I to leave that? If it happened then it was willed and written down to be so. If I have a purpose here it's the same one I always should have, to worship. It was then that my fleeting sense of mortality shifted to an eternal gratefulness and humility. I put the book on the shelf in front of me, and I bowed with my knees and face onto the floor. 

I was shaking, I could feel the twitches of my face against the floor. I pressed my hands harder into the ground just to keep them steady. Even then, a wave of warmth had taken over my body. It was a comfort. Just like religion has always been. I assume it works this way for many people. That's why it's so popular. All of a sudden I wasn't alone, not in any way. I had one friend, one guide, one God. And in my prostration I cried to him. My tears beaded onto the floor, my throat choking up as I struggled to find the words to say. 

"I'm sorry," was the first thing that came to mind. Sorry I was, and all I could hope for was that my only comfort in this existence could understand my shame and grant me mercy. I begged, begged as I should from the creation to the creator. "Please, guide me. Make me better. Fix me." Every sentence was separated by pauses of sobs and sniffles. It was a moment of weakness and not one that I feel any bit ashamed of to the world. No, my shame in this moment was only for my God. I was lost, without once leaving my home, I had gotten so lost. 

I rose out of prostration, wiped the tears off my face, and picked up the Quran with both hands and kissed it and gently tapped it on my forehead. I know a lot of this may be confusing if you're not muslim, and I don't think anyone expects you to get it. But you have to understand the love, the sentiment, and all the strong emotions that come with it. It seems even stranger to say that when you and I both know that I had left this in the back of my head for years before. How could it mean so much to me? But it just does. I'm flawed, I get lost, but this is always the same and here for me. If you can't get at least that, you're missing something in your life. 

I stood up from the floor and wiped the tears off my face, now a changed man. A pure man. A pious man. I was content with whatever God had given me in life. I lived in an apocalypse, and because of that I was alone and vulnerable, both emotionally and physically. I came to terms and was able to acknowledge the reality of it all. Maybe on the surface, someone observing me from the outside wouldn't be able to notice the difference. Like this whole deliberation I had on my thoughts made no change on who I was as a person. Mentally, oh man you're so wrong. I had found my purpose. It was time for me to stop living in my head and instead seek meaning in my life. And so, I set my bag on the shelf and unzipped it. I was taking the Quran in my bag home with me of course. 

She popped out of the bag.