I Am N37b

By Marcus Wolfe

N37b is a survivorone of roughly two hundred people in New Zealand who survives the Event, in which the undead rise as zombies and slaughter their way across the world. An oddity in this postapocalyptic landscape, N37b is a loner by preference. A highly intelligent, unfit, and unmotivated sociopath, he makes his way on his own based in a small New Zealand town called Napier.

When he meets Tammy, he plans to use her as distraction for the zombies and then leave her behind. Despite his intentions, however, he soon finds that he begins to like her and perhaps even more than that. N37b has always believed that people will betray him if it is in their interest to do so; after all, thats what he would do. Can he trust Tammyand himself enough to give love a chance? Can a sociopath find love in the midst of the zombie apocalypse?

This post-apocalyptic science fiction novel tells the story of a sociopathic survivor, the woman he unexpectedly falls for, and their search for the truth of what destroyed their civilization.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Sep 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781452530574

Marcus Wolfe

Marcus Wolfe holds a degree in human resource management from Massey University as well as an advanced open-water diving instructors’ ticket. He works at a service station in Napier, New Zealand.

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Copyright © 2015 marcus wolfe.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com.au

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4525-3056-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-3057-4 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 09/14/2015

Contents

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Tammy

Day 4

A simple plan

Gonna stop starting sections with day numbers; frankly, it’s boring

The following week

The undead Chihuahua

Ever hotwired a car?

A humorous interlude

Drive-through supermarket an idea ahead of its time

Time Out

Drive-through Supermarket 2

The Trap

The big gun

The present, sort of

Fun facts about chips

So I call this section operation happy home

Shopping Expedition 2

This next bit’s just about setting up house and oh yeah, i kill our neighbor

A breach in the shields

A short note

Post mortem dissection of chip-terminated B syndrome

Back to Mobil

Day to day living with a hottie

The Barrett is a .50 cal sniper rifle, it doesn’t wound… it kills

Extreme, detailed violence ahead

So just a quick recap

The road trip

Two things to think about

Taupo, a thermal Wonderland

The outdoor concert

Nice things to say about New Zealand

The fall of Napier

There was an incident on the trip

Roberton Island

The mission

Dad

First-class treatment

My new best buddy the lieutenant, who I will probably end up killing

Spoiler alert

An insert from Sever lupus Secundas

Reasons

Planting seeds

Weird dream

The soldier

The Director

So without further ado, the soldier

The naked assault

Shields fail

Gisbourne

Emotional space

Me, myself, and I

The revelation

A timeout and something to make the last bit not be the end of this account. This is what really happened.

This is a recreation that gives you a bit more information on what really happened

Sever’s account

Me again

Warm Coke

Visions and tactics

My first-ever speech

The boss level

The director

My second speech

Time to say good-bye

Being human

No longer being human

The new me

Not friends anymore

Changes

Slightly before that and into never happened From the log of Cmdr. Sever

Things you don’t notice

Tammy 2

Meet the Dolls

Being the alpha

My throne has a cup holder

Let’s make a deal

Changes and questions

Almost space

Vengeance is mine

On spiritual enrichment

Tammy

Preface

T his is my first ever attempt to write a book; it’s actually an amalgam of three story ideas that I have floating around in my skull. If people like it, then there are three other books in the Shattered Worlds series. If you are wondering, yes, the ugly guy on the cover is me. I couldn’t find anyone else willing to pose for the picture. As for autobiographical data, well, N37B states most of that in the book.

(Except for the murders, of course.)

Additionally, I would like to say that all events, people, and corporations appearing in this account are from an alternate earth; thus, their names and actions bear no relation to the originals in any way, shape, or form. In the case of one organization that gets a lot of abuse, I changed its name slightly. Finally I will add that the opinions expressed herein are the opinions of N37B, and may or may not reflect my own.

Important information

T here is the blackness of space, then there is a flash, and a tiny blue and gold hole opens into nothing. For ten seconds nothing happens; then the prow of an enormous spaceship stretches the hole and begins to force its way into our reality. From this perspective, the ship seems to stretch as well; stretching all the way back to infinity. Then there is another flash, and the ship snaps back to its normal one-kilometer-long length and just hangs there above the ecliptic of our solar system.

This ship is the Sever; one whole kilometer of metal and ceramic destruction. It is finally nearing the end of a hundred-twenty-five-year-long mission to acquire the alpha. This is the third time the Dolls, the crew of the Sever, have attempted to do this, although this may seem a little confusing at first eventually it will make sense.

The Sever is a stealth battle ship, and with its cloaking field engaged it slips effortlessly, into orbit around Earth.

The sensors lock on, and the planet rushes forward to fill the view on the central screen of the bridge. It zooms in ever closer until finally New Zealand fills the screen, then Hawkes Bay, and then finally Hastings. It is exactly one year before the birth of N37B.

For now we will leave these aliens to their nefarious purposes and concentrate on N37B and his life forty-six years after the arrival of the Sever. Things are not going too well for him, you see.

Story time… but not just yet

O kay then, a few things before we get down to story time., I’m not the sort of guy you picture when you think hero. I’m more what you would call a villain. It’s a mental thing; something is screwed up with my brain chemistry, or maybe it’s socialization. But basically, I’m a sociopath.

Now, I know a lot of doctors and tech types are going to read this, but for those without the letters after their names, a sociopath is someone who doesn’t give a shit about anybody else.

Being a sociopath doesn’t mean you go around fucking with people, or beating people up. It just means you don’t care enough to care.

Oh, yeah, something else I should say; everything that you think you know about sociopaths is actually wrong.

I mean, think about it. All the studies they have done on the subject have been on sociopaths who have broken the rules. So it would be just as valid to do a study on firemen who are axe murderers and reach the conclusion that all fireman are axe murderers.

(Never did trust those guys.)

What about fireman that aren’t axe murderers?

You don’t have any data on them, so they are not included.

And so it’s the same thing with sociopaths.

There’s a line from one of The Addams Family movies; the family is getting dressed for Halloween and Wednesday appears dressed normally. They ask her what her costume is and she says, I am a serial killer. They look like everybody else.

That’s really a good description of a sociopath; they look like everybody else. You know, the quiet guy who keeps to himself, nice to the neighbors, always polite.

So that’s it for Sociopathy 101. I guess I should also describe myself.

I mean, I don’t know if a photo will be attached to this, or if at the time you are reading this I might have been dissected and stuffed into a bunch of jars labelled N37B.

Hmmm, so me. Well, think the guy that played Wolverine (I think his name was Huge Ackman or something) and a 7-foot-tall Arnold from Terminator, naked, with a 13-inch penis. Okay, got that image? Now rotate around it and zoom in, okay? Got it? Cool!

I look nothing like that. Think instead Jack Black but slightly thinner, and that’s roughly what I think I looked like at the start of the EVENT. (But if they make a movie, go with Arnold.)

So that’s me, or at least what I look like. (Maybe.) One last thing, and this one is really, really important. I. Don’t. Trust.

When I say that, I mean I don’t trust anyone, or anything. Over the course of my life it’s kept me alive. Of course, over the course of my life it’s also destroyed every relationship I have ever been in. But hey, You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, or so said Jack Nicholas when he played the Joker. So hopefully you’ve got an idea of what sort of person I am, and of sociopaths in general.

Hi there; my name is N37B.

No, really? you say. Well, no. Can you picture it? Proud mum and dad looking down at their little bundle of joy and saying, Well, what do you think? George for your father, or Elizabeth for mine?

Weeeelll, I really like the name Elizabeth, but he just looks like an N37B to me. Nah, not gonna happen…is it?

Sooo, how did I end up with my name? Well, that’s part of the story. It has dragons and heroes and princes, and a group of people in the middle of a war trying to destroy a ring and… and yeah, again, nah. Okay, my story and name are tied up with what is now officially known as the EVENT, or as I like to call it, when everyone started eating everyone else.

Well, I’d like to say I‘m one of the 200-odd people from New Zealand who survived the event, sorry the EVENT. (Should I also capitalize the the? Just wondering.)

I‘d like to say that… but at the moment, I‘m sitting in a 10‘ by 10‘ white plastic box with no door, no clothes, and just this computer in front of me.

Standing behind me is some sort of 18-year-old gung-ho soldier boy who probably has orders to shoot me if I do any of the following: try to talk, break the computer, not sit here writing this report—and from the loud click and cold prod, don’t scratch my ass, either.

Damn! These guys are all about the fun. So if I‘m going to be shot anyway, why bother?

That’s where things get a little interesting; you see, we are all writing these reports.

By we, I mean the other The Event survivors.

The top 40 report writers will be allowed to live in a containment facility to help science understand the biozoms. Personally I think they are lying. That’s not unusual, though; I always think people are lying. But in my defense, that’s usually because they are.

They don’t actually tell us what will happen to the other 160 survivors. It’s safe to assume it will only cost fifty cents times 160 and a lot of loud noise.

In case you didn’t get it, they will take us outside, line us up against a wall and shoot us, probably. It’s what I would do.

By the way, I want to say this is not a love story. There isn’t going to be some girl that I bravely rescue from certain death from a horde of slathering zombies and we fall madly in love and suddenly realize that The Event happened just so we could meet each other and be together.

You have a better chance of the dragon turning up, or maybe a spaceship.

I’m N37B, and I’m not sane. The science types say I’m suffering from PIP.

(Hey, don’t blame me, I didn’t make up the stupid acronym.)

It means Personality Interaction Psychosis. In simple terms, we’re all fucked in the head.

We think everyone wants to kill us, we have trouble relating to others, and we have greatly increased aggression levels. Why I say I’m not insane like them is because my psychosis issues predate The Event. (Hmm, guess I’m still talking about me up till now, huh? So okay, okay, roll camera and fade in a gas station and voice over.)

Day 1

I worked at a gas station. I’m sure you can imagine it, but let’s give a little detail here.

Picture an acre of concrete and asphalt. On that acre, put a small glass box about the size of a single-bedroom apartment in the middle of it. Then put in four banks of pumps in a 2 by 2 grouping, and another one around the back for diesel. Then finally put a big roof over the box and the pumps, and that describes the basic layout. Of course there’s a bit more to it than that, on the far side of the station is a car wash. If you went there now, it’s just a big smoking hole in the ground, as is most of the station. However, we are talking about how it looked on the night this whole crazy thing started. So, I’ll give some more description.

There was a tiny, scraggly garden running along the front between the two entrances, and finally the whole thing is surrounded by fences on three sides. Beyond those fences there are two-story buildings. Oh, I forgot to mention there is an auto workshop back behind the two diesel pumps, and there is a little alleyway that boy racers used to go from Taradale Road to the back of the Onekawa Industrial District. Have I left anything out?

There are also a couple of buses parked there, one out in front of the station, and one down the back, because they asked my boss nicely, and they don’t have anywhere else to be.

(I mean, the businesses that owned them, not the buses, because buses don’t talk. Cars, yeah, sure, you can’t get them to shut up; but buses, stoic as…) (That may or may not be sarcasm; I’ll leave you to be the judge of that.) I‘m ninety percent sure the only reason I survived the first night was because I was working. Thing is, I wasn‘t supposed to be on that night.

Everyone was getting sick and calling in, saying they didn’t want to work.

It was because of the latest flu going around. Hell, I had it too—runny nose, blocked sinuses, and eyes feeling like someone was rubbing them with sandpaper. So on the night in question, I basically felt like shit. Now here’s the important bit; at this point in the narrative, I’m not actually at work yet. I‘m nocturnal, so even when not working I‘ll be up till five in the morning, playing online games, checking out conspiracy sites, or watching anime.

(Japanese cartoons, they rock!)

That night I‘d got a big plate of nachos, a Coke, and a king-size bar of chocolate and I was watching Resident Evil. It was sort of ironic, when you really think about it.

The movie was just starting to get to the good bits when my phone rings

Now, I didn‘t ever have a lot of friends—you could count them on one hand. Who am I kidding? One finger. That was Mike. He knew not to call at this time, so that meant my boss was calling.

The conversation went something like this:

Hey, N37B. Chris called in sick. I know it’s short notice, but could you work tonight?

The prick didn’t even offer me time and a half for it, being such short notice and all.

So I should have turned him down, right? Well, the thing is, I couldn’t. The reason being? I only had this job because when I went for the interview the boss asked, Why should I hire you?

And I said, Cause I’ll turn up. So he said, You‘re hired.

My reply to his call was therefore, Yeah, sure.So I bundled up my goodies, jumped in my car, and toddled off to work, on my night off. (Just saying, you know, night off and all.)

The first two hours of work were pretty normal; a few more cars than usual, but nothing excessive. Everyone was coughing or sniffling, and quite a few looked anxious.

I never watched TV much or listened to the radio. I had a zio10 with all my books music and movies. By the way, I want that back, you bunch of thieves. And you have no clue what I went through to keep that intact. I had no idea that people were starting to drop like flies. I mean yeah, I’d noticed the obituaries had gone from like half a column to half a page, but so what? People die. Get over it. I already had.

Twelve thirty rolled around, so that meant lunchtime on my schedule.

I was eating my nachos from earlier when I noticed what I thought were a bunch of drunken idiots stagger past on the other side of the street.

There was nothing unusual about that, just a few more than normal, and usually something you only see on a Friday or Saturday.

I’m setting the scene here; just bear with me. I’m getting to the gore and killing.

For the most part it was merely another boring, normal shift, until just after 2:00 a.m.

That was when I heard a scream. A girl was being chased by a bunch of what looked like more drunken idiots. I thought about calling the cops then thought nah, because they would tell me to stay on the line and then there would be paperwork, then someone else would say I should have gone to her aid and frankly I couldn’t be bothered. I think I may have mentioned in passing that I sort of had people issues.

Just then the girl tripped and fell over.

Well honestly, my jaw dropped. I almost choked on my last mouthful of nachos.

(I’m a slow eater, okay?)

I mean, for Pete’s sake, it’s a flat piece of ground, fairly well lit, and like in some stupid thriller, the big-titted bimbo can’t see where she’s putting her feet because the aforementioned tits block her view of the ground and she falls over. The guys following her now get to catch up and proceed to mug her. So I pick up the phone and say to myself, If she screams rape, I’ll call the cops. I mean, for all I knew and or cared, they might be friends just playing around.

I was waiting for the Raaaaape yell, when I saw the blood.

Like I said, it wasn’t real well lit, but it was by no means pitch-black. I saw this huge black fountain of blood shoot six feet into the air and cover almost everything in the immediate area, including the guys, who all started biting and tearing at the girl. The more they bit, the more the almost-black-looking liquid spread over the now rather horrifying scene.

Okay, that’s not normal… I said to myself as I dialed the police. I got elevator music as my ever so gracious reply.

Don’t you just love being put on hold? I called the police and I was told I was 314th in the cue and to hold the line as an operator would get to me soon, or alternatively I could leave them a voice message or a text. All said in a cheerful and friendly voice. I hated it.

I hung up, and thought about things.

What I had seen was in no way normal, law and order is busy, therefore the logical conclusion is this shit is happening all over the place.

I’ve got plenty of food and front row seats. The obvious solution is to sit back and see what happens next. Predictably, a couple of house lights turned on and people started peering through windows. One idiot had a baseball bat and went out to deal with the problem.

He was probably already thinking about what he would say to the news crews.

If I know Kiwis (New Zealanders), which unfortunately I do, it would probably be something along the lines of: Well, I saw there was a bunch of them, and they were all over that girl, so I just had to step in and sort it out. I’m no hero, I just did what anyone would do in my place.

BZZZZZT wrong! I was in your place, and I didn’t feel the need to do squat. Amusing factoid; it seems zombies like their produce fresh. Or is that rare? Or raw? I’m really not sure, even to this day. Well anyway, the zombies went for him as soon as he got close.

He actually gave a really good account for himself. In a surprisingly quick maneuver, he struck true and bashed in the skulls of the closest two with a sickening thud, then pivoted around and smashed the knee caps out from the third; I really thought he might make it.

A couple of other onlookers obviously thought the same, so they came out as well. One had a golf club and another had an axe and they went to town on these zombies.

I will note axe guy just stood there. I don’t think anyone knew at that stage that the attackers were zombies. Makes you wonder though; I mean, he had an axe in his house. Not exactly normal. And secondly, he comes out to attack a group of people with it; just saying. I wonder if he was a fireman. The funny thing was, they were winning. However, this victory was to be short lived. Soundlessly, the girl previously seen to have been the main course in the zombie smorgasbord was now standing, as though by some miracle she had survived. Yeah, right you guessed it; not a miracle. It was the other thing—a nightmare. Although she was no longer dead, just as obviously she wasn’t alive, either.

She had zombified, right before my eyes.

Due to being to the left of our would-be heroes, said heroes were oblivious to the new, imminent danger she represented, until her teeth had sunk into the neck of the axe guy, leaving a huge bite and another fountain of blood. That they did notice. I didn’t get to see it, but baseball bat guy gets bitten around this time as well. I think I was distracted by the huge fountain of blood going off. So with blood gushing from the huge wound in his neck, axe guy gives a high-pitched girly scream and runs for it as fast as his legs would carry him. Unfortunately he was being followed by two of the zombies that were still up and functional, despite taking several blows from a baseball bat. Though, personally, I don’t think he ever had a chance in hell of escaping. He was literally creating a red carpet behind him for his hungry pursuers to follow.

As if this was a signal, pretty much all our would-be heroes break and run for the security of their own houses. Amongst the chaos, golf club guy drags the still-screaming bat guy into his freakin’ house! I mean, okay, shock and all. But let me do the math here umm zombie + bite = another zombie… duh.

So my score card reads two re-dead zombies 1 new zombie 1 potential new zombie and three still zombies. The three injured zombies just stand there like robots with the power off, then zombie girl comes back from visiting a few of the neighbors and just stands there as well. About five minutes pass and then axe guy comes out, followed I guess by axe guy’s wife and kids.

Again I didn’t see what happened, but I have a really sick imagination; wifey with face pressed to window watches hubby pursued by two zombies. Honey, open the door, please… Open it, hurry! biozoms gaining as she fumbles for the door, oh yeah, zombies can cover some distance when they need to. Wifey opens door; zombies get there at the same time. Result… Zombie-Smorgasbord 2.

With all the zombies back in a group they seem to gain purpose again. They start going house to house. I don’t really know what houses look like where you guys are from, but I’ve seen a bit of the world and I would have to say, New Zealand houses look like shit. They are usually a 3-bedroom affair on a quarter acre, usually wooden walls, lots of windows, and tin roofs.

Where there are fences they are there to define the property or to block road traffic noise, absolutely no use for security. The zombies smash through the front windows. Sometimes there are screams, sometimes gunshots.

(And this is a relatively safe, nice neighborhood; just saying.)

But mostly not. Rinse and repeat till finished. In one hour, zombie population went from 5 to 30-odd; not good. Well, dear reader, I want you to know that while all that was happening I was not idle. Oh no, sirree, I watched, took notes, got another Coke, and turned off all the station’s lights.

I had noticed that although the zombies broke into every house, they had started with the ones that had lights on. And just a guess on my part, probably those houses with sound or movement.

There wasn’t much else to do. Basically the station is a bulletproof box and the doors were locked. I was either safe or dead, not many other options. As mentioned, I worked the graveyard shift.

(Heh heh.)

I grabbed some chocolate bars off the shelves, another Coke, and settled back to watch the show. About six zombies were wandering around the forecourt; to be honest I couldn’t say if they were from the first lot, or if this was another lot. One dead body covered in blood looks much like any other dead body covered in blood to me. To be honest, I couldn’t be bothered doing the focusing thing to work out who they had been. This lot didn’t seem to notice the big glass box in the middle of the forecourt and just wandered aimlessly…

But, they weren’t going away. It was like they knew I was there, they just didn’t know exactly where. Another two hours and there were now thirty-odd zombies wandering around the station. Some were definitely new, but there was also the comic duo of bat dude and golf club guy. Guess it just goes to show no good dead goes unpunished. I guess their antics made an impression on me; I didn’t need to focus to see who they were.

Okay, so not the greatest joke, but I liked it. I even laughed.

New problem, though; the sun would be coming up soon. Would they see me? Would they react to me making noise or moving about? I had lots of questions and no real answers. I took my clothes off and put them on the ground to make a sort of crude mattress and lay there. Eventually I fell asleep. I was awoken about five hours later by gunfire; shotguns and rifles I think. Well, there were great rolling waves of gunfire. It went on for about an hour, then it got less umm, less dense, I guess is the word I’m looking for. Then it got less constant, then it got less, and finally it stopped. I’m guessing if there was a defense of Napier, that was it, and we didn’t win.

Day 2

I was about to see how safe my new home was. It may seem stupid but, I sat up and stretched.

Of all things, there was a zombie with its head hard up against the glass. He instantly saw me and started this fingernail-on-blackboard moaning sound. Then, as if this was a new craze, all the others started doing it as well. In less than a minute, every single zombie was banging on the glass. Crap!

My new home had one major flaw that I haven’t mentioned. Yes, there was bulletproof glass all the way around, but stupidly the doors were just plate glass, and locked with little latch locks that a ten-year-old could probably break through.

I had thought about that last night. The basic idea was to keep them from noticing me, then nip outside and park something across the doors leaving a tiny gap to slip through. Didn’t really get around to doing that. One thing to know about me; I’m smart. I have a couple of degrees, and my brain goes at a thousand thoughts a second, or thereabouts. I did a quick inventory of my resources; what did I have? And the answer came to me; I had two freezer units and a lot of shelves. I shoved the first freezer against the door and shoved the other one on top of it, almost gave myself a hernia doing it. Then I used the shelf supports to brace the fridges against the far wall, so in short you would have to shove the wall over to get through the door.

Imagine my relief when after two hours, the doors were still intact.

Because only a couple of zombies could get to the door at a time, they couldn’t bring enough oomph to bear to break the door. So yay team me.

I went and had breakfast. While chewing on a slightly stale chicken roll, I tried to find out the situation. The TV had some woman saying everyone should stay home and avoid strangers. That was really a big help… Not. Cause… No clue. But every world power is blaming every other world power, so long story short, everyone is on their own. Crap, crap, crap!!!

Because I couldn’t think of anything else to do, I called Mike. The phone rang for 10 beats then went to voice mail. I tried calling him several more times, but there was no answer. I never did hear from him again.

I went to the back, locked the door, and went back to sleep.

Day 3

Y ou are probably asking yourself, thirty zombies outside and he just goes to sleep? Is he insane? Duh, see above. Never have been sane. Anyway, sanity is waay overrated if you ask me.

So I’ll ask you. "What would you have done? What could you have done?"

A wise man, my sensei once said to me, When there is nothing you can do, the best thing you can do is nothing.

I woke up around 6:00 p.m., opened the door a crack and looked out. I had about three zombies I could see, and three dead not-getting-up-type dead bodies, and a couple of cars on the forecourt. I forgot to mention that before I went to bed, I’d turned on the forecourt lights, put the pumps on manual, and put the display writer to read: Free gas zombies around.

Who says I’m not there for my fellow man? Oh yeah, that would be me, wouldn’t it?

Tammy

A girl approached the forecourt; because she was sneaking around and not aimlessly shuffling, I was pretty sure she was alive. Well, she snuck up to my home sweet glass box and said through the night drawer, Please let me in.

I was pretty sure she hadn’t seen me, so curiosity got the better of me and I decided to talk to her. How did you know I was here? I whispered.

The doors are shut and barricaded, she said.

Duh, I felt like a complete moron when she said it. I let that slide because I’m such a great guy and all.

Have you been bit? I asked.

No.

I think everyone lies, so if you had been bit, would you tell someone? Of course not. So obviously my next request was put extremely delicately, so as not to offend anyone’s sensibilities.

Strip everything. If I don’t see any bites I’ll let you in, as long as you understand I’m in charge, you do what I say when I say it, and nothing else, was my friendly reply.

Uhh, okay, I guess.

God, was she lying? No one with an ounce of brain power would have gone along with that.

She took off all her clothes and gave me a good look; no bites, nice boobs.

Hey, I maybe a sociopath, but I still like girls. Any others? I asked.

There’s four of us. My brother, his girlfriend, and my boyfriend.

Guess how this works? I let them in and then they turn around and say, Thanks much for letting us in but now we outnumber you, so we are going to chuck you out. Tah-tah.

I thought to myself, I could let her in and tell the others to take a hike, but then I’d have to tie her up and she would always be looking to ‘get back at me’… I quickly decided it was too much bother for too little reward.

Sorry, thanks for the show, nice tits by the way, but I think I’ll just stay in here by myself, was finally what I said. All of our whispering had actually attracted the attention of the three zombies and they started over towards us, moaning that horrible sound.

If I were you, I’d run now. I grinned.

She gave me the finger and took off sans clothes, really nice view, only thing spoiling it was the zombies. I tossed a coin, and it came up heads. Actually it came up tails, but those were really nice tits, so I ran over to the windows, banged on them, and tried to catch the zombies’ attention. Boy, it worked. Bang moan bang moan and within an hour I think I had about eighty zombies on the forecourt. As I said before, no good ‘dead’ goes unpunished. Things got really bad at this point as my zio10 ran out of power. Of course, that night would be the only night that the charger wasn’t in my bag. I decided to plan to survive. After all, I think most guys would agree that naked, cute girls always make them feel happy to be alive. That meant I needed information, and confirmation of that information. What I wanted was a test subject zombie.

I would also require the following; some form of weapon, both distance and close, protective clothing with said protective clothing needing to also cover the neck . . .

Why the neck? you ask. Look at fifty zombie corpses, and over half of them have their throats ripped out, or bite marks on the neck. Don’t ask me why, they just do. So what else will I need? Power will eventually fail, so I’ll need a generator and defenses, both against zombies and against other people who will want this place. Could I think of anything else? Nope, I got nothing.

Well, it wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a start.

I spent a long time watching zombies. I tried to see differences in behavior from groups to individuals. Did any one zombie look brighter than any other zombie? That sort of thing.

Nothing at the time stood out, they all just looked like dead people walking around.

Though I must admit, none of them looked as bad as the zombies on the TV show The Walking Dead. So once again I went to bed.

Day 4

I had a thought just before falling asleep; lots of accidents occur at dawn because the eyes have problems adjusting to the gradual changes in light. Following that line of logic, a zombie is a dead person, so isn’t it likely their eyes have been a bit downgraded by being, well, dead and rotting? Well, it was a good theory as theories go, but… boy was I wrong. But still, working on the above theory, I made the assumption that if I don’t move rapidly, and don’t make too much noise, I should be able to slip by them. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I actually had a pretty good night’s sleep. I set the alarm on my phone and it’s just gone off, so it’s dawn. A quick peek outside shows only two zombies, and both of them are doing the statue thing. Time to try my brilliant plan.

As quietly and as slowly as possible, I moved the shelves and fridges away from the doors.

Everything looks good so far, still only two zombies and they are still doing the statue thing. And the really good news? No new ones. So I’m looking around the store and… Weapon, weapon… Absolutely nothing.

You would think I would have worked that out before opening the doors and going to sleep, what can I say? It didn’t occur to me. Well yeah, there were things that could be classed as weapons; a box knife, and possibly the screwdriver. Both would probably work against a person… But a zombie would just take the hit then bite you, also way too close to a zombie.

I wanted something that had a little distance, like for example bat dude’s baseball bat.

Sooo, I would need to run across the road, check out golf club dude’s house, and see if I could find either the baseball bat or the golf club. What could possibly go wrong, right?

Bad move, bad move. What if there are zombies in the house?

Then it’s zombies in front, zombies behind, and N37B is zombie chow.

Then I saw it! I mean, I always saw it, I just hadn’t seen it like that till that second. I had my weapon. I had a broom!

Oh yeah, you can laugh, with your attack choppers, flame throwers, and machine guns. Me, I didn’t have anything like that. I even spent some time and made myself cardboard armor. Well I call it armor, but simply put I cut up a cardboard box and wrapped the card around my arm a few times, and then wrapped duct tape over that. I then picked up the screwdriver and grabbed one of the thermal protection gloves required for working with LPG and totally covered the gap between cardboard and glove in duct tape. Well, that’s all I could think of doing, so I may as well get this show on the road. I opened the door and stepped out. Honestly, I had expected the zombies to smell worse. I mean, road kill stinks to high heaven after a couple of days. I could smell unwashed body smells but no overpowering rotting smell, so once again, yay team me.

I didn’t lock the door behind me. For one thing, it would be complicated, and require wrapping a chain around the door handles and then locking them together. I mean sure, someone could come along, take my home and lock me out, but I kept having this image of running from zombies, trying to get the door open, then chomp! After much thought I took my zio and duct taped it to my chest.

(Told you I love that thing.)

Walking really slowly, with lots of pauses, I aimlessly crossed the road in my best Hey, nothing to see here, just another zombie looking for brains to munch on; you know, all one, big, happy family walk.

When I got to the road, the two zombies on the forecourt woke up, looked in my general direction, and started shuffling along after me. Crap! Crap! Crap! I sped up just ever so slightly and kept going. Funny thing, they sped up to match me. I thought about calling it, going back to the station and waiting for a better opportunity to come along; after all. There was always the possibility they might leave on their own. What really decided me though was in all the zombie films and books I had read. Quite simply, in a zombie apocalypse, still the most dangerous thing out there is your fellow survivor. You most definitely want weapons when they come calling, because you can bet your ass he and/or she will have weapons that they really want to try out on you. So the three of us crossed the road, me and my two zombie buddies…

So, plan time. Go up driveway, enter house, look around fast, grab any weapon, out the front window, jump fence back to station. In my head I kept thinking my plan sounded like the commands you used in that old text game Zork. But as plans went, it was simple