I'm Screwed Even If I Survived.

I can tell you now that no matter what I did I might have a 3-5 year time limit to live at most considering I'm insulin dependent. I'd most likely be at home when the chaos started. The first thing that would tip me off to it would be the chilling scream of a neighbor getting attacked. I'd call out from the balcony to see if they were alright. There would be no answer. I might see and hear one or two concerning things that would arouse suspicion. I'd call the police (unsuccessfully), and I'd lock my doors. I might turn on the television, but most likely I'd go back to sleeping or surfing the net and kidding myself that nothing was wrong.

 

The next thing would be a banging on my garage door or something which I would naturally take a concealed knife to and investigate (still under the impression that it wasn't a zombie apocalypse). From there I would either be killed by the runner-zombie bashing ragefully against my house or I would push it over and make it back inside without being bitten, I know I probably wouldn't try to fight if what I saw was gruesome enough because blood freaks me out. From there it would bash against my half-glass back door which I would attempt to barricade with the washer, boxes, and a couch before it broke through, or I would try to kill it with one of my bigger knives. If I succeeded I would nail and screw shut every door in the house that led directly to a window and barricade myself inside, gathering supplies, watching the television, and filling as many containers with water as possible. Assuming everything went to plan I'd try to make the most of things before the power went out, gathering any workable material I could (floorboards, linoleum, foam rubber, metal, etc) and constructing a crude but effective suit of armor to protect me specifically from bites and scratches + some bludgeoning if possible with the available materials (zombies don't hold back on the beatings either). Then I would try to make myself a light, reliable, easy to use weapon such as a punching dagger (or katar as some call it) or a hammer-pick so I could penetrate skulls (very few guns in this country, but I'm good at shop + chem and own tools).

 

I'd stay inside, possibly a week, wearing my armor at all possible times and trying to defend against intrusions until I understood the situation better. Eventually I'd run out of insulin, so I'd sneak outside, take a car, and go raiding pharmacys for enough insulin to last a little over 3 years (which is about how long most batches of insulin last under refrigerated conditions). Assuming I didn't get mobbed and bludgeoned to death by 51 hungry dead people I'd be okay to steal some explosives-making supplies and a genny from hardware stores and such and get to work thinning out the undead population as much as I could before I died; either in an ill calculated explosion, via diabetic illness, by getting mobbed (or knocked over and trapped in a large crowd where I might starve to death before I could work myself free despite my protective coverings), or by somehow becoming contaminated and turning undead. Needless to say I don't think it's likely I'd make it that far, considering I'd go insane. 

Explodey Explodey
22-25, M
2 Responses Feb 20, 2010

Hey thanks, I have actually always wanted to write a book, but if I don't stop procrastinating that I could see myself doing a collaboration with a short story or something.

harrowing story man... i was entranced reading this. you should publish! :)