Channel 9 news had been repeating the same story for the past six hours already. Zombies, real zombies, had broken out within the city hospitals and were eating people’s faces. It reminded me of the old Florida man story about that guy on bath salts eating faces. I was truly convinced that it was a joke and had to recheck the calendar for April Fools’ Day, but it said September 1^st Labor Day.

I kept flipping through other channels after that, but they were all normal for the first hour. It was weird, and I began to wonder if someone had hijacked the Channel 9 News. It wasn’t entirely out of the question after all, I recall several local municipal offices’ websites being hijacked only a month ago.

By the third hour, I truly began to panic a bit and forced my shaky fingers to peel open my bottle of anti-anxiety pills before I drove myself into a panic attack or worse. The pills helped soothed my nerves, even if they were only placebos. I’m 90% positive my therapist shoved me off with fakes, that lying bitch. That plastered on smile isn’t fooling anyone, Julie. Everyone knows you are a lying whore and that’s why your husband is divorcing you and taking half your practice.

The gunshot stirs me from my rambling thoughts. A street away, no, maybe only a couple hoses down from me. I’m already up on my feet and rushing to the door, rechecking the deadbolt and pulling curtains closed. Not safe, this is still not safe enough. To the basement, there were all those wooden planks from that renovation I meant to do but never actually started. With a whoosh, I was down and back with a blanket wrapped set of planks, hammer and carpenter nails. Now the new problem, I am a complete amateur at barricading windows, having never lived in a hurricane prone area in all of my twenty five years of life.

A YouTube video and two hours later and I was a confident amateur carpenter with poorly barricaded windows. Every plank had half a dozen nails in a single side, most of them bent inward instead of straight on like a proper carpenter. No matter, I told myself with a cheeky grin, more nails means it will be harder to pry off right? Right. Superior logic wins out over crazy face-eating zombies every time.

Back to the couch to sit and watch the news for any changes. The same story of Channel 9 News had been playing the whole time. Even Reddit was pouring in with similar stories now, but it was limited to only my state and the comments were toxic beyond belief. I mean, just look at this one. It says everyone in my state is a filthy clanker lover and has been long overdue for a good spank. What the hell does that even mean? Morons, the lot of them, I hope a zombie eats their faces.

The gunfire never repeated, maybe it wasn’t even gunfire to begin with and it was only a car backfiring. That’s totally possible right? Definitely possible, but definitely improbable too. Better to grab a weapon myself, so the hammer slides deftly into my left pocket. That makes me feel a little better but I need a longer reach. Search through the house one more time and now I’m standing with a pitchfork from the garage and my trusty hammer. Actually, where did I even get a pitchfork? I am not a farmer, hate even the thought of cleaning up after myself let alone a dairy cow or horses.

Loud knocking at the door made my head whip around with the mystery pitchfork pointed out in front. With unsteady steps, I approached the door and stuck my left eye into the peephole. A man with a bloody knife stood on the other side, breathing heavy and covered in blood. His mouth moved and an unfamiliar voice drifted in through the closed door.

“Hello? Is anyone there? My name is Brian and I am rounding up survivors. We are all gathering at the community center. If anyone is there, you should join us!”

“No one’s home. Please go away!”

The words slip out before I can catch myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid, who is going to believe no one is home now? I berate myself with the ferocity of someone who knows they are in trouble yet can do nothing about it. Blinking hard, I took a step back and wait with the pitchfork grasped even tighter, waiting for any signs of movement on the other side.

“Um…alright then. If you change your mind, we are all at the community center.”

The voice drifts back in, followed by the sound of yelling and harsh footsteps on hard gravel. Another project I never finished, the sidewalk cement job. Well with the world going to hell, I guess it won’t be needed anymore. I’ll just check that off my list of to-dos and move on then. Back to the couch for some good old potato mode then.

Pitchfork goes on the floor, hammer onto the TV tray and phone back in hand. Channel 9 News is still complaining about the zombie outbreak in the city but they aren’t here yet, so I still have time to take some cool pictures for my Instagram and scroll through TikTok videos. Those little doggies doing tricks are just too cute. I really wanted to get a dog too, but some days I can barely get up to feed myself let alone another living creature. Besides, I don’t have the patience for house breaking or cleaning up poop all over the backyard before mowing the lawn. Speaking of the lawn, I should have cut it before this whole zombie thing. It’s already at waist height and probably hiding dozens of crawlers by now.

Another round of rapid knocks and I’m back on my feet. Nearly tripped over the pitchfork rushing to the door, but at least it is in hand and ready to go. A quick scan through the peephole reveals another woman, a familiar neighbor, what was her name again? Cindy? Cynthia? Sindy with an S! Downright annoying that one, always picking on me for not recycling my spam mail. It’s spam mail, it goes in the trash along with the people printing it. They are non-recyclable people, Sindy with an S.

“Beth, are you home? Please help me! Danny attacked me and I had to defend myself. He’s bleeding out, I think. My car is still in the shop; I just need to borrow your car so we can go to the hospital.”

Nope, nope, nope. I refuse to fall for this trick too. She is even less desirable than the stranger with the bloody clothes. Even if I wanted to let her borrow the car, which I don’t, it is in the garage and that is only protected by a screen door. The deadbolt broke weeks ago and is still on the To-Do list to replace. I am not going to risk zombies breaking into the garage just to save your ass of a husband.

He probably deserves to die anyway, with his showy muscular frame and sexy butt. No man should have a butt that sexy; it is downright illegal.

“Go away Sindy with a S! No one is going to fall for your temptress tricks here!”

“Fuck you, Beth, you skinny little whore! I hope you rot in there!”

“Better to rot in here than die out there!”

That will teach her to come knocking on my door. She is already storming off to find another neighbor, no doubt. Though I do wonder what made Danny attack her. Did he turn into one of them too? Those testosterone

 addled meatheads that lash out in a drug fueled rage at the drop of a hat? Oh, maybe not, maybe he turned into a zombie. That is the more likely scenario right now. Sindy is probably one too, good thing I didn’t unlock the door. Couch potato time again…wait, what is that engine sound?

“Fuck fuck fuck! Sindy you crazy bitch!”

Drove a car into my living room, not even her own car. Pinned beneath it and worst of all, I can’t reach my phone from here. I was just about to enjoy some more doggy videos too. Could she be any more infuriating? Look at her, frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog and when did she get those red contacts?

“Get away from me, Sindy. I can’t reach my hammer but when I do, you’re going to get it right in the face!”

“Ow! Damn it, that hurt! And you seriously need a breath mint; you smell like the living dead!”

Pound it like Mario, found my hammer and Sindy now has an imprint to prove it. Pulling her teeth out of my shoulder is going to be a bummer though, wonder if I can use the claw side to get them out. Pushing the car off of me is goin got take more than a hammer. Sleepy now, so I’ll think about it later. Maybe when I wake, this dream will have moved on to someone else.