Things to Come

Roanoke, W. Virginia
48 hours earlier

Ever preparing for the vast unknown, we fling ourselves into the future ill equipped with tools fashioned on the anvils of mortal minds… and yet, in life’s greatest paradox, only then can we cast aside the wings of the known, and walk firmly within our new found selves.

Sounds from below put everyone on edge, bodies rigid, frozen, lest their paltry existence come to a gruesome end with with a creak of wood or a cracking of joints. Dread silence, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of footsteps below, drawing closer. Patrick choked back a cough, tickling in his chest, born of the sepulchral air, human stench, and uncovered fiberglass of their crowded attic. His heart was pounding in his chest, drumming in his ears. Moments dragged on in countless shallow breaths as the survivors waited, with nauseous anticipation, a verdict to their fate… to be found, or saved. Patrick took stock of the poor souls huddled around him, the babe in his arms, his wife trembling at his side, his sister in law, and her seven year old son. Gruesome images flashed through his mind as his thoughts tiptoed into the possibility of their demise. They had come to survive, amidst a world burgeoning with horror, and yet they had lost their lives. Now, fragments of their former selves, they had become mere stubborn vessels of breath, flesh, and bones.

James had crawled down from attic some time ago in an attempt to gather viable foodstuffs and supplies… but Patrick had no idea how long he had been gone. Time was illusory in this cramped cell. Devoid of light and subject to a maddening and nervous boredom, the only measure of time were the periods of chilling cold that came with the fall of night. Their usual tools for such a menial task as keeping time, cellphones and PDAs, had long since failed them as their batteries drained of life.

The sound of footsteps drew closer… a steady dirge… and came to stop below the draw down ladder to the attic. Patrick held his breath, felt in his skin a sudden rush of heat and in his stomach a swirling nausea. Then, a slow knock at the portal, rhythmic and patterned, and he felt the world lifting from his shoulders, and a collective sigh of relief from those around him. James had returned.

He muttered a silent prayer as Sarah, James’ wife, scrambled over to lower the ladder. Pale, bleached rays of light filtered into the attic as the drop down ladder was lowered, and he heard a muted, but heartfelt exchange between James and his wife. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on letting loose the knots of stress in his shoulders, and shifted the sleeping babe in his arms so he could reach out to gently stroke Jessica’s back. Floorboards creaked as Sarah and her son Chris helped James lift half a dozen plastic bags of supplies up into the attic.

The shuffling sounds were momentarily muted as Sarah and James exchanged hushed words… Patrick, lost in the flood of relief spilling through his body, was dragged back into the moment as he heard James’ voice raise for a moment “he’s got two legs…” before being cutoff by a stern hush from Sarah. Patrick felt an embarrassment creep through him like a poison, and gestured for Jessica to take the baby. At his touch she seemed to shrink away, turning her back and shaking her head.
“Jessica please, I should go help” he whispered.
“No thanks.” She replied with a choke in her voice.

He tried to fight back the anger boiling in his gut. It’s not her fault, he assured himself. She was showing some indications of depression before the world went to shit… with all the stress…

“Here Tubs.” Chris chimed as he held out a bottle of water in his hand to Patrick.
“Christopher!” Sarah angrily scowled from from the ladder as she laid down another bag of supplies.
“It’s okay.” Patrick lied as he tried to let slide the feelings of guilt and shame that came with the young boy’s innocent revelation of what could only be his parent’s nickname for him. He couldn’t blame them. He felt like a burden. Out of shape and harboring a two month old baby and depressive wife, James, Sarah, and their son would have better odds on their own. The topic had come up a few days ago, when, running out of supplies, James had left the safety of the attic. James had always seemed cold and distant for some reason, but Sarah had been adamant that the family stay together. ‘There’s to few of us left,’ she had said… ‘we need to stick together.’ Merely remembering those words brought him some comfort.

Patrick let out a sigh as James pulled up the ladder and secured the hatch, darkness once again descending on the crawlspace. “Thank you James.” A grunt reply in the darkness.

A flick of a match and a candle illuminated James’ face. “We are going to have to move soon.” His voice was low, determined.
Patrick could feel Jessica sit up straight “There is nowhere to go…” she protested, her words punctuated by a cough, “we are safe here-”
“We are dying here.” Sarah cut in.
“Look…” James started, “Food is getting scarce…. most of the homes in the neighborhood were picked clean long ago. It took me days to find what I could, and even then, I spent half of that time hiding in places you wouldn’t believe to avoid being found. It was never the plan to stay holed up here for long.”
“I don’t want to go out there again mom.” Chris pleaded, digging his face into Sarah’s lap.
“Shh.. ” Sarah gently stroked his hair, “It will be okay honey.”
Patrick could see James shift his gaze from Chris to meet his eyes. “I think Patrick may have been right with his theory.” He said.
“You have seen fewer roamers?” Patrick replied, optimism creeping into his voice.
“That could be explained by competition for resources… a much simpler explanation than some mind controlling fungus.” Jessica spat.
Patrick tried to bottle his annoyance. Jessica was always combative with things she couldn’t explain… a counter-intuitive quality for an academic. “Their is evidence in nature,” Patrick replied, “Ants have been known to become infected with a fungus that alters their behavior so as to propagate itself. It explains the irrational change in people’s behavior, and it would also likely drive them to move toward centers of high population to further propagate.”
“Yes,” Jessica retorted, “But that doesn’t explain how the outbreak started on a near global scale- “
“Please,” Sarah cut in, desperation and anger fusing in her voice, “Lets not start this again. What matters is there are fewer of them out there. What matters is we are running out of supplies, and the truth is, we can’t stay here much longer.”
“I want to revisit the idea of visiting my brother.” James’ voice was resolute, his words more statement than suggestion. “He lives off the grid,” he continued, “Which means that if hes safe, then we might actually have a place we can escape to… a place we can try to start a new life, at the least, a place to bide time to get our bearings and gather some news.”
“Speaking of news, have you been able to get your hands on a radio?” Sarah inquired.
“No, this is the golden land of ipods and laptops. The only radio’s I have seen are in Hummers and Lexus’. I haven’t had the time to go rummaging for keys hoping to find a car to match.”

Patrick had a queasy feeling in his gut. This was going to happen. They would be leaving what had become a pocket of safety. They could argue on, wasting breath in a vain attempt to forestall what could only possibly be one more horrific flight through what had become a wasteland of civilization, but in the end, well, he could only hope.

“James is right.” Patrick intoned, attempting to summon what bravery he had left. “I don’t see what option we have. I trust you James. I know we’ll be safe.” He wanted to believe himself, but somewhere inside, his soul trembled.

Appalachian Trail . McAfee Knob
Thursday April 13, 2013

Things too insane to believe. Words spoken with a grain of truth, grim promise. James looked on Kira as her mind stumbled through the minefield of his words… apprehension dawning, comprehension blossoming like a storm… and a world collapsing. If he could still feel pity, he would have looked in sorrow upon her… remembering what it was like to face, for the first time, the grim future now unfolding upon the world. Theories abounded, but mattered little in what had become for all, regardless of race, creed, or caste, a fight for survival in the face of a human tide reduced to it’s most animalistic instinct. To feed.

He could feel a rage boiling in his mind, like a fire living and blazing out of control. A conflagration of rationalizations and feeble explanations for this unjust collapse of all he once knew and loved… and hated. Looking upon this girl, this young woman, he felt a stir, a kaleidoscope of emotions burgeoning, feeding the fire stirring in his soul and pushing beyond the emotional barriers born of scars to recent, still tender. Wounds inflicted on his heart and soul by all he had witnessed as he cast aside his honor and his sanity, escaping mobs, running in terror from the screams of his own family… cries, desperate pleas for help still ringing in his ears… survival, flight his only thought.

He could feel his knuckles tightening, teeth grinding. He could see, through the red haze of anger clouding his vision, Kira. Her mouth was moving, forming words, but he heard no sounds, could feel no comprehension. A look was spreading in her eyes, pupils dilating… a look of fear. He felt in himself a sudden surge of violent thoughts, the look in her eyes awakening in him a hunger. There was no room for the weak in this new world of violence, devoid of civilization, thought. This frozen wasteland of anger.

A soft touch on his shoulder, and a succulent and sweet smell brought him to salivation. He could feel his mouth moving, his lungs pumping, making sounds instinctual, reflexive. He felt the world spinning before his eyes, drowning ever deeper under the red cloud before his vision. He could taste something warm, wet, and sweet.

His last rational thought, his dying comprehension, was a soul sickening feeling of awareness. He understood now, for one fleeting moment as his sanity departed and the virus fully brought down his last vestige of humanity, that look of rage and hunger screaming behind the eyes of the infected. He felt with unreal certainty a Sisyphean burden, holding up the convictions, beliefs, and labels that defined him in life… now, only a crushing weight. Legs buckling, and finally surrender… for what could he do, one lone man, under the weight of the world. A fleeting gasp of freedom, and in a breath, all comprehension was gone.

Kira felt frozen in time. She fought back a nervous laugh… she had never seen so much blood, she had never brushed so closely such a moment of horror. Like a broken record she kept relaying the last few moments, her mind trying to cope, understand what was happening. One moment, James was standing there… the next, he was panting, and eying her like a piece of meat, his frame trembling. The next moment Patrick had come from behind to lay a hand on James’ shoulder, about to open his mouth to say something. In response to that touch James let out some strangled sounding roar, and lashed out, tearing into Patrick’s jugular. Blood sprayed, screams shrieked on the wind, and as Patrick let loose guttural pleads the two rolled end over end, coming to a stop not five feet away, where, amidst sounds of tearing flesh Patrick had ceased to move. James, now crouched above him, emitted a low and inhuman, guttural growl as he raised his eyes to see Jessica, babe in arm, screaming, stumbling backward.

Kira felt a wave of heat ripple through her muscles like fire, and with a sudden clarity – an instinctual response to protect, she threw herself at the beast. Dropping her center of gravity low, she launched herself at his knees, arms wide. She ducked her head low and lead with her shoulder, connecting with full force at a right angle to his legs, breaking his knee with a meaty snap. She pulled in tight with her arms, bringing his legs together under her as she drove him flat into the ground.

Kira tumbled free, rolling to her feet. James, a snarling, blood spattered animal, clawed onto his hands and knees, shoulders hunched, a predatory look in his eye and a rasping growl in his throat. Kira licked her lips, her mouth dry and an acrid taste in her mouth, and slowly sidestepped, keeping her balance low, moving to position her back to the knob and its precipice. All the while staring James in the eyes, meeting his inhuman gaze, challenging him.

Fear was boiling in her stomach, like a poison, tempting her with sweet thoughts of flight and escape… but she refused to drink from that wellspring. Biting hard on her teeth, she tempered her will with a grim determination to survive. The screams of moments ago now faded, a uneasy, eerie silence fell on the moment… shattered just as quickly by a baby’s cry, and it’s mother’s furtive attempts to hush it.

James broke eye contact, his predatory stare darting to mother and child. His body began to lurch, and Kira let out a savage roar, bestial. James’ attention snapped back, and with a howl he began loping towards her, dragging his weight across his broken knee.

Kira was momentarily stunned by his nearly inhuman ability to move so fast, so damaged, and let her instincts take over as James reached out, arms wide in attack. She offered up her left arm, and as James began to grasp, jaws gaping, spittle flying, she brought her right foot back in a circle, twisting at her hips, in one single movement moving coming to stand shoulder to shoulder, predator and prey alike facing the sheer edge of the precipice before them. Kira arced her leading arm forward, using the wild momentum of James’ charge to launch him forward and past her, breaking his grasp, sending him careening, snarling and howling with rage, off the edge and to his demise.

Kira let herself drop to a knee, her body trembling, hands shaking, and looked around her. Patrick was laying a mere ten feet away in a pool of blood, bright red on the snow, his body broken, his neck an open mass of torn flesh. Jessica crouched over his body, racked with sobs, cradling her child, hands covered in blood, muttering nonsensically. Kira felt, in some corner of her heart, a tug of pity. Her mind still coming to grips, she felt as if she was looking on herself from afar, strangely detached. An observer to an unreal horror reserved for movies and stories. She felt a pressure in her feet, and saw her self coming closer to the woman, arm stretching out to lend a comforting hand on the tortured soul before her.

Jessica looked up into her eyes at that touch, puffy, red, and Kira felt her soul chill as it seemed before her very eyes, this woman’s mind departed, fleeing to some safe corner of psychosis. “I don’t understand.” Jessica muttered, words devoid of emotion. “We escaped. We were done. We were safe… ” Kira felt a strange sense of foreboding growing in her gut. Jessica continued, words lifeless, her eyes drifting to look on Patrick’s savage wounds, “I can’t do this. I wont do this to my child.” Her eyes seemed for one brief moment to find some understanding, and with slow, dreaded movements, she unfastened her shoulder cradle, and thrust her crying child into Kira’s arms. Jessica stared Kira in the eyes, and in those orbs Kira could see nothing… as if the woman was already dead. “You will survive.” Jessica stuttered, a flicker of life returning.

Kira began to stutter confused protest, her mind a crashing tide, the baby in her arms an awkward, confusing, and nervous weight as Jessica stood up without another word, looked to the sky, and ran ten fateful steps to throw herself from the world, disappearing into the abyss beyond that fateful precipice.

Appalachian Trail . McAfee Knob
Thursday April 13, 2013

Kira could feel the sweat boiling under her parka. None of this made sense… these three strangers. Out of place, sickly, fearful, and carrying a newborn child. The babe’s cry still carried on the air, the sound a shrill invasion to her senses.

The gears in her mind slowly milled over the strangers arrayed before her as the tense moment passed, seemingly infinite. The round man was huffing for breath, obviously out of shape, and unused to the heights he was now climbing. The woman was obviously sick, likely severely depressed, and carrying a baby. The last, a tall, lanky man with a wiry build, carrying a stifling stench, was the only one that made sense. He was likely a guide of some sort, but to take these people out here, this time of year, in this weather… insane. She focused her attention on him, as he slowly edged his way forward, positioning himself between Kira and the other two… protecting them.

From her?

With this strange realization, Kira tempered her fear into anger, and went on the offensive. “Who the hell are you people?” she barked.

A sudden start from the three, as if speaking was the last thing they expected. The round man seemed to almost melt with relaxation, bending over to take ragged gasps. Between his labored breaths Kira could barely hear him stutter, “Thank… god… shes not… one of… them…. she’s… speaking.” The last two words he continued to repeat under his breath, like a mantra.

The tall wiry fellow, who came jogging around the corner to the shout of ‘James’, still kept up his guard… posture rigid. He seemed to force a smile, and said “Sorry about that… since the outbreak, we can’t be to careful.” Kira heard his words, which did nothing to ease her sense of confusion… but her full attention was on the minute details of his face. She could see in his eyes a look that gave her chills, and she did not know why.

“You are going to have to give me a little more than that,” Kira intoned, her anger and suspicions unabated. She was in the right here… if these people weren’t some wackos that roved the trail looking for victims then the they definitely had some explaining to do. You don’t just come up on people like that.

The look on Jame’s face seemed to relax, though the look in his eyes still bore into her. He continued, in an almost apologetic tone “You on a thru-hike?”

Knowledge of trail lingo, check, definitely a guide, Kira thought… the insight into the man gave her a sense of certainty, helped her relax the slightest bit. “Yah,” she nodded, “I planned on an alternate route though… started at Harper’s Ferry and moving south, then gonna flip to Katadhin.”

James tilted his head in thought, looking over the view from the Knob as he replied “Starting from Harper’s ferry… that puts you what? About a month into the trail?”

So the guy knows his trail, Kira thought. The two strangers behind him had taken cue to let loose their packs and settle against some rocks not to far off, taking a breather. James’ words just moments ago began to click… “outbreak” he had said. Kira felt a sudden chill, goosebumps along her arm and the back of her neck.

“That’s right,” she voiced.

“Then there are a few things you need to know-” James began.
“Well you better make it quick, there is a storm pulling in.” Kira snapped.

James glanced behind her, where, on the horizon, the storm was brewing. “You’re right, there are a few shelters not to far up the trail… we can head there and then continue this conversation.” This statement elicited a response from the couple resting off to the side… the round man begin to say something, before the sickly woman muttered something that Kira couldn’t hear.

James, following her gaze, continued “Friends of mine… harmless. The man is Patrick, an entomology professor at Old Dominion University, the woman is Jessica. She teaches there too, something with parasites I believe. I —”
“Does it look like I care,” Kira cut in. “You people wander up this trail, these two have no business being here, you all scare me witless, talk about some outbreak, and now you want me to come with you to some shelter? Do I look like some moron. I’ll tell you what. I don’t care what you three do. I’m headed down the trail, and if I see you three again, there are going to be problems.”

Anger seemed to flare in Jame’s eyes, and he took a step forward…

“Step back!” Kira shouted.

The man seemed to come back to his senses, and averted his gaze. “Sorry about that… we’ve watched people literally torn limb from limb, people devouring each other in the streets. People leaping from the roofs of buildings in futile attempts to escape mobs of insane attackers…” Kira could feel the blood draining from her face. James drew a breath, then continued, “We thought you might be one of them… the infected. After the first few isolated cases, officials said to avoid contact, that this unknown virus is highly contagious. Not long after, almost overnight, the shit hit the fan. Entire cities have become ghost towns, or worse.” He swung that creepy stare back to Kira. “The few of us left need to stick together.”

Kira started stepping back, putting some distance between herself and these people. “You’re insane.” she stuttered.

James let loose a sigh, and looked back towards the horizon as a massive thunderclap echoed through the sky. “Do what you will. We mean you no harm. I’m just trying to help. Just one more thing…”

“Make it good,” Kira grumbled. She was shaken now… the tension of the moment slipping from her knotted muscles, beads of sweat cooling in the icy wind. Her hands started to shake a bit as James seemed to let down his guard. If he was telling the truth… their presence could make sense. If not, these people were insane, and that look in his eyes, that animal stare… she needed to get away from this place.

James continued, an almost exhausted tone in his voice, “You’ve seen a lot of camp fires these last few weeks… not from the trail, but from the foothills and the southern valley?”
“Yah, what of it?”
“Those aren’t campfires…” James dipped his head, looking to the ground, “that’s the world burning.”

NW of Roanoke Virginia

“Standing here, upon this precipice, this finger of god pointing to the heavens… I struggle to resist my urge to take flight… to spread my arms wide, to inhale deeply the promise of flight, and soar across the valleys and grasping treetops below…”
Kira’s journal entry – April 13, 2013.

The McAfee Knob is the most photographed vista on the Appalachian trail with an elevation of 1,740 feet an almost 270 degree viewof the Catawba Valley and North Mountain to the West, Tinker Cliffs to the North and the Roanoke Valley to the East.

To learn more about this vista, click here.

When I first learned of this bizarre mystery of nature, I was unsure of whether to be creep-ed out or horrified. Suffice to say, my skin crawled thinking about the implications should such an organism evolve.

In a nutshell, this fungus infects an ant, takes over its brain, and compels it to climb to the highest location it can find… be it a blade of grass or whatnot, where our heroic zombie ant uses the last vestige of it’s life to clamp down on it’s lofty perch.

There, our little ant dies a lonely death far from friends and family… yet in a conveniently, nay, strategically placed location from which our zombie ant fungus sprouts it’s spores and sends them to the wind to propagate.

For the full story, click here.

Outside of Time

Appalachian Trail . McAfee Knob
Thursday April 13, 2013

There are precious few moments in this world when we can truly take a breath… to relax, fatigue of body and soul slipping away, the stone walls and defenses wrapped around our souls crumbling to dust. Perhaps in a moment of triumph, or the in the warm embrace of acceptance by a loved one. Sometimes, when we are just alone, in a moment of silence.

Kira drew in a ragged a breath, and gazed, awestruck at the world spread wide beneath her feet. Every muscle in her body ached, taxed by her ascent to McAfee Knob, a precarious precipice of stone jutting to the sky, surrendering itself to the heavens. She basked in that pain, her soul uplifted by a visceral awareness of feeling alive. This she thought, is why she started up the Appalachian trail 30 days ago, defied the voiced protests of family and friends.

A subtle breeze caressed her sweaty brow, tickling and cold, and the muscles around her eyes relaxed as a few towering clouds drifted lazily to blot out the sun. It felt as if she glided back into her body, the needs of her flesh crowding out her moment of spiritual reverie. Letting loose a small groan she loosened the straps on her pack, and settled into a small crag, using her backpack as a backrest.

She wrestled loose her journal, one of the precious few luxury items she allowed herself to take on her journey across the trail, and began scribbling out her thoughts. “Here” she wrote … “Standing here, upon this precipice, this finger of god pointing to the heavens… I struggle to resist my urge to take flight… to spread my arms wide, to inhale deeply the promise of flight, and soar across the valleys and grasping treetops below…”. Satisfied with her futile attempt to transcribe her experience, she repacked the book in its plastic sheath, and closed her eyes, taking in the sound of silence.

A small rumble of thunder in the distance wrestled her from her nap. She looked up, languid eyes scanning the sky to see across the valley brewing storm clouds dancing with the occasional flicker of lightening. She let loose a sigh. “Not good” She mumbled to herself. The trail was treacherous enough with ice and snow. A thunder storm in winter… suffice to say, did not bode well.

She cinched tight the straps to her pack and winced as the pressure settled on muscles that had just begun to find rest, and slowly mounted her feet. Amidst the sounds of her own grunts and the shifting friction from her pack and parka came a distant, muffled noise. She snapped to attention, catlike…. unsure of the noise, it’s detail lost by the sound of her settling to her feet. She perked her ears, hoping again to hear the alien sound. A moment stretched before her, spanning a handful of heartbeats and then, there came the sound again, and she was sure of it… the snapping of twigs and heavy footfalls floating on the wind.

She would have reason to be apprehensive… traveling alone, in the wilds. Barely a woman of 23, her parents were outraged when she told them her plans to hike the Appalachian trail solo… which is why they though she was enjoying a trip in Europe with her friends. She could hear her mother’s voice now “Kira, why can’t you just find yourself a good man, always running around the woods like a wild-woman”. God bless her, her heart was in the right place, but so many things her mother could not understand… would not understand.

The sound of footfalls again, coming closer, brought her back to attention. Her sense of apprehension melted into annoyance, for these strangers intruding upon her trail. There was a reason she started early in March and decided on an alternate route across the trail. With an exasperated sigh she turned once more to soak in the vast panorama before her, a view spoiled now by the unwanted sounds of strangers.

She could hear voices now… brief snippets of conversation floating on the wind. Kira was only briefly interested. She set her mind to race ahead, to put some distance in between her and these intruders, when she heard clearly the sounds of their voices for the first time.

One Male, one female, the former speaking in angry tones, the later voicing week protests, a voice full of fatigue and pain. Kira felt a tug on her conscience… a strange aversion to take another step, an awkward pull to listen a bit more… if just to make sure the woman was not subject to abuse. She settled to a knee, waiting, listening…

The man’s voice was angry, perhaps in an excited state of apprehension, was shrieking “I can’t loose you too!”
Kira heard what sounded like a muffled sob, and then a woman’s voice… tired, agonized, “You won’t, for god’s sake just listen to yourself”
There was a pause and then an audible sigh before she continued “We can’t take the chance -”
The man cut in, less angry than before, now just more assertive “If it is fungal, your body can’t just fight it off… you need medicine… if it’s fungal, we might be able to fight it. You’ve seen them.. people just don’t do that… and the symptoms fit.”
“Don’t start telling me about the zombie ants again -” the woman angrily snapped back.
“You can’t just deny something out of fear…” the man pleaded.
“This is not fear hon, this is hopelessness.”

Kira felt a pang in her gut… a nervous and sickly sensation triggered by not the woman’s words, but the sheer listlessness of her voice. Kira could see them now rounding the trail, and felt a dozen warning signals going off in her mind. Whoever these people were, they weren’t hikers… the man was rotund, neither had real backpacking gear to speak off, and both were overloaded with useless tools, bags, and god knows what else. The man was running his hands through his hair and refusing to look at the woman, a pale and sickly soul, who solemnly held her gaze to the trail. Neither noticed Kira, and came to within 50 feet before nervously spotting her, halting in their tracks, a look of terror in their eyes.

“JAMES!” the man shouted, and Kira could see around the bend another figure appear… taller and more fit, carrying less. The man looked like he might belong on the trail… he was certainly ragged, and the stench of his body odor made her hold back a gag.

Kira felt her mouth dry, and could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Regretting her decision to hold back, and unsure of what to do as the trio nervously approached, she let her instincts take over and straightened her back, standing straight and stretch out her arms in a warding motion.

A long silence stretched out for what seemed an eternity as everyone stood at at distance, the three strangers eyeing Kira with fear and apprehension in their eyes. Kira began slowly reaching for her straps, to let loose her pack if she needed to run or fight. The strangers flinched at her movements, and it was then she saw the first time a small bundle cradled across the woman’s chest, moving ever so slightly.

It was then, on that cold precipice, that the silence was broken by a lone baby’s cry.

No one saw this coming… this confluence of factors, both malignant and benign, a brutal twisting of honest intentions at the hands of the ignorant.

I used to be a big zombie buff. I had it all… the “survival guide”, comics, video games, novels, and “emergency” camping gear. It was all a fantasy, an escape, a joke, a parody of a mindless world. If someone told me then the things I have seen today, I’d die laughing… but really, it’s far from funny.

It was in a Winter Springs Starbucks, as I was grabbing my usual grande iced hazelnut latte with skim, when I first realized the impossible, was possible. It was there I stood, standing in line, wallet in hand, casually dressed in a pair of khakis, and a rolled up long sleeve button up, when I shit myself in fear at the sight of my first zombie.

“Your total comes to $6.95.” The clerk staring across from me with vacant eyes mumbles monotone… like droll robot, dressed in a people suit. I answer in kind with an automated swipe of the credit card, and earn but a flicker of a smile, one lip upturned almost in a snear as she offers the archetypal vocal receipt… “Thank you, have a good day.”

In my world, everyone is an actor. I muse on this as I give a curt nod of reciprocity and start lumbering over to the pickup line.

There are five people ahead of me, but I don’t mind. I’m half asleep… and all I can think about is the delicious aroma of fresh espresso wafting from the grinders and coffee presses. My stomach grumbles, and I begin to regret not adding that moist looking pumpkin loaf to my order. I should have followed my instincts with that one… they are rarely wrong. But I never learn. Doubt… it is as much a part of me as anything.

My reverie is interrupted by a low guttural swear from the man in front of me. He drags his meaty hands through his greasy bed of hair in aggravation and, holy shit, he reeks of pungent body odor.

Some people…

I take a step back, not that space can help battle that choking stench and accidentally bump into a little old lady standing to close behind me. I turn around to apologize and answer her disconcerted, embarrassed look with a genuine smile that says, “really, I am sorry”, and I squeak out a pathetic “Excuse me”.

Suddenly body odor man in front reals around to face me, a face red and puffy with rage like someone just slapped him and he roars “what the fuck you sorry about?!”. I am a bit stunned by this turn of events, to say the least, and with a baffled grin I look around to see that everyone is gawking, the Starbucks din grinding to a halt, filling the room with vacuous silence broken only by the man’s ragged gasp as he prepares his rant anew.

All I can manage is a stutter as he rages on, spittle flying, “I’ve been standing in line three fucking hours and you’re fucking sorry!”

My nerves are on edge and I am stuttering some ineffectual apology but I have enough wits about me to know this one has gone over the edge… and then I notice the fact about this man… his roaring now falling on absent ears, the hairs on my arms and legs, hackles rising in instinctual fear as I realize his pupils are completely dilated.

Inside I see not a human, but a monster.

I turn and try to run as I see him reaching out, jaws wide as every semblance of humanity departs that stinking shell… It is not the teeth tearing my flesh that brings me down into this gut wrenching moment of visceral reality… I’m to much in shock to feel that burning pain. It’s the screams, blood curdling cacophony of screams as I draw my last breath.

The impossible is possible.