Golf club in hand, I made my way up E St. towards Chinatown, away from my office and Dr. Cadore’s lab. It’s a long way across town to my apartment, a long way to safety. I walked out into the newly dark night and into the newly re-infested city…

Street lamps were flickering, as if they couldn’t make up their minds. Downtown was deserted. It started to drizzle lightly, just enough to be annoying. A copy of this morning’s Examiner – separated page by page – blew across the street as I cautiously walked up the sidewalk, still getting my bearings.

My health meter was full, and my radar was working properly.

Wait! What’s that glowing behind the park bench? Is that…is that a Small Health Pack? I jogged lightly toward the bench on the west side of the Law Enforcement Memorial, toward the blue glowing object. I got closer and observed the unadorned metal box which was still glowing a bright blue fluorescent light.

I looked around as I closed in on the box. I had no idea who’s it was, or who may have put it here, but I opened it up anyway. Inside were several clips of ammunition. I took them, and from out of the sky I heard a voice say, “30 rounds of ammunition acquired.”

“Man, that’s weird,” I thought. I’m not sure why I even took the bullets, I certainly don’t have a gun.

I started on my way again, and within a few more paces I could feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out, it was a text message from an unknown number. It read:

“Head North on 7th to H St. Be careful not to be seen, you don’t know who – or what – is out there.”

I gripped my golf club tightly with both hands, and continued downtown in a jog, trying not to step too hard, or make any unnecessary noise. If there were zombies out I want to see them before they see me.

Turning the corner on 7th, I stopped dead in my tracks. Fuck! There was a mass of Z’s in the middle of the street by the Chipotle. My heart pounded in my chest. I had the unbearable urge to pee, but I held out. There had to have been at least a hundred of them! I looked behind me, all was clear. I peeked my head around the corner again, freaking out that I’d been spotted.

But I hadn’t. It wasn’t a massive unionized hoard looking for fresh me, just a shit ton of zombies, all hanging out in Chinatown. They looked disoriented, like they were just waiting around for something to happen, or some idiot to fall in their lap. They were also dressed strangely from what I could make out. They wore older clothing, tattered, but vaguely colonial. Some wore uniforms. Union? Confederate even? I couldn’t tell, but they certainly weren’t new.

More to the point, I needed to cross the street – without being seen. The closest zombie was 30 yards north. I had to get across town. I can’t go back, and I can’t go north, so I have to cross the damn street. I thought about throwing the bullets as a distraction, but I throw like a girl, so they’d most likely fall between the Z’s and me. The only thing more stupid would have been standing in the middle of the street yelling. “Hey, zombies! Don’t pay attention to me!”

I had no use for the bullets, so I stashed them behind a dumpster. “Item: Discarded.”

Having lightened my load the only option left was to run. I took a deep breath, exhaled gently, and scurried across the street. I made it! Holding my back closely against the brick wall at the corner, I peeked back up the street – not one had seen me.

A few blocks up ahead I spotted another glowing box, so I jogged towards it. It was at the mouth of an alley. I sat down my golf club next to it and opened it up without any delay. Inside was a black handgun. It was empty. “Seriously,” I whispered to the strange voice in the sky when it stated, “Handgun acquired.”

I briefly considered heading back to get the bullets I’d just thrown out, but that would require passing the mass cluster of zombies again. Not worth it. I shut the box, and promptly pissed my pants: immediately behind the box stood a lone zombie, 5 ft. tall, wearing a pirate costume. It’s arms outstretched towards me, mouth agape and drooling.

“Giiiiihhhhraahhh,” the pirate zombie said to me. I fumbled for my golf club and swung. The head of the club sunk into his ribcage.

“Hyanghhhh,” he snarled.

“Shut the fuck up!” I whispered, “stop drawing attention to yourself.” I yanked the club back, taking several ribs with me, and wound up again to strike. This time I aimed for the head and raised the club high above my shoulders. But I never swung.

[Shiiiink] It was the sound of metal slicing through the zombie’s neck. I stood there, dumbfounded, club still raised over my head, as the man wielding the samurai sword stepped out from behind the now-headless pirate zombie.

“You need a better weapon,” he said to me. He was wearing all black, and those funny Hobbit-like toed running slippers. “I’ve been following you for five blocks now. You’re not very good at this,” He continued.

“Um, I…um, there was a…” I stumbled, “Um, thanks for the help, I guess.”

But he was already gone. Who the hell fights zombies wearing Hobbit running shoes?

As I stood there, panting and reaching for my breath, I scanned the area to see where he could have gone. Nothing. As far as I could tell, I was alone.

“Ok Dingle, new rule: stop trying to open every single glowing box you run by.”

“Agreed,” I agreed.

I continued on. I felt good knowing that someone was watching over me, even if I knew he didn’t really like me, or respect my golf game. I just needed to keep moving. I kept going, passing by glowing box after glowing box. No, I’m not going to open that box. NO, I’m not going to see what’s down that alley. I have one goal: To get home. Alive.

I made it to the White House, and was about to cut though Lafayette Square when I noticed a single zombie at the fence of the North Lawn. He was wearing a torn black waist coat and a tall black top hat. He had a big black beard on the side of his face that hadn’t yet fallen off.

“Is that…is that…Lincoln?” I said out loud in disbelief. I snuck closer, forgetting momentarily about my goal and breaking the rule I’d just made for myself.

His hands were outstretched. He was wailing and trying to climb the fence. It looked almost like he was crying.

Just then a spotlight from the roof of the White House opened up on Zombie Lincoln. I ducked behind the statute of General Lafayette and peered back.

“Step down!” A voice on the loudspeaker commanded. “Step down or we will fire!”

Zombie Lincoln didn’t respond. He snarled back and continued to climb.

The voice warned again, then opened fire. I saw steam rising from the fresh holes in his torso. Short bursts of shots rang out in the cold damp night. Shots that will attract more zombies. I have to get out of here.

Looking back one more time I could see as the final bullets entered Zombie Lincoln’s head, destroying what little remained of his brain.

I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him, he was just trying to go home.

Advertisements