Zombies in the Media

I watched in slow motion as the paintballs impacted on her head, laughing with my friends but not having quite as much of a good time. When the metal object hit her head, I realized something was wrong. I didn't know what it was, though... We weren't hurting it; that was impossible with the way their brains were jumbled up. And besides, it couldn't be so bad. If it was okay to kill a living thing that was trying to do the same to you, you shouldn't have to put a second thought towards killing a dead thing. And then it dawned on me. Yes, killing was okay and necessary. But humiliation, even if they couldn't recognize it, was wrong. It was like defiling a corpse. I remembered that, and decided not to take part in any more of these "scientific" experiments unless their results would actually help us.

But then again, it was funny.

Strangely enough, prior to the outbreak I had put some serious thought into this. I had always thought about talking to friends over MSN and swapping zombie war stories. Unfortunately, the service was down and I didn't know any of their phone numbers, so communication would be quite impossible. Just then the phone rang, but my dad promptly picked it up in the other room.

After we were through looking at it with the video editing software, we started to make our website with a free hosting service. It wouldn't be too professional. "Do we really have to use Freewebs?" I inquired. Alex spun his computer chair around to look at me. "Um... Yeah. I don't know HTML. Do you, Xiran?"

"Nope."

I was just about to ask if my mom could make one, but I stopped myself. A chill went through me and sadness surrounded me. I guess it just hadn't sunk in yet; everything seemed so surreal. I got a strange feeling in my stomach and left the room, mumbling "I'll be back in a bit" as my only explanation.

I lay down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, Hobbes on my chest purring loudly. He seemed to be blissfully unaware of our predicament. I thought about that for a bit, and it made me feel better. I hugged him tightly and he looked at me funny.

While I was there I wondered. If or when life was going to return to normal, what the army was doing about this, if it was anywhere else in the world or if everyone was feeling unanimously sorry for and afraid of us... I looked about my red room; at its walls. I looked at the various demonic tribal masks, at the cross above my head and at the swords and machetes mounted on the walls. Maybe they would become useful. I hoped not.

I shifted my position, causing Hobbes to leap silently off the bed. I left my room, walked through the hall where the moaning was, and entered the room where my father lived. A lamp provided the only light. My dad was lying on his bed talking on the phone, and my sister was next to him. She looked to be asleep. Across the room, the news was on quietly. I watched.

In the movies, you always hear talk of "civil unrest", "bizarre homicides", "viruses" and so on. Even once they recognize the zombies for what they are, they call them "reanimates" and various other non-extreme names. This is not true for when it happens. Directly behind the anchorman on a small screen was "ZOMBIE INVASION!" with a picture of a hand coming out of the ground. I guess they were trying their hardest to get people's attentions.

"U.S. President George Bush has announced that the Canadian border is closed, and that all incoming air traffic has been cancelled. Those who attempt to cross the border will be turned back, and stationed National Guard units have been instructed to remove those who refuse to comply with adequate force. We now go to the New York National Guard stationed at the border."

I stuck my head out of the door and told my friends to come look at this. They walked over, nervously looking at the writhing hordes on the main floor. They stood by the bed and joined me in watching the news. The camera focused on a reporter and a soldier who were sitting on chairs behind sandbags on the US side of the river that was the border. A scoped M16 rested against the sandbags just underneath a spotting scope, which the soldier was looking through. The reporter began the interview.

"I am here with Corporal Williams at the Canadian border." The corporal nodded towards the camera. "How long have you been stationed here?"

"About four or five hours. I remember they told us to load up and sit our asses out here and shoot anything that wouldn't piss off. So I did. This is some freaky shit."

"What do you believe to be the reason for this?"

"Zombies... Definitely zombies."

"And have you encountered anyone attempting to cross?"

"Only a few. The bridges are completely swamped with traffic and they're just turning them all away. I'm glad I'm not over there. So far we had about five people with backpacks and guns try to cross but I got them to back off with the loudspeaker."

"So no zombies?"

"Nope, not yet. But they'll come."

The reporter continued to talk as something caught the soldier's attention and he looked intently into the spotting scope. The camera searched the landscape, saw something in the distance and zoomed in on it. Someone was shambling awkwardly towards the border, arms outstretched. It was a bit over 100 meters away. The soldier grabbed the microphone to the speakers. "The borders are closed. Turn back now, and go to your local refuge station." The man just kept on walking, and slightly hurried his pace. The soldier looked a bit worried. "Sir, can you hear me? Turn back now. This is your last chance or I will be forced to open fire." He moved closer, and his moaning could be faintly heard. He moved into the camera's zoom range and we could see his bloodied face. "Sir! This is your last chance! Turn back now!" The camera looked over at the soldier, who was fed up. "Aw, fuck it." He got out of his chair, rested the rifle on the sand bags and took aim.

The camera redirected its attention to the zombie. After a few seconds, a shot penetrated its chest. It kept on going. "What the hell?" Two more shots. Nothing. It was about 50 meters away. "Shit." He grabbed his radio. "Bravo 1, this is Bravo 5. Over." The radio responded. "Bravo 5, this is Bravo 1. Send, over."

"I have a hostile over here. I have attempted to shoot it with no results. Please advise. Over."

"Shoot it the head. It'll drop it. Over."

"Will do. Out."

The camera once again zoomed in on the zombie, which was much closer now. A shot penetrated its head, and it dropped. It didn't bleed. The reporter looked worriedly at the camera. "Viewers, CNN would like to apologize for the graphic nature of this coverage. This is a serious crisis, and the government is doing everything possible for your safety. Back to you, Tom."

I heard the phone click as dad put it back on the receiver. "Who was that?" I questioned. "That was Greg." Greg was my uncle. He lived over in Mississauga, about a half hour's drive away. His old stone house backed onto a steep hill, which led to an orchard and the credit river. It would make a perfect fortress. He was better armed than we were, with a vast amount of weaponry including a samurai sword that he knew how to use. We could live quite comfortably and safely over there. "What did he want?"

"He invited us to stay over at his house."

"What's it like over there?"

"He says so far its fine, but he expects it'll spread soon."

"It's going to be tough to get over there."

"Yes it will." He looked over to see the phone flashing, indicating a message. He picked it up, dialed in the password and listened. Once the message was over, he restarted it and put it on speakerphone.

"Uh, hi it's Wendy Galea." This was Alex's mom. "I don't know if you guys know about it yet, but on the news and the radio they were telling everybody to go over to the mall, so we got over here before it got bad. Chris and Sam are here too." Chris was Alex's dad, and Sam was his sister. To avoid confusion with my sister, I'll refer to her as Samantha. "The army's here and they're looking after things; they're blocking off all the doors and setting up shelters and everything. So... I don't know what you guys are planning, but do you think it'd be possible to get Alex over here? You guys could stay too, they're letting in anyone who isn't injured. But they'll make you check your guns at the door." She laughed. "But there's one problem... We tried calling Xiran's house but there wasn't a response. Maybe they're on their way too, I don't know. I'm sure they're fine, though. So, if you guys could call me back on my cell at..."

We all looked at Xiran. I had a strong feeling that they were not fine, but I didn't say anything. His family consisted of his mom, dad, grandparents and six year-old brother, resulting in only one person who was really fit to fight the zombies.

These two offers presented us with a choice. Alex would undoubtedly have to be with his family and Xiran with his (that is, if they were still alive) but we had the option of putting our faith with the army and hoping for the best, or toughing it out at Greg's. It was ultimately dad's decision, and I asked what it would be. He thought about it for a bit, and responded. "We can drop off Alex and Xiran, but we're not going to stay in the mall."

"Why not?" I inquired.

"Because. By the time we get there it's going to be packed, with more people coming constantly. They can't keep food, warmth and protection going forever, and it is going to last a very long time. And besides, they're bound to let an infected person in eventually, and once it happens from the inside they're in trouble."

Alex now seemed to be very unsure of the place we were taking him to. "Well, what's Greg's house like?"

My dad seemed to want to make it sound like a safe haven, which it ultimately was. "It's big, built solid, well armed and his wife just got back from shopping with enough food to last for months."

"Well, do you think that my family could come too? If they want to."

My dad looked down, looking as though he had something difficult to say. "I don't know if they'd fit in the car along with all our supplies."

This didn't seem to upset Alex. "That's okay. We can take their mini-van."

My dad considered the possibility, and finally agreed. "Alright, I'll give them a call and we'll work something out. In the meantime, it's late. Bedtime."