My Zombie Honeymoon: Love in the Age of Zombies Book One (10 page)

Here’s the part I was surprised by, the part she intentionally or unintentionally left out:

Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?

Damn this libido! It’s so distracting.

November 20
th

I’ve been thinking it over. I made a list of pros and cons. For the pros, I had things like:
having a nurse here would be good, she has a shortwave, two really are safer than one, she has large breasts, she’s good company
. For the cons I listed other things, like:
supplies would go twice as fast, one quarter of the time she’ll be in PMS, she has large breasts but they’re off-limits which keeps me constantly aroused and frustrated.

I’m sure I could think of more things.

I like Michelle—she and I have the similar tastes in music, movies and humor, she seems intelligent and I really
enjoy
talking to her. I don’t know her politics or her sexual proclivities—if she has any. I don’t really know much about her at all.

But I remembered back in college when I moved in with Steve. We became good friends and kept in touch over the years. I always looked up to him. I hope he found a way to survive.

I think I’ll be able to handle having her as a roommate. And like she said, if it’s not working out, we’ll both know.

I wish I had more time to think about it, but I told her I’d tell her today. It wouldn’t be fair to make her wait longer.

I still have some reservations. I know from past experience how a woman can make me fly high or sink low. I know getting close to someone, especially now, is asking for heartache. And if things get really bad, I don’t know if she’ll be an asset or a hindrance.

Bottom line: I want it more than I don’t want it. Just like her, I’m lonely. I think if I had to stay here alone until spring, I’d probably go nuts.

If it works out, it could work out great. We could both be happy. Being happy and making someone else happy is worth the risk.

I’m going to get on the radio and let her know.

November 22
nd

I talked to Michelle over the radio a couple days ago. “I’d like to formally invite you to move into my place,” I said. I heard a big sigh of relief.

“That’s great news. I think it’s a win-win,” she said. Then she got quiet for a few moments. I think she was so relieved she was crying. She spent a few minutes assuring me I wouldn’t regret it, and towards the end she was practically gushing with excitement. I’ll admit, part of me was rolling my eyes, but it made me feel good, too.

We spent about a half hour going over what she should bring and what I didn’t need or didn’t have room for. Her furniture wouldn’t fit, for example. And heavy bulky stuff would be too risky to attempt to move—we would be outside far too long. I’m glad she has a blow-up mattress, so she can sleep on the floor and I won’t feel guilty. The living room will be cramped when the mattress is inflated, but we can put it away during the day and inflate it at night.

I started making room for her—I cleaned out one closet for her clothes. We don’t need a lot of clothes—it’s not like I’ll ever have a reason to wear my tux again or even a neck tie. And our clothes should stay pretty clean since we’ll rarely go outside. Plus we have the closets upstairs for clothes overflow.

I ended up feeling kind of guilty about the porn, so I went through my movies and selected the ones with the most egregious titles and put them in a box in the closet. I really have no interest in watching
Masturbation Mayhem #3
or
Full Bush Amateurs
or
Buttman 11: Anal Cherries.
And with her here, I’d be embarrassed to play the ones I might like. Fortunately for me, I do have a set of earbuds so I can discreetly and privately play them on my laptop. That would be weird, secretly watching porn while Michelle’s in the next room. Kind of creepy.

A select few that didn’t look so bad stayed mixed in with my video collection. And I decided to leave “Night of the Giving Head” and “I Can’t Believe I Fucked a Zombie” on the shelf.

It’s my sense of humor. She’ll have to get used to it.

Yesterday it rained, and I mean hard, so we agreed to hold off moving her stuff until the sky cleared. We don’t want anything to get wet, don’t want to slip and fall on the wet grass.

It was peculiar, watching the street. Zombies slowly wandered aimlessly around, their rotting faces void of expression. Some had suffered horrible injuries but were oblivious. One of the zombies was a topless woman who had evidently had a partial mastectomy.

I watched the cold November rain pour down from the gray sky upon the lifeless yet animated corpses of human beings, obviously not alive and yet not quite dead. They shuffled around, their clothes sopping wet, water dripping off their hair. They were pitiful.

All my life I’ve dealt with depression. Years ago I realized depression was my oldest companion, practically a friend, as familiar as an old worn sweater.

But seeing the zombies slowly shuffling around in their sodden clothes on this dreary and rainy Michigan November day, I let go of some my depressive,
always a slacker
feeling. No matter what my situation is, I’m not one of them, a lifeless horror whose only desire is to eat live human flesh. I still have life, and hope, and feelings. I can think. I can laugh and cry. I’m still a
man
.

Those thoughts made me glad to be alive.

I can’t get a grasp on what, if any, intelligence they have. Even dogs know to come out of the rain. But zombies don’t seem to care about the weather. I’ve noticed they move slower as the days get colder—what will happen when we have a deep freeze?

I feel like I have a day of reprieve, one last day to be a confirmed bachelor without having to explain anything I do. I can fart as loud and often as I want, I can belch, I can pick my nose or scratch my butt, and no one will care. I can watch porn. This may be my last chance to be lonely.

That reminded me of a couple lines from a William Carlos Williams poem:

I am lonely, lonely.

I was born to be lonely,

I am best so!

And yet I’m giving up my loneliness.

Tonight I’m going to have another salad, and will splurge with a bourbon and Coke. I put two cans of Coke in the root cellar to chill. I’m not going to be stingy with the bourbon when she’s here, but I’m also not going to offer it to her every freaking day. I do have a limited supply.

I’m going to enjoy myself and do whatever I feel like tonight and live to excess without guilt. Starting tomorrow, I’ll have to be a nice guy for who knows how long.

I figure at times I’ll regret my decision. My only question is: how long before the thought runs through my mind,
What was I thinking?!

November 23
rd

Another day that may prove pivotal in many ways. Michelle moved in, I shot a zombie in the head (now they’re swarming again), and Michelle got frisky.

I woke up with a headache. Not bad enough to incapacitate me, but bad enough for me to regret that last bourbon . . . or two. Sometimes I don’t mind mild hangovers; they prove I can let go of the leash now and then. I believe in moderation—in moderation.

After I made some coffee—still relishing my last few moments of bachelorhood—I went upstairs and had a look around. Things hadn’t changed much—there were still only a few zombies in the street and front yards. A warm front must have brought the rain, as they seem to be moving faster than yesterday. I suppose they’re in the back yards, too. I didn’t see
many
zombies, but for all I know they’re like roaches: if you see one, you know there are a hundred more close by. Or a thousand.

The few I saw were mostly headed from the direction of the explosion we heard. I wonder if it means they gravitate toward light and sound, but eventually gravitate back to an area. Their home stompin’ ground.

If that’s the case,
I thought,
we may not have much time to move Michelle and her stuff before too many come back.

That was enough to motivate me. I went back downstairs and got on the radio. “Michelle!” I said. It took a few seconds for her to answer. “Hey, Kevin. What’s up?”

“Have you noticed anything outside?”

“You mean the zombies coming back? Yes. As soon as I noticed it I started moving my stuff over to the door. I don’t have much, but I’m ready to get this done when you are.”

“Gotcha. I’m going to get my gun and head on over. How much more time do you need?”

“Give me until ten o’clock, okay? I’ve gathered all the really important stuff, now I’m having to decide on some luxury items.”

“Luxury items?”

“A few favorite books. And some DVDs. Not the kind
you
like, though, chick flicks,” she said mockingly. “I know this may be temporary, but I don’t know when it’ll be safe to come back. It feels weird to leave most of my possessions behind. I feel like I’m closing a door on my past life.”

“Michele, my dear, I’m afraid anyone who’s left alive has had the door closed to their past life. But feel free to bring whatever you’d like. I have the space and I don’t want you to feel like this is a prison.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at ten. Thanks, Kevin.” Why is it every time she says my name, I feel a little thrill in the pit of my stomach? Is it just because she’s a woman? Or is it something more?

Maybe I just like to hear my name.

I busied myself for most of an hour, combining a few half-empty boxes in order to make more space, then I made the bed. When it was about five minutes till ten, I headed upstairs, securing the trap door behind me. I checked outside again, paying particular attention to the side yard. The number of zombies seems to be increasing—I could easily count six—but none were close to our houses and definitely none were in the side yard.

I went to the door, braced myself, and quietly opened it. No zombies in sight. I held my gun out with arms locked like I’ve seen on TV, and quickly made my way through her gate and onto her back deck. Michelle opened the door as soon as I got there.

“Why are you holding your gun like that?!” she asked me.

“Isn’t it the way you’re supposed to hold it?”

“Only if you have a script. Mind if I take a look?”

Script
? I thought. Oh. Script. Like for a TV show or a movie. I handed it over to her.

She checked to see if it was loaded (it was) and said, “How about I carry the gun? I’d feel a bit more secure, knowing I could actually hit a target and knowing I won’t accidentally get shot by friendly fire.” She poked me in the ribs with her forefinger, and once again I had this fleeting image of Barney Fife. At least I didn’t carry a bullet in my pocket.

“Here’s the ammo,” I said, pulling the box from my pocket.

“Lord, do you really think we’ll need this much? I’m hoping we don’t need any!” she said, taking the box from me.

“I wasn’t really thinking anything except that I didn’t want to run out,” I said, defending myself. “If I’d come over here without any extra ammunition, you’d probably have given me a hard time about that, too!”

“Somebody has to give somebody a hard time around here,” she said. The innuendo did
not
escape me.

I looked around at the items placed near the door. There was more than I thought there’d be. This would easily take four or five trips, even more if she didn’t carry anything but the gun.

“I know it looks like a lot, but it’s mostly clothes, food, medicine, and first aid supplies,” she said, “I don’t know what all you have, and I’d rather bring too much than not enough. Especially in an emergency.”

“What kind of meds?” I asked.

“I have some antibiotics, some anti-anxiety, some prescription painkillers, and some allergy meds. The basics. For all we know, I may be allergic to something in your place.”

“Where did you get all that stuff?” I asked.

“One advantage to being a nurse is having doctors trust you enough to write you a prescription occasionally. Some of it’s expired, but that just means it’s not quite as effective.”

I don’t have much in the way of medicine—just some ibuprofen and some cold medicine, since I seem to get those a few times a year. And even if I had had the time, I didn’t have prescriptions for those kinds of meds.

“I’m impressed!” I said. “So you’re bringing more to the table than just your blow-up doll and short-wave radio!”

“Did you just say ‘
your blow-up doll’
?”

“What?! No, of course not. I said your blow up mattress and short wave radio.”

She looked at me askance then said “That’s right, all this
and
my good looks
and
my charming personality! I should be charging you!”

“As long as you give me my money’s worth,” I said, immediately realizing it could be taken the wrong way. I could feel my cheeks blushing as I quickly said, “Let’s get this underway. I don’t how long it’ll be safe.”