The Worst Thing

Alice Webb
Outside the DFWQZ
East Texas

Hey gang.

I'm tired today, but I'm feeling the need to talk, and I don't have much else to do. Dad and the boys are out running rounds - rounding up stray animals, checking abandoned houses for supplies, that sort of thing. Mom's napping. She says her eyes hurt. We were about to order new glasses when the outbreak hit, so we're both stuck with a few pairs of contacts that are right and glasses that aren't right. Mom's are these weird bifocal ones that she hates because she can't really focus on anything. Mine are just blurry. I'm pretty tall, and my eyes didn't grow with the rest of me, so every year it gets a little worse. The doctors used to say that when I'd stopped growing I could get Lasik but that's never going to happen now. It scares me for the future. I can barely see without my glasses now. Things get blurry just a few feet away. What am I going to do when I can't see WITH my glasses? Worse, what if they break? I'll be be useless. I'll be more than useless, I'll be a liability. But I guess that's something I have to worry about later. For now we're just trying to survive.

We had a zom attack last night. It wasn't many of them, but it was scary enough. There was a big storm Saturday, and a lot of trees fell. There was a big oak tree that fell right across the highway. The boys found it when they went out this morning and had to turn around. It was too big to go around. We're going to have to figure out a way to clear it so we don't get trapped in, but it's going to be difficult. No chainsaws, too much noise, and only one or two people working on it at once. I wish dad would let me help but I'm no good with the axe yet.

Anyway, we think the storm is what stirred up the zoms. They came sniffing around the farm last night. We watched them through the windows above the bunker. I'll have to draw a diagram sometime, see if I can show you guys. If they were as smart as their instincts we'd be in real trouble, but as it was they smelled easier meat and moved on. We've got what my oldest brother has dubbed the "sarlacc pit". We basically just dug a huge hole in the ground and lined the bottom with sharpened stakes, a few feet apart. We hang an animal over the top every now and then-mostly goats, sometimes roadkill or something diseased. It doesn't have to be fresh, just hold together. They smell it and walk right out on the air. I guess it could be a problem if we ever had a horde, but so far there's just been one or two, and it works great to draw them away from us. After all, there's dead things all over the place.

We've had a couple of sniffers every now and then for the last few months-zoms partly decayed. They can't move very fast, and they aren't coordinated or anything, but you can see them sniff. We haven't seen any of the fresh ones. It's Texas, after all; it's still too humid and hot even in the spring for dead bodies to stay around very long, and we've got plenty of scavengers that'll take a bite out of the zoms. The vultures are looking particularly fat lately. The zoms will lose leg function or fall and the vultures are on em like, well, vultures. It's definitely a help to know they're getting cleaned up by nature. We just have to be careful and not get bit.

I think the worst part of the attack isn't the actual zoms. They're scary, but you have a plan in place, and you know what to do, and you know what to look for. Plus adrenaline kicks in and you think so clearly. I think the worst part is after. You lie awake for hours, and every little noise sends you bolt upright, heart pounding, ready for the worst. They've found us, there's thousands, they're getting in, we're all going to die, and you stare at your family, the people you love, and think that they will never live a happy, normal life again, because this is life now. It's the terror and the fear and all the time leading up to the next time. I look at my nephews sometimes, these beautiful little boys, and I think about what their life is going to be. I think about their clothes, these remnants of crushed dreams: baseball jerseys and Iron Man onesies and tiny Converse sneakers. We bought them just a few months ago, thinking how cute they were. But CJ is never going to watch a Marvel movie. Isaac is never going to see the Rangers play in the stadium my brother's been going to his whole life. I still have my books, at least; I can read them Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings and Shakespeare. But how long will that last? Are we ever going to live like we did? Or is it always going to be a before and after, and we're stuck on the after side?

If I sound like I've been overthinking this, forgive me. I've had a lot of time on my own, with nothing much to do. I never imagined the apocalypse could be so mind-numbingly boring. I've gotten exceedingly neat, something I'm sure my mother is grateful for. I do the dishes unasked, I make my bed (well, I clean up my cot). I put things away. I sweep, I mop, I water plants and venture outside when my dad gives the all clear, to help or just feel the sunlight for a few minutes. All of this takes maybe an hour, in our little space, and I don't know what else to do. I read as much as I can. My paperbacks are starting to fall apart already. I write some. Mom used to tease dad and me about hoarding office supplies because we'd stock up every new semester. We have boxes full of spiral notepads, mechanical pencils, pens, just because we liked having empty ones on hand. Now I'm so glad we did that, because I can spend hours writing whatever comes into my head and it only fills up a few pages. It's gotten to where I just want ways to pass the time. Playing with the babies is always good, but there's only so many toys we could bring down to entertain them, and they surely aren't going above ground. I've only seen one zombie baby. I hope it's the last one I ever see.

If I was older this wouldn't be such a problem, because the boys and my sister's-in-law have much more freedom than I do. They're still careful, they still have to go in pairs, but they can at least go out without the whole family around them. I'd say my brother's girlfriend, too, but she won't leave the bunker for ANYTHING. She's too scared. I know I should be more understanding, and maybe grateful for her company, but honestly she's getting on my nerves. We never got along much before the outbreak, and now...we aren't even family. I don't even like her, and she doesn't like me. And since she's here all the time, I spend a lot of time in my head, trying not to talk, because we'll just end up in an argument. I hate it, because I really could use someone to talk to. She's not that much older than me; in theory we could be great friends. In practice? Ugh. Not so much.

Before you start lecturing me, I did try. Since there's only so much you can talk about with your family, and we're not exactly in a place where I have friends I can go hang out with, she's pretty much my only option. So when we first moved in here I made a huge effort-I tried to talk to her about shows we used to watch, books we used to read, anything we might have in common. Nope. Nata. Zilch. It's like we're from different planets.

I gave up. Now I spend a lot of time wishing someone would show up on our doorstop seeking refuge. Maybe someone who could be a friend. Someone my age, who likes the same things I used to. Or even just likes the same things I do now, who can help me get out of my head and make the most of this awful life. Because I should feel lucky just to be alive; but I just feel trapped. The days are so lonely.

No, that's the worst thing, the thing I was so totally unprepared for. Not the fear, not the boredom. The crippling isolation. Feeling alone, and lost, and sad every day and every hour. Maybe it breaks for a few minutes, when the family comes in for the night, or when you can sleep and dream about the life you used to have. But in the long hours between sunrise and sunset, all you have is yourself.

Maybe that's why I'm so glad I found this, whatever "this" is, my lifeline to the rest of the world. Even if I'm alone here, I know someone, somewhere can read my words, and maybe they understand exactly how I feel. Maybe they want a friend, too, even at the end of the world, when that really should be the last thing on our minds. It's funny; maybe this will all end tomorrow, or maybe all you other people will blink out, one by one, or maybe tomorrow we'll be overwhelmed and I'll never get the chance to write to you again. But right now, in this moment, I'm happy for the first time in months. For the first time, I don't feel so alone.

Keep safe, friends. My thoughts are with you, wherever you are.

Alice