Vaccination

Of course, I’m referring to the original. With Gene Wilder. Not the lame re-make with Depp. I like Depp. Don’t get me wrong. However, that rendition was totally spoiled by the single Umpa-Lumpa multiplied by however many in computer graphics. Awful.

Every generation comes to a point where they claim the end of the world has got to be just around the corner. I was in my mid-thirties, certain and confident it was just a matter of time. Things were coming to a head: rising gas prices, increased backward leaps in racism, segregation, political angst, infringement on nearly every point of the Constitution by the president, and just an overall sense of angry people. It was hard not to read the graffiti on the walls around us. If you couldn’t see it, if you didn’t sense it, then I guess you were just a blind motherfucker living under some rock.

Shit,” I said. I had been looking out the window, fingers slightly parting thin drapes. “One of those things is . . . ah shit. They’re coming this way.” “The zombies?” “No, Dave. The pizza guy. I placed an order when I knew we were going to be here for a while,” I

Why he was going to check on some child who more than likely was a zombie playing ball in an empty grocery store, was beyond me. It

It still seemed a bit funny to me that we stayed armed with garden tools. One would have thought we’d of come across weapons. Guns? Machetes? Harpoons? Anything. Guns had to be out there. It’s all that was in the news as of late. Civilians and their personal armory stashes. I loved my shovel, felt good in my hands, and now I had one of Josh’s hand shovels in my back pocket, too. Dave’s pitchfork was tough. He had Josh’s other hand shovel. And Allison seemed to have mastered the multitude of hedge clipper uses. We must have resembled crazed farmers scampering between trees and out into the back parking lot of the Distillery.

The woman wore a grey knee-length skirt, what once must have been a nicely pressed white blouse. She carried heels in one hand as she ran in the grass, toward Hoover Drive. A fast zombie in a dark business suit, complete with a thin black tie, was right behind her. He reached for her, swiping passes with bloated blue hands. She serpentined. Left. Right. Doubling back. Good moves. She was like an over-dressed running back. Her shoes the ball.

Grahhhhh.” I looked up at LaForce. Did he just, Grahhhhh, at me?

It was there. In my mind. After the call I’d just taken, after talking with LaForce. But I wouldn’t say it out loud. Wouldn’t even let myself form the complete thought in my head. Wasn’t believing it. No fucking way zombies were real. Day of the Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Night of the Living Dead, The Walking Dead – Fuck no. Fuck Milla Jovovich and all of that shit.