2.
A ZOMBIE IS A REANIMATED CORPSE that feeds on living flesh. Before this all happened, I’d seen them in TV shows or in the movies. But now I know they’re real.
The day my mother turned into one is a day that will stay with me for as long as I can survive this. It was six weeks ago, the same day I turned my bedroom into my home.
She’s never seen me in my bedroom since she became a zombie. I make sure of that. But my instinct tells me that she knows I’m in here.
Zombies don’t sleep. At least the thing that used to be my mother doesn’t. It’s like they go dormant and then come out of it when something gets their attention.
She’s stood in that spot, swaying from side to side, night and day, for weeks and weeks. If she ever breaks the window, if she and the other zombies ever manage to knock down the wood, you’d better believe I’m history without my rifle.
My name is Jennifer Benton. I’m twenty-three and I’m from Waterbank, Illinois. I’m the only person left in the Benton home.
* * *
It happened on a Saturday. My mother was outside, gardening in our vegetable garden, and I was inside, watching the news with my rifle by my side. I had been obsessed with the news for quite some time since the zombie sightings.
Despite everything we had learned about zombies, my mother still didn’t approve of guns. Whenever she put her hands on her hips and stared at me with those eyes, I knew I would get a lecture. “Put that damn thing away,” she’d yell. It didn’t matter that I had tried to tell her, for at least five months earlier since the start of all this, that we needed to be armed.
I can’t describe the blood curdling scream that came out of my mother’s mouth when she was attacked. At the time, I had never heard anything like it, and it was a sound I hoped I’d never hear again. But the thing is, I have heard it. I’ve heard it many times in these past six weeks.
On the day it happened, after that God awful scream, I ran outside, rifle in hand, and one of them was on her. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I think it was Dan Martin, my neighbor who lived by the park. I’m pretty sure it was him, because the zombie was rail thin and wore a tight black t-shirt and baggy pants. They were dirty and grubby, but I recognized them because Danny thought of himself as a skater boy, and he always wore the same clothing style. I was never into him, but he was a nice-looking guy until he turned into a mess of green blotchy skin with a missing nose.
That’s another vision I’ll never forget. And the smell; I could smell him as soon as I ran out of the house.
In my bedroom, with that window locked and covered, I can smell my musty armpits and this stuffy air. But I’ll take it over dead bodies and rotted skin, any day of the week. I can only imagine what it must smell like outside now that they’re all over the place.
Dan had ripped off my mother’s arm and proceeded to eat it. There was blood squirting on Dan, on my mother, and on the lawn below. I lifted my rifle, aimed for Dan, and shot his head off. It splattered all over my mother and her vegetables. Yeah, it was gross, and I’m still fucked up over it.
I rushed to my mother, but it was too late. It must have been the gunshot, because three more appeared out of nowhere and jumped on top of her. Before I could shoot them, two more were coming for me.
I ran back into the house and locked the front door. Then I ran into my bedroom, locked my bedroom door, pulled my dresser in front of it, and nailed the wood planks over the window.
I was on automatic. I just did what I needed to do. I expected the zombies to break into my house, but they haven’t so far.
3.
MY BEDROOM HAS A BATHROOM, and it has supplies I had gathered over time: water, ammunition, multi-tool knife, food bars, batteries, tampons, medical supplies, matches, flashlight, a radio, and other stuff.
I had stored the wood against my wall and grabbed a hammer from the
A ZOMBIE IS A REANIMATED CORPSE that feeds on living flesh. Before this all happened, I’d seen them in TV shows or in the movies. But now I know they’re real.
The day my mother turned into one is a day that will stay with me for as long as I can survive this. It was six weeks ago, the same day I turned my bedroom into my home.
She’s never seen me in my bedroom since she became a zombie. I make sure of that. But my instinct tells me that she knows I’m in here.
Zombies don’t sleep. At least the thing that used to be my mother doesn’t. It’s like they go dormant and then come out of it when something gets their attention.
She’s stood in that spot, swaying from side to side, night and day, for weeks and weeks. If she ever breaks the window, if she and the other zombies ever manage to knock down the wood, you’d better believe I’m history without my rifle.
My name is Jennifer Benton. I’m twenty-three and I’m from Waterbank, Illinois. I’m the only person left in the Benton home.
* * *
It happened on a Saturday. My mother was outside, gardening in our vegetable garden, and I was inside, watching the news with my rifle by my side. I had been obsessed with the news for quite some time since the zombie sightings.
Despite everything we had learned about zombies, my mother still didn’t approve of guns. Whenever she put her hands on her hips and stared at me with those eyes, I knew I would get a lecture. “Put that damn thing away,” she’d yell. It didn’t matter that I had tried to tell her, for at least five months earlier since the start of all this, that we needed to be armed.
I can’t describe the blood curdling scream that came out of my mother’s mouth when she was attacked. At the time, I had never heard anything like it, and it was a sound I hoped I’d never hear again. But the thing is, I have heard it. I’ve heard it many times in these past six weeks.
On the day it happened, after that God awful scream, I ran outside, rifle in hand, and one of them was on her. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I think it was Dan Martin, my neighbor who lived by the park. I’m pretty sure it was him, because the zombie was rail thin and wore a tight black t-shirt and baggy pants. They were dirty and grubby, but I recognized them because Danny thought of himself as a skater boy, and he always wore the same clothing style. I was never into him, but he was a nice-looking guy until he turned into a mess of green blotchy skin with a missing nose.
That’s another vision I’ll never forget. And the smell; I could smell him as soon as I ran out of the house.
In my bedroom, with that window locked and covered, I can smell my musty armpits and this stuffy air. But I’ll take it over dead bodies and rotted skin, any day of the week. I can only imagine what it must smell like outside now that they’re all over the place.
Dan had ripped off my mother’s arm and proceeded to eat it. There was blood squirting on Dan, on my mother, and on the lawn below. I lifted my rifle, aimed for Dan, and shot his head off. It splattered all over my mother and her vegetables. Yeah, it was gross, and I’m still fucked up over it.
I rushed to my mother, but it was too late. It must have been the gunshot, because three more appeared out of nowhere and jumped on top of her. Before I could shoot them, two more were coming for me.
I ran back into the house and locked the front door. Then I ran into my bedroom, locked my bedroom door, pulled my dresser in front of it, and nailed the wood planks over the window.
I was on automatic. I just did what I needed to do. I expected the zombies to break into my house, but they haven’t so far.
3.
MY BEDROOM HAS A BATHROOM, and it has supplies I had gathered over time: water, ammunition, multi-tool knife, food bars, batteries, tampons, medical supplies, matches, flashlight, a radio, and other stuff.
I had stored the wood against my wall and grabbed a hammer from the
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