Zombies - Food for thought

The middle of nowhere is always the middle of somewhere on the map, the middle of this somewhere is deep in the rural forest of New England. Not off the map as one would think, but secluded to the point where one can escape the rush of traffic and the doldrums of office life.

Quiet.

This is where one finds a balance of nature within, a certain level of tranquility with the world around you that can only be described as bliss. Life moves slower here, people breath deep, if you stay long enough you may not want to leave.

Calm.

Through the labyrinth of trees, taking comfort under the shade next to the lake rests a log cabin. From a distance it looks to be made of the same wooden log toys one played with as a kid.

Peaceful.

These are exactly the reasons Tim Macame moved here, he’s not sure how long his stay will be but with little in the way of electricity and only the basic amenities the hardball corporate life is fading into a distant memory.

Chaos.

The back door to the cabin burst open as Tim darts in breathing heavy like a race horse, sweating profusely off his round bread role body and chubby cherub cheeks. As fast as Tim bursts in he is frantic to shut and lock the door behind him, his presently plump weight gives him extra push to slam the door shut but his slipper digits betray him from locking the door.

A strong kick back from the door pushing from the other side knocks Tim back a step. This extra thrust is enough for a hand to reach in, craving much of what Tim has, flesh. Not the hand so specifically but raging ragged dead, biting and clawing it’s way to get in. Drool from the beast spills out of its mouth as it roars in it’s feeding fever trying to get in. Tim is holding the creature out, but he is tired, too much running from things like this today, exhaustion has taken its toil, but the nightmare continues to bark down the door does not letting up its pursuit.

Tim eyes the shotgun on the counter, the weapon is just out of his reach, holding the door and stretching out to reach is the only way to end this. Tim places both palms of his hand on the door, and uses his foot as a stopper with his forehead pressed against the door staring at the creature he utters the words “you suck”.

Spinning around Tim reaches out with his right hand for the gun but the motion has caused the gun to move further away. He grunts with frustration extending his arms out further giving the nightmare enough leeway to push the door open some more, Tim catches the door with his left hand whitening the knuckles at the strength of his grip.

The nightmare bites, “ARGH! FUCK!” Tim screams, the pain is enough incentive to lunge back and grab the shotgun. With the nightmare's mouth still clinging to Tim’s hand, Tim puts the barrel of the shot gun right in the creatures face and pulls the trigger.

Bang.

The sound of the gun on such a quiet day can be heard for miles, but all of those who would be startled are dead. The door is shut and the gun lays smoking on the floor. Pain who’s threshold ranges from a slight pricking inconvenience to a thrusting spear whose only relief is death. Tim is too shocked to decide which he feels; he stands motionless pale face by the horror that has occurred.

“That didn’t go well” Tim unclenches his left hand that had been tucked under his arm pit, or what is left of his hand.

“Not even enough left to flip someone off” his monotone humor was enough to give him a smirk before collapsing.

Sleep.

What felt like hours to Tim were really only minuets, he awoke dazed in a cold sweet but well enough to stand. Like a zombie, Tim went through the motions of preparing a pot of baked beans, he is not infected nor will he turn into one of those nightmares, he’s just hungry. Tim continues his making his gourmet feast still babying his decrypt hand, Tim add some spice to his meal by taking out what he calls “his little helpers”, several bottles of pills that include high dosages of multi vitamins, calcium and a jug of water.

Prepared and served, he sits at the table eating the beans out of the pot he cooked in, spooning mouth full after mouth full with his right hand. Although still the sloppy antics of an over weight compulsive eater, Tim’s face and wonder bread rolls have significantly slenderer since earlier today.

Tim picks up his jug of water and chugs gulp and gulp, leaving little room for air until it is empty. A sigh of comfort and relief expunges from Tim followed by a well desired burp.

Tim looks at his left hand which is not so decrepit now, “almost done”, short of a boney figure and a opened splotch, Tim’s hand had almost entirely grown back. Not surprising to Tim as this is his bodies natural ability, in lies the reason for his more to love physic. It’s not that he doesn’t care what goes into his body, it’s more of make sure that when something comes off, it grows back.