4: Joining the Dead

Lisa awoke with a start. The early morning sun streamed in the broken windows and door, as two zombies shuffled out the door. Glancing around, she realized she was the only one left—the zombies had already moved on—without her.

Panicking, she checked her supplies before considering whether this was wise. Trailing a group of zombies seeking succor—and not just any undead, but the ones who’d murdered her parents. She glanced around the empty house and came to a sudden realization. Without anyone to look out for her, she was on her own. While the zombies hadn’t threatened her and didn’t object to her presence, those she might meet out in the woods on her own might not respond similarly. What’s more, she knew from experience that the few remaining humans tended to take advantage of the weak. They may even be worse, demanding concessions she was unwilling to meet in exchange for taking her in.

Her mind made up, she headed out, seeing the last zombies well ahead of her, but she pulled up short. Reentering the house, she examined the remains of her parents. The site wasn’t as gristly as before. There was nothing left but gnawed bones; the blood long ago soaked into the wooden floor. Kneeling, she shifted among their scattered bones, searching. She considered her mother’s skull, bearing a single bullet wound just off-center in her forehead—a final gift from her husband—Lisa’s father. Her father’s skull didn’t look any better, his jaw detached, several teeth missing, staring vacantly up at her.

Despite her parents having given up on God after the apocalypse, she crossed herself and continued searching. She feared the item was gone forever—hidden in the bowels of some random zombie’s rotting intestines—but then she uncovered it. Her mother’s wedding ring. She didn’t find her father’s, but it would never fit her anyway. Shoving it into her pants pocket, she stood and ran out the door.

She’d gotten only a few paces out when she reconsidered. Sudden motions startled the undead. Her father taught her to move gingerly when they were about. The last thing she needed was to spook those she hoped to join. By the time they recognized her—assuming they were capable of recognizing her—she might already be dead.

Walking quickly, her head down, she tried to catch up without appearing obvious. It took a while, but she picked up their trail, seeing the last figure to abandon her house. She maintained her quick pace until nearing the others and then slowing, passing them by.

They stared at her with vacant eyes, seemingly not recognizing her, but they didn’t object to her presence, a good sign. Recognizing her quarry, she gingerly sidestepped the others as they shuffled along, one after the other in an irregular pattern as if following some undead siren’s call.

She finally sidled up beside the woman who’d discovered her, the one who offered her a piece of her mother’s flesh. The woman glanced at her and moaned what Lisa assumed was a greeting. Lisa matched her pace, swallowed, and holding her panic in her throat, reached out, and took her hand.

The woman didn’t object and even squeezed it, though she held her hand loosely—as if too unfocused to pay attention. Satisfied she was accepted—for now—Lisa relaxed, and let her mind drift as the string of zombies shuffled on.

Despite the bleak future she faced and the sudden death of her parents, Lisa felt optimistic. She wasn’t alone, trying to fend for herself. She’d been accepted as a member of a loose tribe. As they walked, she began to hum a favorite tune which matched the zombies’ meandering pace. Humming, the zombies turned, regarding her, but didn’t cease their activity—despite having no apparent purpose—so she continued. Lisa swung the dead woman’s hand in time with the song. Soon, the woman picked up motions, initiating the action rather than acting as a passive recipient.

Smiling, Lisa hummed loudly enough for those around her to hear. Over time, the others drew nearer. What’s more, as she walked in time to her own music, she noted the zombies adopted her pace. Hell, the lot of them were almost skipping, a real contrast to their horrible visage. She thought back to an old recording of Michael Jackson’s Thriller, which her father had shown her once.

She enjoyed herself, despite recent events—perhaps a part of it—focusing on the joy of simple things made enduring the fears of her uncertain future easier. Smiling, she decided to risk a little more. Remembering her early experiment with communications, she sang the words of the old Disney movie theme.

“Eigh-Oo, eigh-oo, ees orf ru rurg I go.”

Rather than react to her voice, they accepted it, and together they set a faster pace. Still testing the waters, she spun the woman in a slow circle moving forward as she sang.

Lisa was surprised the woman not only went along with it, but anticipated her actions, adapting as they continued. Hell, her entire troupe of zombies made at least double the pace they’d achieved before. What’s more, they were singing! She hadn’t noticed it before, but their incessant moaning coalesced around her song. They adapted their moans to the tune, imitating her modified words—which they were better able to manage. And they didn’t just copy her. When she skipped a line, they’d continue without her. When she resumed, their volume increased, their pace speeding up.

Lisa had an odd idea. Holding her hands up, she stopped, and the zombies gathered around as she removed and opened her backpack, extracting her princess dress and tiara. She revealed her treasure to ensure they wouldn’t respond negatively, and ignoring their vacant stares, she stripped and changed.

Soon she walked backwards, leading the trailing zombies in a sing-song dance routine which made their long trek easier.

They came upon a paved road some time later. She hadn’t noticed, but the number of abandoned cars and decrepit homes increased. Thus, she stopped in complete surprise when they encountered a town.

Holding her finger to her lips and whispering, she shushed her new zombie friends before edging into town. They progressed slowly, but encountered no other sign of life. Lisa planned to skirt the community to avoid encountering someone, but saw something she wanted to investigate.

Stopping in the middle of the street, she held both palms up facing her ‘people’. “Ay ere!” she said. “I’ll re brag room.”

That confused them more than anything else, but they remained behind as she advanced on a small clothing store. Searching for tools, she found a broken pipe. She stuck it into the handle on the door and applied slow pressure, levering the door open. It didn’t budge, but she kept it up. Tiring, she pulled back one last time, and snapped it back applying as much force as possible.

Her technique—a variant of something her father showed her, worked. A loud crack resounded and the door swung open.

Fearing how her zombies may respond, she turned to discover them gathered behind her, observing her actions. The pop when the lock snapped didn’t upset them.

“Ay, Ay’ll re ag room,” she told them, once again motioning for them to stay.

Entering the darkened store, she opened the doors wide to admit as much light as possible, hurriedly searching the racks for anything she could use. Not knowing how patient or easily distracted the undead were, she couldn’t risk taking much time.