Chapter 3

If you can't kill zombies without a lot of noise and commotion, it isn't worth killing them. Chainsaws are a bad idea, they attract a lot of attention, and then over heat or stall or run out of gas.

I tried a machete at first, but it was sad, and took a lot of effort to hack and hack. An ax would no doubt get stuck in, and be useless. I suppose a morning star might do, but also heavy and tiring, and I could just envision whacking myself senseless in a crowd of zombies. But thinking about where I might locate a morning star got me thinking- the Historical Museum!

I felt guiltier for not paying the seven dollar entrance fee than I did taking the display katana, after all, more people would see it in my possession than would if it sat in a glass case- mainly, me! I also took the sharpening rock and scabbard, and watched the display video showing how an antique sword was sharpened. I thought that bit with the paper and the folding was just style and safety, I would just have to be careful of the edge.

Ok, so I wasn't Mr. Bad Assed Swordsman right off the bat. I took my practice in ones and twos, one at a time. I survived, because that is what I do, and zombies are dumb. It was almost accidental, a consequence of their instinctive groping for sustenance that led me to start taking off the grabbers first, and then go for the lop. It was hard not to become proficient with that Bad-Ass sword!

I loved my kewl sword, it was genius. A real killing machine, even in my inexpert hands. Sharper than a ginzu knife, and twice as mean, I found the trick was to pull the cut a little, and it would go through like hot wire through butter. You do anything enough times, and you get good. I am just glad the Fabulous Ms. Tiger hadn't been watching my early game. But eventually I got good at the ol' 1-2-snicker-snack.

I don't know much about the private lives of zombies, why they don't eat each other, if or where they sleep, how they can walk and grab if they can't even figure out how a zipper works, and other imponderables.

I guess in the middle ages, it was thought that fleas came from old rags, spontaneously springing into existence. I know a baby pigeon is called a squib, but I have never seen one, perhaps they are a mythological creature like bigfoot and unicorns. I have strange random thoughts at times. I guess I am trying to say, that the lifestyles of the brain dead are a mystery to me.

I expect at some point they will all die, they are just to stupid to live. I hope that event happens before the expiration date on all the canned goods. That would be the height of irony, to survive the zombie apocalypse and outlive the zombies only to be felled by botulism. Note to self: Don't eat any dented or bulging cans.

Ok, I had my next leader's goal, get some good camping gear, tarp not tent, no way was I going to camp on the ground. I had been sleeping in places that required a ladder to get to, and which had alternative exits which debouched (I am proud of pulling that word from my vocabulary, by the way.) at some distance. It seems that along with zippers, zombies can't figure out ladders either. Too dumb to live.

Secondary goal, take the Fabulous Ms. Tiger on a vacation in the countryside. Oh, yeah, my shopping list for camping gear- water filtration system, rain gear, rope, waterproof matches- Note to self: find out if zombies are attracted to fire. Ok, limbing saw, can opener- wait, not as many cans in the countryside. Hunting knife, can be used on any stray cans, and also on any volunteer livestock. Oh hell, take a few can openers too. I guess my sword could decap any livestock who volunteered.