THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES CHAPTER 7 ( Road Rage and The Ethics of Ramming a Shopping Cart )

Here is Chapter 7 of Zom Zom.

THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES

Post Title: Road Rage and The Ethics of Ramming a Shopping Cart

Date: Tuesday Night (The moon is out, and it looks judgmental)

Mood: Motion sick.

Current Status: Double-parked in a red zone.

You know those car commercials where the vehicle glides smoothly through an empty city?

This was not that.

Driving a lime green Prius through the apocalypse is a surreal experience. The car is silent. It’s eco-friendly. It hums politely while we weave through burning trash cans and abandoned delivery trucks.

Brenda drives like she manages: aggressive, efficient, and without hesitation.

"Brenda!" I screamed, clutching the "Oh-Shit Handle" above the door. "That was a mailbox!"

"It was an obstruction," Brenda replied calmly, swerving around a Zom Zom wearing a pizza delivery uniform. "We are maintaining forward momentum. If we stop, we lose leverage."

In the back seat, Dave was hyperventilating into a paper bag he found in the glove box. Mister Whiskers was asleep. The end of civilization is apparently very boring for him.

The Destination Debate

"We need a Forward Operating Base," Brenda announced, blasting the horn at a zombie trying to eat the windshield wipers. "The corporate retreat in the Poconos is too far. We need shelter, defensible entry points, and running water."

"My apartment!" I shouted. "It’s ten blocks away! It’s on the third floor! And I have Gouda!"

"Gouda?" Brenda glanced at me. "Is it smoked or aged?"

"Aged. 18 months."

Brenda drifted the Prius around a burning bus. "Acceptable. We are proceeding to the apartment."

The Scenic Route

The city is... well, it’s a mess. But it’s a weird mess.

We passed Yoga Zen, the studio on 5th. It wasn't on fire, but there was a group of Zom Zoms inside doing what looked like a very aggressive Downward Dog. It turns out, muscle memory is a curse. If you die doing yoga, you spend eternity stretching.

We passed the Apple Store. It was completely untouched. Even the zombies know that the glass walls are too clean to walk into.

Then, we hit the blockade.

A wall of abandoned shopping carts from the grocery store blocked the intersection of Main and Elm. Behind the carts, a dozen Zom Zoms were milling about.

"We have to reverse!" Dave yelled from the back. "Go back! Use the reverse camera!"

Brenda tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She narrowed her eyes. "I did not endure three rounds of budget cuts to be stopped by a collection of wobbly-wheeled baskets."

"Brenda, no," I whispered.

"Buckle up," she said.

She slammed the Prius into 'Power Mode' (which I didn't know it had) and floored it.

The silent electric motor whirred. We hit the shopping carts at 40 mph.

CRASH-CLANG-BANG.

Carts flew everywhere. It was a metallic explosion. A zombie wearing a helmet flew over the roof. We burst through the other side, the Prius battered but victorious.

"Efficiency," Brenda noted, turning down the Queen song on the radio.

Home Sweet Fortress

We screeched to a halt in front of my building: The Regal Arms. It’s a pre-war brick building. Heavy doors. Fire escape. It looked dark, but intact.

"Okay," I said, unbuckling. "The plan is: We run to the door. I unlock it. We run up to 3B. We lock the door. We eat cheese."

"Grab the loot," Brenda ordered.

I grabbed The Ex-Calibur (which is just a stick now, since the stapler fell off). Brenda grabbed her keyboard. Dave grabbed his modded Nerf gun and the cat carrier.

We stepped out of the car. The silence of the street was heavy.

Then, a voice called out from the darkness of the alleyway next to the building.

"Hey! You! The guy with the bad haircut!"

I touched my hair self-consciously. "Me?"

A figure stepped into the streetlight. It was Mrs. Gable, the landlord. She was holding a leaf blower.

"Rent was due yesterday," she barked. She didn't look like a zombie. She just looked like a landlord.

"Mrs. Gable!" I said. "The world is ending!"

"I don't care if the sun explodes," she shouted, revving the leaf blower (why?). "No overnight guests! And no pets!"

She pointed the leaf blower at Mister Whiskers.

Mister Whiskers hissed.

And then, from behind Mrs. Gable, a shadow moved. A very large shadow. It was the UPS guy. But he wasn't holding a package. He was holding... his own detached arm?

"Mrs. Gable! Behind you!" Dave shrieked.

Mrs. Gable turned around. The leaf blower roared to life.

We didn't wait to see who won. We ran for the front door.