THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES chapter 9 The Dry Faucet of Despair (Goodbye, Hygiene)

Here is Chapter 9, the strategic looting wishlist, and Dave’s anxious overnight log.

THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES

Post Title: The Dry Faucet of Despair (Goodbye, Hygiene)

Date: Wednesday Morning (Day 1 of the New World Order)

Mood: Gritty. Literally, my teeth feel fuzzy.

Current Status: Looking at a toilet, I cannot flush.

You know, in movies, when the hero wakes up looking fresh, tosses their hair, and grabs a shotgun?

Lies. All lies.

I woke up with my face pressed against the hardwood floor. My neck was stiff. My mouth tasted like stale crackers and anxiety. For a split second, I thought, “Wow, what a weird dream. Gary ate a guy. Crazy.”

Then I saw the pile of furniture blocking the front door. Then I saw Dave sleeping in the fetal position against the barricade, clutching a Nerf gun.

It wasn't a dream.

The Sound of Silence

The city was quiet. Not the "Sunday morning" quiet. The "everybody is dead or hiding" is quiet. No traffic. No sirens. Just the wind blowing a plastic bag down the street.

I stumbled to the kitchen. My first thought: Coffee. I need coffee to process the apocalypse.

I grabbed the kettle. I turned the tap.

Hiss. Sputter. Drip.

Nothing.

I turned the handle frantically. Sputter. Cough. A pathetic trickle of brown sludge spat out, and then... air.

"The municipal pumps have failed," a voice said behind me.

I jumped. Brenda was standing by the window. She was already dressed (did she sleep in her blazer?) and was peering through the blinds with binoculars she must have found in my junk drawer.

"Without electrical grid maintenance, water pressure is the first to go," Brenda stated, as if reading a memo. "I hope you filled the bathtub as I told you."

I looked at the bathroom. I had filled the tub. But Mister Whiskers was currently standing on the rim, staring into the water like it was his personal swimming pool.

"We have forty gallons of potable water in the tub," Brenda said. "That is for drinking. Not for flushing. Not for showering. We are now in resource management mode."

I looked at my espresso machine. It looked like a relic from a lost civilization.

"So... no coffee?" I asked, my voice cracking.

Brenda lowered the binoculars. "Unless you want to chew the beans, no."

This is it. This is the bad place.

THE SCAVENGER HUNT: LOOTING WISHLIST

We sat on the floor and had a team meeting. Brenda says we can't stay here forever. We need to do a "supply run" to the corner store before the other survivors pick it clean.

We each made a list of priorities. The differences in our psychological states are... telling.

DAVE'S JOURNAL: THE NIGHT WATCH

(Found scribbled in a spiral notebook Dave found in my desk)

LOG ENTRY: NIGHT 1

01:00 AM:

Everyone is asleep. Brenda sleeps with her eyes open. I swear she blinked, but I’m too scared to check.

It’s dark. The silence is heavy. Every time the building settles, it sounds like a footstep.

01:45 AM:

I hear them outside. Not the screaming ones. The shuffling ones. They are bumping into the cars on the street. It sounds like drunk people leaving a bar, but wetter.

I am hugging the Nerf gun. I named it "The Peacemaker." I know it just shoots foam, but it makes me feel better.

02:30 AM:

Mister Whiskers is awake. He walked down the hallway. He stopped right in front of the door barricade. He just sat there. Staring at the door.

Does he hear something? Or is he communicating with them?

I whispered to him, "Whiskers, whose side are you on?"

He yawned. He has very sharp teeth.

03:15 AM:

I had to pee. I didn't want to wake Brenda. I went in the dark. I tripped over a pair of shoes.

Brenda didn't move, but she said, "Watch your step, David," without waking up.

She is a witch. Confirmed.

04:00 AM:

The sun is coming up soon. The shadows are getting long.

I think we’re okay.

But I checked my phone. 4% battery. No signal.

The last text I got was from my mom: "Did you remember to thaw the chicken?"

I didn't, Mom. I didn't thaw the chicken.

05:00 AM:

Daylight. We survived the night.

Now I just have to survive Brenda before I've had breakfast.

Status Update: Brenda is taping magazines around her forearms. She calls it "Poor Man’s Riot Gear." She says teeth can't penetrate Vogue’s September Issue.

We are gearing up. We are going outside.