The immediate survivors believed what their eyes were seeing, turned and ran as fast and as far as their legs would carry them. They did not get very far or last very long. What was happening on Elm Street and Maple Street was happening all the way to Main Street. The greater the number of people, the greater the problems. They were also just as likely to be run over by a neighbor as they were to be eaten by one.
The intermediate survivors had a similar reaction and about the same outcome. Instead of running away, they ran back inside the house and hunkered down. Unfortunately, the modern American home is not a fortress; with decorative fencing, aesthetic gardens, plywood, dry wall and lots of glass and windows, lending protection only from prying eyes and the elements. It was not design to keep out marauding hordes, hell bent of devouring the occupants. The only real protection offered in such homes is an alarm system. If social decorum has been abandoned (devouring the flesh of one’s neighbors may be a good indicator) the screaming sirens will neither scare away the would-be intruders nor bring the authorities running — chances are they had their hands full or mouths filled.
The real survivors, seeing their neighbors and friends and perhaps loved ones becoming mid morning meals, jumped into the car and got out lickety-split, plowing their way through the growing crowds. They got away fast but not very far and did not last very long. There were many real survivors — driving badly — immediate survivors and the . . . ‘surviving dead’ . . . clogging up the streets. More than likely the real survivors were reduced to immediate survivor status, running for their lives. But, if they made it past Elm and Maple and others in between, Main Street was fairly clear as the events began overnight, most shops and businesses never opened, foot traffic had been at a minimal. If they could avoid the pileups and were careful not to create one, they had a chance for escape, but still, they were all revved up but no plan in tow.
The true survivors saw the horrific events unfold, reacted as they processed the information and immediately and calmly hurried inside. They did not look for logic, they did not wait for help; they ran upstairs, roused the family. They neither offered an explanation nor suffered any questions. They armed themselves, packed a bag, packed a lunch, loaded everyone into the SUV, and got out of dodge with either a destination in mind or just the wherewithal to get away from the densely populated areas. They did not slow for pedestrians, did not adhere to the rules of the road, nor the sidewalks nor the lawns. Nor did they choose the conventional routes out of town.
If you are still drawing breath by the end of the week, eating canned goods and not each other and since you are reading this, you must be an ultimate survivor . . . And you are in the minority.
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JJ (aka jfx mcloughlin) came to our rescue in times of zombie-crisis and is the mysterious force behind deadsurvivors and jimmy junk. Be sure to check out A Man’s Castle, and look for JJ waving an AR-15 and booking it out of town.
Twisted Sister lit mag 