DAY 15

DAY 15:

 

I spent the day yesterday either lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, or eating and staring out the window.  I don’t believe I solved any of life’s great mysteries.  If I did, whom would I share the answers with anyway?  It’s one thing to be alone in your apartment with neighbors on every side and a world full of people just outside the windows, it’s quite another to be alone and the only obvious living being for miles around.  I’m not sure if the zombies can be counted as living beings; maybe I should elaborate and say I’m the only living, and thinking, being.

Though I don’t have the mind for solving great mysteries, I think I have come up with solutions to some of the lesser mysteries I’m currently facing.  It occurred to me that both wounds that had healed overnight were bites from zombies; the twisted ankle might not have been as bad as I originally thought.  Sure, in the movies a zombie bite turns you into a zombie, but we’re hardly dealing with actual science in your average (or below average) zombie movie; most of them don’t even explain where the zombies came from.  So I thought that it might be something these zombies were carrying that healed the bites.  It wasn’t easy, but I worked up the nerve to cut myself this morning.

Since I have electricity, I used some ice to numb up the fatty part of my hand below my thumb, and cut it with a carving knife.  I went deeper than I had meant to, and nearly passed out when I saw my hand flayed open like that.  Within an hour, it began itching, like injuries sometimes do when they’re healing.  I felt a little feverish as well, so I took my temperature, and it was just over 100°.  Now I have a new, bright pink scar on my hand, and my temperature is back to normal.  So, whatever is healing me, is in me.

When I shot Mrs. Olmstead in the chest, it didn’t kill her; at least not completely.  She didn’t stay dead until I shot her in the head, same as the guy who attacked me outside.  It seems the movies got that part right.  So whatever wounds you inflict on the zombies will heal, except for headshots.  All the wounds I have received have healed.  I don’t think I’ll try shooting myself in the head just yet; I’ve gotten past that little self-destructive streak.  But it seems the zombies and I have some things in common; I just seem to be marginally smarter than they are.

I’m assuming that I don’t necessarily have to shoot them in the head to kill them, but I’m not quite prepared to try taking a bat to one of them at the moment.  I don’t think I’ve yet fully dealt with the fact that I’ve killed at least two other human beings, or former human beings anyway.  So the only thing that has happened to both the zombies and myself is that we got sick.  Anyone who is now a zombie, contracted whatever this virus is, appeared to have died, and then came back.  I caught the virus, got sick, but not quite as sick as the zombie people.  For whatever reason, the virus didn’t kill me first, but it’s still working to heal me, same as the zombies.

Maybe that explains the hunger that never seems to go away.  It must take a lot of energy to keep the virus going and healing me.  The zombies must be feeling the same hunger, and that’s why they bit me; they were actually going to eat me if they could.  I wonder…

If the virus is still in me, and it’s healing any damage I receive, will it heal damage caused by aging?  I’ve looked at myself in the mirror, but I don’t see any difference; I’m only 27, so I guess there’s no real age damage to heal yet.  I’m going to have to survive for another 10-15 years before I can answer that question I guess.  There have to be others like me out there somewhere.  Before everything went to complete shit, there were some reports of people being immune.  A certain percentage of people died outright, and some turned into zombies.  There must be a small percentage that survived the virus intact, like me.

Well, I’m not about to start walking the Earth seeking them out.  There must be an easier way to find people, even without Facebook.  I guess I’ll be around a while to figure it out, assuming I don’t get shot in the head…

 

Barnett Jane

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Posted on October 11, 2013, in Fiction and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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