Eve (or: 'How to be a Zombie and not Murder Everyone') by Cesar Vitale

Author:Cesar Vitale
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: comedy, humor, zombies, funny, zombie, postapocalyptic

"We've been on the road for four months, now," Patrick says, sliding his back down the wall to the floor with us. "Got all the way from San Diego to here. Walked most of the way."

By my side, Levon's sleeping under the window, the moon cutting a piece of his face in bright silver. He looks peaceful.

I scribble to Patrick:

Where are you going?

"New York," Patrick replies, simply. "They have a safe port there, my friend Jeremy told me. He was in the army, before it all –" he pauses, taking a deep breath. "Listen, I gotta ask… are all zombies like you? Can they all think and talk?"

Yes, I scribble.

"And they still go around killing people?"

I shrug.

"Jesus…"

We found antibiotics, after everyone had time to calm down and Patrick was finally convinced I would not eat his son. We also found bandages, and, in another amazing act of kindness by the universe, Patrick told us that he was a doctor.

Well… a veterinarian. A retired veterinarian, actually.

Levon was reluctant, but Patrick actually managed to get the bar out of his leg and bandage the wound pretty well. We didn't find any anesthetics, though, which I suppose is why Levon is still passed out.

Is there really a colony… New… ork? I scribble. It's getting hard even to scribble, now.

By my side, Tommy Gina growls softly in his sleep.

"So said Jeremy," Patrick answers me. "There better be, because otherwise…"

Patrick looks from me to his son, asleep with his head leaned on Levon's shoulder.

"We're taking a plane there," he says, reaching into his backpack and showing me a map. "Palm Springs International airport is only thirty miles away from here. Jeremy told me the army had some twin engines there they left behind, with gas and everything. That's our best hope, at least."

Can… you… fly?

"Well, no," Patrick replies, with a sigh. "That's why we haven't gone yet. We need a pilot. And the closest I ever got to flying a plane was that one time I didn't spot a bump and my Fierro went cruising into the air half a block, haha."

He laughs like he doesn't really mean it. I pick up the pen again, but I can't think of anything to write.

My mind. It's hard to concentrate.

Is this what starving feels like? I feel like I'm high all the time.

(Which is not so bad, actually.)

"I can fly," Levon mumbles, his eyes still closed under the window.

"What?"

Dreaming, I scribble.

Levon blinks himself awake, looking down at the paper in my hands. "I'm not dreaming. I can fly planes."

"You can?" Patrick's eyes go wide like a kid who just heard Christmas has been canceled and replaced by Monster Truck and Ice Cream Day.

"Yes. My father made me take courses… back before… everything. He was a pilot. For AA."

"Holy shit, Levon," I say, forgetting they can't hear me.

Levon raises his gaze to me with difficulty. "Told you New York was a good idea."

He closes his eyes again, and his head falls down over Patrick's kid's. He snores loudly.

"This is great knews!" Patrick says, with a smile at me.

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