The Zombie Theories (Book 3): Conversion Theory by Restucci Rich

Author:Restucci, Rich [Restucci, Rich]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2016-12-07T05:00:00+00:00

Get Away

When I was a boy, I had a dog named Harley. I had never had a dog before, so when my mom came home with him (without telling my dad), I fell in love immediately. If you’re a kid and there’s a puppy, you love it or you have mental issues. Harley had this issue with his leg where he couldn’t bend his knee. My dad paid a ridiculous amount of money to get the pooch’s leg fixed, but it didn’t take and Harley ended up getting mean. He never snapped at me, or anyone else in my immediate family, but he would outright attack certain other folks without provocation. We had a backyard party in the summertime, and one of the neighbor’s little girls wandered away from the group and found the dog. She came back screaming, and had the tiniest scratch on her face, but that was enough. Even I, a boy of nine, knew the dog had to go. My dad called the dog officer, and the cop took Harley to a shelter. That night, my dad had the bright idea of giving the dog to my grandparents, whom the mutt loved. Pops called up the shelter, and they told him they had put Harley down because they did some safety exercise with him and he failed. I cried like a baby, even though I knew the dog was dangerous.

I was a kid, and kids don’t really understand death until it hits them in the face. I remember feeling both completely helpless and a profound sense of loss. I hadn’t felt a loss like that until now. I had lost friends to both living and dead assholes, but in each case, I knew someone was going to die. I was usually being shot at or chewed on myself, so my grief was tempered. It’s one thing to lose a place, it’s another to lose both your home, and the dozens of good people you shared it with, in one fell swoop.

Sitting on the back deck of the Mary’s Joy, with the sun coming up behind us, I had to wonder if all of this death was because of me. It isn’t my fault I’m immune to this shit. To the best of my knowledge, I’m no different than anyone else. Of course, I know that isn’t true, I can’t catch this thing, and absolutely everyone else dies from it. Everyone has suffered so much loss from this fucking plague, but it seemed that everywhere I went, I survived when others didn’t. Was this a legitimate curse? Did God or the Devil or some other supreme being hate me? Did these powers think I was worth something, or worse, want to torture me, and so had cursed me with living in a dying world?

I was contemplating all this crap when Dusty came over, jumped up on the bench seat, and put his head in my lap. I had just been thinking about both my twenty-year-dead pooch, and

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