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I know they
always say that the pen is mightier than the sword, but wasn’t sure
how a little bit of Shakespeare would keep a ravenous freak from
ripping my face off.
    I’d collected swords for years. Most were for
display only, the kind of shiny thing on your wall that would break
in two if it were ever used in combat, but my favorite had always
been something called a Kukri. Picture a cross between an axe and a
knife, or even a machete mixed with a boomerang. Its design is
ancient, one that is meant for chopping off an appendage with
little effort. The thing was heavy and it even came with a belt
scabbard of sorts. As far as I know it was genuine, from Nepal I
think. My brother and I found it in a thrift store in Harrisonburg,
VA when I was visiting him in college. Those were much less
stressful times.
    Instinct told me to bring the rifle. It
wasn’t exactly an inconspicuous weapon, but what if something were
to happen around our house? The thought of leaving Sarah unarmed
with fucking zombies running amok was too much for me to even think
about. So I guessed that I should leave it for her and the kids. I
took the Kukri with me to work that night. If I got pulled over on
the way I’d be written up for possession of a concealed weapon –
after all it is the size of a machete. Oh
well, it could stay in the trunk. Something told me the state
troopers had better things to do than pulling over a uniformed
dispatcher with a kick-ass sword in his trunk.
     
    * * *
     
    1700 hours:
     
    I took a short nap. My new trend seemed to be
getting a restless few hours of sleep followed by more fully
conscious worrying. I spent the rest of that afternoon playing in
the backyard with Maddox and Calise. The boy had become quite the
little soccer star. We kicked that ball back and forth in the grass
for a couple hours with Calise in a giggle-filled chase after it.
Enjoying myself made it a little easier to hide my inner worry from
the kids. With so much worry everywhere we looked, they didn’t ever
need to know their daddy was feeling it too. For a little while
there, I almost forgot the world was basically tearing itself
apart.
    A few years before that, when Calise was two,
I fenced in the backyard so the kids could play a little more
safely. Most of it was already fenced in from other people’s yards;
I just finished the job and fixed up what was already there. In
hindsight, it was the best home improvement I ever made. I was
actually able to relax… some. It was nice just enjoying the moment
without having to look around in a paranoid search for a danger
that would probably never come.
    Mom called again to check in. She stressed
her wish that we were already on our way down there. I assured her
that we would leave after I got home from work that morning. At
least that got her to back down. She handed the phone over to my
dad after that and I went into the other room. I told him what I
knew, all of it. He was silent for a minute or two. In reality I
knew he was debating over talking to me like I was eighteen years
old. You know, the “I can’t tell you what to do because you’re an
adult, but you should really consider doing this” talk? But he
didn’t. Instead he told me just to be careful and to use my best
judgment. I could hear it in his voice; he knew this was going to
get real bad, real quick.
    He changed the subject as soon as he could
and started talking about the farm and what he had been doing to
prepare for the long haul. Disaster or not, I wouldn’t be surprised
if they stayed down there indefinitely.
    After all the time spent on the phone I
needed to get out. It was time to start boarding up windows. Five
or six other houses in the neighborhood had already been sealed
tight, so I wouldn’t feel too odd doing it as well. If I involved
Maddox in the handiwork it would look even less strange. The boy
loved helping me build things; I loved spending the time with
him.
    I devised a way to secure the house, but also
make