Monday, July 5, 2010

I've Got An Axe To Grind...

Everyone knows that the world will one day be overrun by flesh eating zombies.

That much is true.

How will you survive?

Are you prepared?

Will you be able to protect your family?

I am worried about my family's chances against a ravenous hoard of ghouls. We are not an organized bunch. We argue a lot. We don't exercise much. We are the opposite of resourceful. My kids get distracted easily and they don't listen.

As a bunch, we are an easy target.

We are as good as zombie meat, served rare.

I need to get my clan into shape or we're most certainly goners.

I hope there's enough time...

It is Sunday morning. I am in the kitchen making pancakes with my seven year old daughter. My wife is arguing with my mother in law on the phone about nothing. My three year old sits on the top of our living room sofa. She stares out the window watching the cars go by. It's a day just like any other day...

Out-Numbered - Be careful with the eggs. I don't want them all over the counter.

7 Year Old - Dad! I'm not going to get them on the counter.

Out-Numbered - OK. OK. Just be careful is all I'm saying.

7 Year Old - I'm not a baby.

From the other room.

Wife - Is something burning in there?

3 Year Old - No!

Wife - Not you snuggles. I'm talking to your father.

Out-Numbered - SHIT! I forgot the Turkey Bacon in the oven.

7 Year Old - You're not allowed to say "SHIT".

Out-Numbered - God Dammit! Burnt to a crisp.

7 Year Old - That's two bad words. Why do you get to say bad words?

Out-Numbered - Because I'm the one that burned the bacon.

My daughter purposely drops an egg on the floor.

7 Year Old - SHIT!

Out-Numbered - HEY! I said no bad words.

7 Year Old - Yeah but I'm the one that dropped the egg.

From the living room.

3 Year Old - Daddy.

Out-Numbered - I'm busy sweetheart.

3 Year Old - Daddy come here.

Out-Numbered - Honey can you see what she wants please? I'm kind of busy in here.

Wife - I'm on the phone.

Out-Numbered - Go see what your sister wants.

7 Year Old - Why do I always have to check on her?

Out-Numbered - Because that's what sisters do.

3 Year Old - Daddy. Ted is eating a doggie.

Out-Numbered - OK honey. Your sister is coming.

3 Year Old - He looks mad. The doggie is bleeding.

Out-Numbered - Can you please go and see what she's talking about?

7 Year Old - FINE! This is so not fair.

Out-Numbered - Get used to it. Life isn't fair.

From the living room.


I drop the bowl of pancake batter and it lands in a crash. My wife and I rush into the living room to see what is wrong.

Out-Numbered - Oh Shit.

My neighbor is kneeling over a pile of blood soaked fur. He is devouring a dog. His name is Ted and he looks, well... fucked up. He has no idea we are watching him. My seven year old daughter is frozen with fear. My three year old watches attentively as if she were watching an episode of Wonder Pets. My wife is holding onto my wrist. Her nails are digging so deep into my skin, that I think I might be bleeding.

Out-Numbered - Everyone get down and don't make a sound.

Wife - What the fuck is going on?

3 Year Old - Fuck.

Out-Numbered - Zombies.

I grab my seven year old and lay her on the floor next to the coffee table. She's still frozen. She's shaking like a leaf.

Wife - Should we call the police?

Out-Numbered - That won't do any good. Grab the little one before Ted sees her. I'll close the blinds.

Before my wife can get to my three year old, she starts banging on the window.

3 Year Old - HI TED!!! TED!!! HI!


Out-Numbered - NO baby! Be quiet!

My wife scoops her up off of the couch. Ted turns his head in a jolt, obviously startled by the banging. He pops up from his knees in one snapping and disjointed motion. He sees us. His eyes widen. His face is bathed in blood. He looks rabid. He runs toward our property in a mad frenzy, arms flailing above his head.

Wife - Oh GOD!

Out-Numbered - LOCK THE DOOR!!!

Wife - THE GIRLS!!!

3 Year Old - Mommy! What's wrong with Ted?

Out-Numbered - You take the girls.

Wife - Where are we going?

Out-Numbered - Upstairs!

Wife - What if he gets in? We'll have no where to go?

Out-Numbered - UPSTAIRS!!!

Wife - Where are you going?

Out-Numbered - TO THE SHED, TO GET MY AXE.

Wife - You can't go outside.

Out-Numbered - Don't worry. He's out front. I'm going out the back door.

Wife - Don't leave me alone with them. What if he gets in the house?

Out-Numbered - Grab the Aluminum Bat by my night table.

Wife - What will that do?

Out-Numbered - Aim for the head. It will bash his fucking brains in if you hit him hard enough. GO!

This is how it starts...

In "The Zombie Survival Guide" by Max Brooks, it says that in the event of a Zombie attack, go to the highest point in your home. If there should be stairs leading up to a room or an attic, use a tool such as an axe, to demolish the stairs behind you one by one leading up to the higher floor. Zombies are terrible climbers.

If there is a bathtub or a sink in the room, fill it up with water. You'll need it later. There won't be much time before the water supply becomes contaminated.

I also happen to have a case of canned, cooked bacon in my basement. That's twelve cans of cooked bacon. Fifty slices per can. Six hundred slices in total.

That should last us for a while.

My kids love bacon...

What's your plan?