Z is for Zombies

They usually come in the night, but not always. One peculiar afternoon, one shambled out of the forest's edge and began to take interest in something on the lawn that must have been deep inside a hole because she sort of wobbled over and just collapsed onto it. But there aren't any holes in my lawn and I didn't realize soon enough. Upon approaching, I noticed that this one wasn't decaying; she was not infected at all, actually.

You should know something about your dear author. And about the world as well, since the end of the corn days at least- two types of individuals remain: those who wait, and those who ran.

That's what you should know about the world.

I am a waiter. Or a 'thinker,' as I prefer to say. That's what you should know about your dear author. I didn't run.

You may wonder, where has everyone else gone? Simply, north. 'These areas' are no longer deemed 'habitable' by 'authorities.' They move too slowly and can't even muster the strength to turn their head your way in the cold environment.

It's too unethical to put them down. Especially with how few waiters are left in these areas. The company-- or sighting, rather-- is the closest I get to human interaction on the regular anymore. I always enjoyed having 'personal time' in the past, but irony is indeed cruel to me.

They're not the same as the zombies we're used to hearing about in fic lit. They're not all that different, either. But they're not aggressive. Most of the time.

I don't see the problem with staying here. This is home to me. It always has been and I suppose it always will be. Besides, my adherence to my garden is what saved me from this whole catastrophe in the first place. It would be traitorous to abandon such a practice now.

It all started when the U.S. biochemical engineering powerhouse Nuchafutra developed Bastilaxis, the 'sustainable and dependable' pesticide that was used to keep commercial U.S. corn crops free from critter infestation. Within three months, initial reports suggested symptoms of 'low blood sugar, pale, cold skin, and an insatiable craving for [usually] ice cream and [sometimes] other sweets.' No more than a week later, breaking news discovered the accumulation undesirable organic compounds in various brain tissues, and no more than a week later than that, most of the population had been subdued by the diet-induced condition. It almost seemed to happen overnight. Everyone-- most people-- turned at the same time because their diets included consistent quantities of corn products.

I was spending the evening with some old college friends at the time. They didn't turn so early on; they were familiar with the benefits of organic farming as many in the state of Vermont are. But I left them that following day, knowing that I would likely never see or hear from them again. They would turn soon.

Those who didn't turn in that first week were simply counting their days. The pesticide itself was not found in the accumulations, but the little research that was conducted before the pandemic was too far spread indicated that the presence of Bastilaxis catalyzed a reaction that caused structural deformities in, and was universal to all of the macronutrients. This explained the accumulation of undesirable organic compounds, e.g. mutated macronutrients, in the brain. No research has been conducted to describe the role of these compounds in the brain, and unfortunately, none ever will be. But anyone who is still human will tell you, the effects are apparent enough.

But none of that matters any more. 'Fault' never was and never will be a concern of mine. What matters is not allowing the crisis to bother you any more than it has to. And even that isn't too much to deal with since life is 90% reactions anyway.

Let's get back to where we started. I'm on my porch enjoying what passes for tea when…

TBC