We Didn’t Have To Fear Them

When they said the zombies were coming, everyone on the East Coast evacuated.

I was living in North Carolina when it happened. It started in New York, and the virus supposedly spread there in a matter of hours. The island was quarantined, so even if there were survivors, they were trapped. And based on the radio reports and the news, their weren't many. Still, we were supposedly safe.

But everyone’s seen the movies, the books, the tv shows. We knew what was going to happen, and better yet, we knew how to protect ourselves.

I decided to go West. My family and I headed for the Rockies. The area was remote, and it would be difficult to infect, especially if we were isolated. Perfect.

We made it up to an old cabin, abandoned a long time ago. Almost Donner-Party-esque. But, it suited our needs. Two bedrooms, one for me and my wife, and another for the kids.

We've been living up here ever since, our radio the only connection to the world. Sometimes, the phones work, and we get internet. We can see the news, then. We were right, the island didn't stay quarantined for long, but nobody seemed to know much else. Just that the zombies were headed in our direction. We would call family members, too, when the phones worked. Sometimes, it would work, but most times, we couldn't get through.

It would still be safe, we reasoned, as long as we stayed in the mountains. There was nobody, for miles around, and we could even go out every day and hunt for food. No danger there.

Then, about a month in, the internet cut out.

We were limited to the radio, after that. News reports, mostly speculation. As it turned out, we didn't get many current reports from the towns that were being infected. They would just go dark, without a word. That's how fast it happened.

Which brings me to the reason I'm writing this story. To get the word out. It's important, I promise, you just have to keep reading.

Earlier today, I was out hunting, as usual. We were running low on food. I was up in a tree, scouting, when I saw something odd.

It was a buck, limping through the trees. Its fur was dirt and matted, and its limbs were like knobbly sticks, bony and weak.

As it grew closer, I saw more. Its skin, under its fur, was a sickly gray. Blood coated its front legs. Even worse, its flank was littered with bullet holes.

It looked like its eyes were gone. No, not gone, just white. Couldn't see the irises, or the pupils. And the whites of its eyes were bloodshot.

I stayed in the tree until it passed, and then I ran home. I had to warn my family.

I was too late.

The cabin had been broken into by force, and the windows were cracked, some were broken. The door had been knocked off its hinges, and there were deep scratches in the wood. Like a bear's claws.

They were wrong. In all the movies, the books, the tv shows. It was never the human zombies we had to fear.

It was the animals.