Rebirth

I am Farad Endue, and my life is not important, yet I am alive when so many others are dead. In forty-eight hours, I have watched five people, innocent people, enter my gas station and lose their lives. I have seen horrors and sins and relived them each time I closed my eyes. So now there is nothing to do except write and start from the beginning.

The gas station was a "present" from my father after he died. He told me to keep it open on holidays because, otherwise, I would never break even, and then promptly had a heart attack. I reluctantly accepted it as a high drop-out, not exceptionally pleased with the path my life was taking, but too scared to do anything about it.

Today, not unlike many other mornings, I had opened up shop at nine a.m., sweeped the floor, restocked shelves, and waited for customers. Usually, the day would begin with a few tourists making a pit stop, buying little things like chap stick and hair spray. But then it was almost noon and, still, no one had shown up. I turned on the TV instinctively, worried that there was a tornado watch in order I didn't know about. In Iowa, you could never be too careful. But as soon as that screen flickered on, I saw things far, far worse: bloodied sidewalks with dark red srains permeating through the surface; terrified families in torn clothes, bruised all over their bodies; children screaming unintelligibly; rows and rows of CDC government officials in yellow hazmat suits; a young boy left on the side of the road, dead, then coming back into life in the same body, without the same mind. Immediately, I turned it off, knowing all at once, that out there, a zombie apocolypse was happening. But not in here, I told myself, not in here.

So I turned all the lights off and settled into position behind the counter, praying that this was not my final day.

The door, which I had forgotten to close in my panic, opened one hour later. Two deep voices mumbled in deep vibrato. There was a laugh from one of them. I closed my eyes, praying harder than I had ever before. They could not find me. They would not find me. The door opened again to another voice, this one sobbing, this one a victim. The zombies jumped them instantaneously. The victim fought relentlessly for a time, kicking, screaming, running for the door when they thought they had bested them, bringing down displays. But it wasn't enough. The zombies outnumbered them, and it wasn't before long that I heard the zombies crack their head against the table and munch on the insides.

I held in a sob.

The zombies stayed, waiting for the victims to come to them, knowing that some would see an abandoned gas station and also see a place to hide, feed themselves, and rest. Only if they knew.

The door opened once again, and I slid to the right so that I could see the newest victims. An elderly couple. They each surveyed the station, both in need of a little sleep. While the man was doing this, he locked eyes with me. Run, I mouthed to him. But he didn't understand and took a step closer to me in confusion. In this time, his wife saw me too.

And then my eyes shut, because I knew from the screams that the zombies had used this distraction to their advantage and jumped them when they weren't looking. Because they were looking at me. The guilt stirred deep within me, and I wondered how many people I would hear die before I'd get out of here. Would I ever get out of here?

The zombies didn't bother looking in the direction the elderly couple had; they were too satisfied from their meal to be suspicious.

A family of four was next. The mother was soothing her children. "Now, see, there's food in here, Linda. Everything's going to be okay. Joey, are you still hungry? There's some beef jerkey right over there." Joey and Linda ran to the jerkey, and the father sighed. They hadn't seen me or the zombies, who were lurking in the evening shadows somewhere.

The mom and dad relaxed, let their guards down, only for both of them to be hit on the head with an ice scraper. Their bodies thumped to the ground, alarming the children, who ran over, saw the zombie, and froze in fear. The other one started coming up from behind the children, cleaver in hand. But suddenly, the boy, Joey, turned around and grabbed for the cleaver. There was a tug-of-war for it, and I knew this was my chance.

"Run!" I yelled to the little girl, who did, very fast, dodging into an aisle before exiting the doors, as I grabbed a lengthy piece of ribbon, tackled the zombie, and fastened it around its entire face. Then I picked up Joey and ran out of the station, not looking back once.

Joey, Linda, and I are hiding behind a public high school, and Linda is asking me why I'm writing at a time like this. Joey is silent.

I look at what I've written so far in my day planner and tell her it's because of my cowardice. She says she doesn't understand, and I hope she never will.

I am truly sorry, unknown victims of the Zombies of Endues Gas Station. The first victim.  The elderly couple.  Linda and Joey's parents.  I did not act in time, and I will forever hold that in heart and mind.

May you find your peace and rest.