30 Days of Undead Summer

#WhatNowWednesday

Three months ago, our running water turned on.

That was the sign that the zombie apocalypse - or at least the zombie part of it - was over.

Lily had been playing with the kitchen sink handle when it happened. On - off - on - off - on - "AAAHHHHH!"

We immediately rushed to the kitchen, assuming the worst. Instead, we found Lily pressing her back against the wall opposite the counter, staring at the running sink as if it was the Devil himself.

We then spent hours washing everything, from ourselves to our clothing to the house. We scrubbed down everything until we were all damp and shining from cleanliness and joy.

And then we left.

One might think we were insane for leaving so quickly. We weren't. It had been months since we'd seen our last zombie and if the water was on, our world had to be rebuilding itself. Right?

Either way, we strapped on our shotguns, sheathed our knives, and hopped on our bikes. Six-year-old Lily was so small and skinny that she could still fit in the baby carrier strapped to the back of my bike.

Amber and I pedaled furiously to reach town as quickly as possible. Our house was a farmhouse on the outskirts of the city limits, although we had done nothing to maintain the actual farmland surrounding it. We had a good excuse (at least for the past two years), however - we had been focusing solely on surviving the zombie apocalypse.

Now, since the water was back on, it stood to reason that another country or group was here in America, trying to help. After all, it would take more than the zombies disappearing to rebuild our shattered government, and plus, the evidence was clear enough just from our running water - who would voluntarily return to their job after all of this just because it benefited others? A group of people had to be manning the plant, after all.

When we reached town, we found other people emerging from the buildings, looking around as if they hadn't been outside in the last two years. They were all as haggard and skinny as Amber, Lily, and I were.

For once, I didn't reach for my gun. For once, I felt safe.

Amber and I slowed to a good clip, pedaling leisurely. I grinned wildly as I saw my old boss emerge from his house, his tiny son balanced on one hip. He waved and I returned the gesture, tears of joy filling my eyes.

"We're going to the plant!" I called out to everyone we passed. "We're going to see who turned on the water!"

With cries of purpose, the citizens of our broken town surged to follow us.
*
Like I said, that was three months ago. Now, my wife and I live with Lily in Indianapolis, which is slowly but surely plumping out to what its population once was. Slowly but surely, people are returning to bury the dead, clean the streets of dangerous glass, and wipe buildings clean of blood.

Our saviors were actually several countries who decided to help: Britain, Australia, and New Zealand. United, they are helping us rebuild our country.

It will take years, and we are under no delusions about the amount of effort from all of us it will take.

But for now, Lily, Amber, and I are content.

Besides, we live in an apartment now, so we don't need excuses to not take care of our farmland. That's all any of us could ask for.