Thus Spake the Zonbi - Alexander Dougal

Hello, Neighbor (Pt. II)

"Everything is going to be okay," I'd said to Gordon's unfortunate announcement, a rather generic response that has helped nobody through anything ever. Alas, the room had grown tense, and I was willingly ignorant in the proper handling of a somber drunk. A better response I could not summon. Besides, words alone would not remedy Gordon's afflictions.

He nodded slowly, unflinching as I patted his shoulder on my way to the door - a gesture I recognized afterward as awkward and probably condescending, like a "there, there, big guy, everything will work out" type of pat. Shilah watched me as I crossed into the hallway, eyes glowing like paunchy fireflies in the darkness. I waved in her direction and she meowed in acknowledgement. 

My apartment was directly next door to my intoxicated friend, so the walk away from tension and into relief was brief. I relaxed into my recliner and pulled on the handle for the footrest, which promptly manipulated my body into the familiar comfort of a levitating obtuse angle. 

How lucky we were. I made a point to remind myself of this in moments like this. I was fortunate enough to relish in the comfort of this chair, fortunate enough to cozy up to Jared Diamond's Collapse - since, evidently, simply existing during a cataclysm did no suffice. Gordon was fortunate enough to have marital concerns that didn't include witnessing his wife's face disappear within the chomping orifice of some undead stranger. I understood his suffering, of course, the sadness building within his being, I'd just hoped that his own recognition of our shared fortune did not become lost within his anguish.

I could hear his voice through the walls. The floor creaked under his heavy steps; there was an urgency in his steps that I could sense in the groans of the hardwood as he hastily paced about - distracting. My attention was uncontrollably divided between the words on the pages before me and trying to interpret the muffled conversation taking place on the other side of my wall. Yes, it was none of my business, but we are curious creatures, are we not? Especially when it's none of our business.

Yep, the book was a lost cause at this point. My mind had wandered off in an attempt to drown out the sound. I'd begun thinking about our current state. There had been no immediate, uncontainable outbreak in our city like there had been in many - if not most - others. We had been granted a grand blessing in the form of "choice" in this inauspicious juncture. Well, "choice" to a certain degree that is. I should say that we were given the opportunity to choose what we believed to be the best of a really bad situation, but a blessing regardless. Certainly more generous than the fates of the majority.

More stomping next door, then the clinking of bottles. His voice had grown louder, harsher, but remained incoherent. The wall no longer acted as a barrier to the tension. His rage was unsettling, and my curiosity had turned to concern, my comfort to discomfort. 

I had chosen to stay put. I'm not entirely certain what the assumed benefit was to fleeing. One cannot escape the inevitable, only prepare for it. Those that chose to stay (such as myself) constructed massive barricades around various blocks all across the city, which essentially became villages in and of themselves. I'd never seen such instantaneous construction. I'm not even positive where most of the material for these walls came from, but they seemingly shot up overnight. Our particular "village", if you will, mostly contained my apartment complex. Apartments made a lot of sense. They can house a lot of people, and in the case of mine, the courtyard could be converted into a large community garden of sorts. There was even a grocery store across the street. There was a lot of potential, and I was especially fortunate to be part of a well-rounded group of people with diverse specializations. My skill was simply faking proficiency in being skilled.

...a knock at my door. It must be Gordon.