I scramble in the opposite direction before one chubby man becomes a whole legion of him hounding after me for flesh blood. Their eyes are milky white and their bodies have grown incredibly pale, but from the distance, they eerily retain a human quality. Like they can still walk, talk, and think the same as us if they wanted to, and that might just be the most frightening thing about these creatures. That they have the ability to blend in if they wanted to.
I’m not sure if we would have any zombies in Gothenburg, but if we did, they would all be destroyed by the time the Swedish winter comes around. And then it would be a silly feverish dream we had and we would laugh about it in years to come. But I’m not in Sweden, and over here they exist. They’re mean, ruthless, and hungry. I can feel and hear the adrenaline pump through my body, my heart palpitate, and my legs grow taut as the brain-thirsty creatures scamper violently after me like underfed creatures.
My eyes meet a beige-colored condominium sitting on a desert lot. There’s a square parking lot in front of it and several people pouring out of it, unaware of the incoming madness. I zoom past a man carrying a luggage bag and I find myself in the dim silence of the condo. I’m alleviated to find that the din of the running zombies has subsided. I pause a minute to catch my breath and then I dash up to the elevator. I hear an enumerated amount of shrieks scrape the air as people start running for their lives. It turns out a few of the zombies have trickled in. The elevator door starts closing just as more and more people start flooding out.
The door leads me to the looming second floor, where I live in room 211 with my mother. When the door rings, I clamber down the corridor and approach our door with utmost alacrity. My mom still has to be inside. She has to be.
I fling the door open and find myself facing a half-lit living room in rather cold temperatures. The AC is still on just as my mother had left it this morning. That would mean…
I look at the time the text messages were sent. 11:00 am. Why were the text messages so delayed then?
“Mom?” I shout into the crippling void. No response. I trek all the way to her bedroom to find it averagely uniform. The same old room mom always sleeps in. Only this time there are scraps of paper lying riled out on the bed cover. I pick up one of the sheets and read it. It’s a letter.
Dear Mrs. Heddlesson,
It has come to our dutiful attention that Mr. Heddlesson has parted from our company in great measure due to an inconvenience of thought. We here at Valhalla Life don’t share the same conjectures and beliefs as Mr. Heddlesson and would therefore prefer to rally behind safe, verifiable scientific methods that serve the community for the greater good. We hope you can pardon this inconvenience and we wish the best for you and your husband.
Yours respectfully,
Hander Larsson
Hander Larsson. That name rings a familiar bell. Hander was dad’s boss at Valhalla Life back when we were still in Gothenburg. Dad never quit, he was fired. And it appears he was fired for some type of dangerous idea that could rock the scientific community. Something that Hander didn’t want going out into the public.
My body starts to shudder. Just thinking about this frightens me. What could this idea have been?
I notice a laptop is open on mom’s desk. I take a squint at the screen.
Dear Hander Larsson,
You don’t need to worry about it. Andervaal is dead.
Yours sincerely,
Astrid Heddlesson
What? No, I don’t want to believe it. Dad can’t be dead. Who could’ve killed him? It can’t be true.
I hear a deep groaning sound behind me and I recognize that familiar shape under that haggard complexion and milky eyes. My zombie mother stares witheringly at me and reaches her hand to scratch me. I smash the laptop into her head and run out the door. I keep running until I made it to the lobby of the condo. I grab whatever bags and snacks I can find straying on the floor and I make my exigency.
Twilight has fallen and the pink wispy clouds seem to scrape under the violent purple sky. The streets are chaos because I can still hear the manic screaming and impatient car horns blaring into the night. I’ve been walking for about an hour now, and yet I don’t feel. It feels refreshing actually. Up ahead I come across a sign that reads The X Zone and I follow the arrow that points to my right.
I end up treading over a hill and then descending behind a taco restaurant in the downtown area. I keep on walking, past the stadium, the museum, and several banks until I’m in the center of the city. Then I see the same sign again. The X Zone. I trail straight ahead in the direction the arrow points until I finally see it, completely shrouded behind the pair of glassy skyscrapers.
The X Zone isn’t some mysterious camp or killing zone like I thought it was. I notice the many kids that are standing there. Too many to count.
The X Zone, as it turns out, is a gigantic mall.
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