Zoic has made a rather big deal out of her clothing choices. It’s as though she has to assert her equality with me at every opportunity or the goddess Feminista will come down and smite her for lacking in vigilance. I get that she’s not interested in playing the role of the helpless woman, and believe me, that’s the last thing I want her to do anyway, but it gets a bit tiring. Not to mention, she didn’t like any of my costume suggestions. Granted, we found most of them in a suburban porn closet, but I know she would have looked good in them. As for fighting the infection in my underwear, I only did that once. It was… liberating. But the risks are just too high. And anyway, what’s fighting zombies in your underwear without a cigar? I’m fresh out.

I am constantly trying to accept the possibility that I might be the last human woman. I hope not. In any case, I am one of the few women left, and I feel obligated to take advantage of the opportunity to define what it is to be female. I haven’t decided what that means yet. Gender doesn’t really matter anymore. Rok and I both have the main objective of survival. Lots of things have changed about being a typical girl. I can’t say I ever was one, but I’ve had to change a lot of my old “feminine” habits. For one thing, clothes that look attractive have completely given way to clothes that will keep you from dying or worse. Living in Arizona, there is a constant struggle between wearing clothes that are light and sparse enough to keep you cool and clothes that offer a lot of coverage in case a Zombie tries to take a bite out of you. I usually compromise with tank tops and pants with the added protection of high leather boots to protect my feet and shins and longarm fireplace gloves. I miss dresses and skirts, but the less skin you show the better. Rok’s a completely different matter. He would probably shoot zombies in his boxers. He’s not as worried about getting bit as I am, but I’m a bit more paranoid about it. It’s really not as big a threat as one would think. They’re slow enough now that you can just kick or punch them away if they get too close.
Another issue that comes up in regards to my sex, is my relationship with Rok. He’s not the worst last man on Earth. He’s never said anything directly, but who wouldn’t be thinking about it under the circumstances, (he told you about the condom thing right?) and even though he’s really sweet, and even though he’s reading this over my shoulder, I’d turn him down. Don’t get me wrong, the apocalypse makes you horny. There’s no way of getting around it. That thing they say about near death experiences is true. Nothing is more life affirming than getting it on, but in every damn horror or sci-fi film, the girl’s first inclination is to run into the arms of the man for protection and inevitably a good shag. I’m changing that on both accounts. If not for anyone else, just for my own knowledge that I’m changing the role of the apocalypse woman first hand.

The virus seems to affect everyone differently. I’ve mentioned briefly how some people who turned maintained a degree of brain function after death. Some were faster and other slower, though the faster ones seem to have burned out and moved the excitement level of the apocalypse from yellow to green. Others never really turned. They shut off, and never turned back on again. These are some of the most mysterious findings. It also brings into question how the infection is spread, if it is indeed an infection. Some people just froze. Their homes remain an example of how life used to be lived. The reanimated dead seem to ignore them and leave their things alone. Zoic and I once found an entire family, motionless for weeks, sitting at their dinner table. It’s odd how the infection seems to have preserved their bodies. What should be a month or more of decomposition seems like nothing has phased them at all. We keep an eye on them, just to make sure they don’t decide to get up. They seem pretty dead, though.

I feel like this blog has done little but provide the sense that someone else is out there to any potential readers, so perhaps it’s time to do something useful. Say you’re an out-of-towner. You decide to yourself, “Phoenix sounds like a lovely place to try and restore civilization. I think I’ll head out there.” There’s some things you should know.

• The zombies are slow and spread out. But you have to keep a low profile or they will find you. You can practically hide right in front of them if you really try.
• Every large building was at one point a survival effort. Approach with caution.
• The summers are hot and the winters are a bit chilly. That bullshit about hundred degree changes over night is offensive.
• Stay Hydrated
• Don’t die
• I guess it’s not as complicated as I thought.

I feel like I should take the time to update this even when there’s nothing to update. I guess, at the very least, it’s another sign of life. I could die tomorrow, and at least this would be here. And if I had died this morning, this would not be here. It’s important. Potentially.

Anyway, if you’re out there, know that I do this for you. And my ego. Probably more my ego. I mean, it is a blog, isn’t it?

Scottsdale is as big and unwieldy as Phoenix in most ways. It tapers off to the north in wealthy, deserty subdivisions, but it is much more dense in the south and west, where it borders Phoenix. To say that we drove through it really isn’t specific enough. We started in Old Town, which is where the kitschy Indian art trade really flourishes. We saw some interesting New-Agey undead (there’s probably a joke there, but I’m not thinking of it), and then we immediately started planning a trip to Sedona. (Do the undead behave any differently that close to a vortex?) Mostly, there were a lot of party-goers outside of all of the bars in the area, of which there are many. Then we drove North. We went through the wealthier areas that are surprisingly well known outside of the state. We drove by the malls and residential areas. Truly, it wasn’t that exciting. The bars had some interesting crowds outside of them, but not much else.

I used to have a lot of anxiety before the apocalypse. I’d be lying if it wasn’t the main reason I was hiding in video games when the world ended. On one hand, I’m thankful that my crippling anxiety and fear actually kept me from harm for the first time in my life. On the other hand, I feel cheated out of the last few days of real life on Earth. I didn’t have to see civilization fall, but I don’t know if that makes the experience less tragic. Maybe it’s worse.

You wouldn’t know it, but I grew up in a super Catholic family. I even went to the school with the uniform and everything. I guess you can sort of see the Catholic guilt sort of sticking to me like static cling. It makes me wonder what my family thought of the apocalypse. I don’t think it was an act of God, but I knew a lot of people who would have. I bet there was a lot of “I told you so” going on. Other than an affinity for skirts and knee socks, I cut the Catholic faith out of my life by the time I was a teenager. I was forced to attend mass all through the catholic high school though, and I kept the habit of sort of bargaining with God. There were times that I got so anxious and worried, I couldn’t really do anything for a while. I used to think I would give up everything, my whole life, all my friends, family, school, work, if I could just feel better. I’d go live in a monastery or something, anything. I was actually thinking about that during my video game marathon before the entire world just sort of imploded. I know thoughts don’t work that way, but I felt really guilty for thinking like that. All of the anxiety’s gone now, and I’m happy about it, but I really did have to lose absolutely everything for that to happen.

I was in my basement apartment on the computer for the first few days of the outbreak. The Internet was the last zombie free zone, but I didn’t know that at the time. I spent those days living off some top ramen I had left over from my last semester in college and was really invested in a video game marathon. To be honest, I wasn’t really stuck, as much as just kind of in hiding from the world. In fact, I didn’t even know there was an apocalypse until my friends arrived. From what I heard, there was a fairly impressive hoard in my area, and my at-the-time best friend, David, and two girls I knew in college thought I needed rescuing. They cleared the area, and I hosted them in my basement for a day or two with all the ramen they could eat as an apology. I was in need of supplies, and we made a mobile base camp in David’s car for a while. He had one of those weird vans that you can stick a mattress in the back of. He was really into the gay clubbing scene. Having your apartment parked outside was a plus. We raided a local super and stocked a bag full of essential non-perishables, but we set off what was probably the last alarm in Phoenix and had the entire zombified staff on us. A hoard of cashiers rushed me while I was at the beer freezer which happened to be at the back of the supermarket by the largest double doors. Rotten luck. They ran for the car, but I couldn’t get out fast enough. My friends made it to the car and were being swarmed and had no choice but to go. By the time I got out, they were already gone. I don’t blame them for leaving, but we were drifting apart before then, and I was honestly relieved to be alone again. I made a pretty loud racket taking out the zombies; I hadn’t learned to avoid attracting hordes yet. As dumb luck would have it, Rok was within earshot of me, and he helped me out with some well placed Molotov cocktails. I met Rok in college, but we hadn’t spoken since junior year. I was really very happy to see him, of course. He had a really fantastic arsenal and gave me enough room for an easy escape. We had attracted a pretty big crowd, but we got out fast. We pooled our resources and raided some empty houses until we got up a good base camp. It’s been much easier since we’ve been working together. Everything is pretty touch and go computer-wise, but I think being able to get something out on the Internet will be worthwhile.
Zoic

Another sightseeing day. Zoic and I both have a love for downtown that is both difficult to describe and not entirely justified. It’s the nucleus in the center of a bloated and distended cell membrane. I’d like to say that there was culture there because I know I participated in my fair share of it, but it wasn’t always easy to find. Phoenix never cared much for the arts. People who moved here really loved the kitschy Indian shit (no, it’s not authentic) and the people who were already here were more concerned with what LA was doing, or New York. Mostly LA. I swear, we were a retirement community for former Los Angelinos. The arts we had were cool, but never really got the attention they deserved, nor the chance to grow and develop. So, I’m not entirely surprised by the amount of paint and artistic destruction that we saw. It seems that a small group went out in a blaze of glory and tagged as many buildings as possible. I guess it means that there were living people after the initial infection, but it’s difficult to say how long they lasted or if they’re still around. It’s quiet, though. Except for the low moans of the infection.

The artwork wasn’t anything special. It was probably more along the lines of an apocalypse fantasy, much like the things that Zoic and I have been doing. Nothing was incredibly detailed. It seemed like they might have just run through the streets with spray paint blasting. There was a phoenix painted on one building, though, to be honest, I can’t remember if that was there before.

The infection  was a little denser here, but not much. There was a parking garage between Jefferson and Washington that had more than its share of undead crowded around. There must have been something in there, but we weren’t about to go look. On the off chance that there were people who needed help, Zoic tossed a flaming bottle into the crowd and I sped away. If the fire spreads just right, it might clear out the mob. It’s been so long since the start that there’s likely no one down there anymore. What we’re seeing in the form of a mob is nothing more than a faint echo of past struggles.

We saw what we wanted to. Zoic scanned through the radio stations on the car. Nothing but static, again. Worth a check every once in a while.

In the few weeks that followed the infection, the world was on fire. You wouldn’t notice it now. Most people turned before they had time for any of the anarchy. But that certainly helped with the anarchy. I missed a lot of it. I was floating on the outskirts of town when it all began. I was asking myself the hard questions and trying to determine the direction of my life. You know. Soul Searching. Better known as Time Wasting. Anyway, the infection seemed to answer my questions. I’d like to say that I was lucky, and that my survival is a total fluke, but part of me thinks that I was made for this. Maybe that’s just the way the brain works. The people who had actually planned for an apocalypse found themselves surviving without purpose, and they didn’t last too long that way. If you get depressed, you make mistakes, and you die. I don’t know any of those stories for sure, but I’ve seen the aftermath. Barricaded rooms with nothing but remains, and sometimes the people who didn’t die because of the infection. There’s a certain dignity to those, but they’re not much fun to find. Me, I’ve lived most of my life without purpose. Call me a student of Camus. I certainly tried. Even the good jobs didn’t satisfy. So this suits me, as horrible as that might sound. I hope that if you’re out there, you understand.

When I finally came back into town, most of the real horror had blown over. Most of what I found was remnants. A crashed car here and there. Some traffic that wasn’t moving. Spray paint. Bullet holes. Bodies. Some of them still moving. I don’t remember everything that happened at first. I spent a lot of time alone. I drove for a really long time. I wound up driving through the whole city, I think. I did okay, on my own. Managed to move quickly, and avoid them. I met up with another group for a little while. They were surprised to see me. I had never met any of them before. I did my best to help them, and I think I did a pretty good job, but ultimately, I wasn’t one of them, and when someone needed to stay behind as a diversion, I was elected. Did the best I could at that as well. I was in an alley, and they left me what they could to fend for myself. But the music was loud, and they were certainly coming. I found a strange sense of calm come over me. I wouldn’t call it bravery. Partly, I think I was just happy to be alone again.

They came, but they weren’t as fast as they used to be. Something had changed. I started with the shovel. Gotta have a shovel, right? It broke. My arms were in more pain than they had ever been. Then I used a few other blunt objects from around. They were thinning, but I was exhausted, so I used my last resort. I had a glass bottle, filled with gasoline, and I lit them all on fire. I hit the center of a group of three, and the fire spread. They ran into each other, and soon enough, they were all ablaze. It seems that it actually stops them for a while. They start to get concerned about the fire, and they stop attacking. I think it goes back to Mazlow’s hierarchy of needs. Just before food comes “not being burned-the-fuck-alive.” His words. There was the potential that they would attack me still, but I walked through them all on fire and didn’t run into a single one. I made it through the crowd of them, which just spread the fire from one to another. There was a car parked across the street, and the group that had just abandoned me taught me how to hot wire.

Sometimes, what you expect to be the fight of your life just never comes. I can’t really explain that either, I guess. I think it’s funny sometimes how I was left behind to save them, but I survived, and I have no idea if they did. I can hope.