The Extraordinary Life of Anastasia Richards

15 April 2019

In the time of Amazon deliveries and instant gratification, a simple woman rocked a baby. The baby cooed contentedly, as the rocking chair groaned rhythmically under the slight brunette and her 7-pound infant girl.

The ornate etchings along the back of the wooden chair revealed a melodic pattern. They don't make 'em like that anymore. The chair had belonged to Grace’s mother. She had rocked Grace just like this, some 30 years earlier, humming because her voice was “too plain for song.” Grace, however, had a set of pipes to rival the angels themselves.

Just now, Grace was crooning a beautiful rendition of 'somewhere over the rainbow' to her tiny Anastasia while rocking and twirling her daughter’s tiny curls around her slim fingers. Anasta squinted almond-shaped brown eyes at the glimmering locket nestled in the hollow of her mother's milk-white throat. Grace’s chestnut hair tumbled elegantly down to cover the shining chunk of metal. Anasta was at peace staring at the shiny bauble, blissfully unaware that one day it would cost her everything...

As Anasta slept, Grace fingered the locket on which her baby had been so fixated. It was a simple gold heart on a simple gold chain. The only intriguing feature it had was a small hole in the side. Grace had wondered if it opened. As she put her sweet daughter gently into the crib, Grace made up her mind to open the locket—if it was, in fact, a locket. She rummaged in her sewing drawer until she found a pin and pushed the sharp tip into the locket. Her breath caught; she heard the click.

Today

Anasta skittered around the corner, her grip tightening on the package under her arm. The hounds were after her again. Without so much as slowing down, she shook a few pieces of her scarce jerky supply loose from her pocket, threw them over her shoulder, and sped forward. She didn't bother to look back. They were as starved as she. She reached a familiar brick in the wall two blocks later and punched it while sliding sideways into the opening panel. She kicked at the brick with her outstretched foot and barely caught it as she tumbled into a clumsy roll—end over end—landing with an oomph! in the middle of the room.

There she lay, still clutching the package, her breathing began to normalize and her heart beat slowing. She closed her eyes, purposedly slowing her breathing further. Life sucks, she thought grimly. The events all happened so fast and, yet, it had been this way her entire life—and she was only 24.

The global pandemic swept nations. Its origins were discovered too late: bio weapons created by one world power to destroy others. It had backfired—millions dead. The cure was a grand punishment to humanity for attempting with such arrogance to take the place of God himself. Billions more had perished and many of those remaining were the "conspiracy theorists" who refused “jabs” because they didn't trust the sheer experimental nature of the thing!

Then, government officials all dead, the zombies came. Everyone thought the CDC’s website zombie warning was a joke. It wasn’t.

Military officers took power, making the decision to open gargantuan military bases neatly tucked into various Colorado mountains. The first 48,000 would be allowed in. Once the doors closed, they would remain closed for 20 years—set on a time lock, the override code destroyed. All dozen automated bay doors closed simultaneously at 2100 on March 22, 2022. Anasta was 3 years old.

With each bunker holding approximately 4,000 people, chaos and commotion ensued—in fact, a stable routine took over a year to establish. In that initial calamity, Anasta was swept into a sea of individuals and away from her mother.

At Anasta’s terrified wails, a neighboring woman swept Anasta into her arms and attempted to console the hysterical girl.

“Hush, my love, your mama is here somewhere. We’ll find her,” the woman consoled in a calming repetition. Anasta found herself dozing, having cried herself out, as they made the long, rhythmic trek into unit 187.

Curiously, they never found Anasta’s mother. It was a mystery, and most supposed that Grace simply hadn’t made it before the doors closed. Anasta knew better—she’d been holding her mother’s hand when the door closed. No one would listen to her.

What Anasta would never know was that Grace was one of the first to die (attacked by a man-turned-zombie who had just died of a heart attack and come back as something worse than a fast-food addict). She had been shot in the head with an arrow and her zombified body was rotting in one of the jail cells at the far end of the bunker. It was kept quiet so as to not incite panic. The bodies would be cremated later on, after someone was bestowed with the hellish job of burning bodies.

The bunkers were well equipped with generators, food, water, and other necessary survival supplies. If they were careful, it should last more than the 20 years they’d be inside. There were two main problems the bunker wasn’t equipped to handle: jailing criminals and imprisoning zombies. The bunker in itself was a giant panic room—it wasn’t expected that a threat would come from within.

The two problems occurred almost simultaneously—as the zombies started to attack the outer core of the bunker, zombies began to turn inside. Anyone who died of natural or unnatural causes came back to life as a zombie. If they bit someone…well, zombie begets zombie, after all.

During this time, some guys in Unit 187 plotted to steal a large portion of the food supply. Unfortunately, in their heist attempt, one was bitten by a zombie and he, in turn, bit his fellow thieves. They managed, between the 7 of them, to destroy almost half of the supplies. This put a damper on things, as rationing became even tighter.

Those were tough times. Desperation spread like wildfire through their community. People were angry: they hadn’t come this far to die from zombie bites or starvation. They took up arms against the zombies. The cells in the back filled quickly.

Then came questions: how many zombies were outside? If the survivors did manage to weather the shortage of rations, the stench of the dead and undead clogging their nostrils, and God-only-knows what kind of diseases from bunking with rotting flesh, what kind of world was awaiting them on the other side? Dark doesn’t begin to describe that time period. Innumerable survivors committed suicide. Most of those who didn’t commit suicide died from disease, infection, or meager rations. The deaths were bittersweet: every death increased the others’ chances of survival and their level of guilty, simultaneously. How Anasta survived her childhood was a mystery she wasn’t interested in attempting to unravel.

During those dark years, Anasta lost Bernice to illness. She was cremated—Anasta collected the ashes. She made a small cork bottle and put them on the chain with her mother’s locket. Now, Anasta was truly alone. She wished more than anything for peace. She’d wish it on her mother’s locket, as though it were her own personal shooting star.

On that first day, Bernice had found the locket in the girl’s diaper. Grace had hidden it in the folds of disposable diaper layers. The locket had belonged to Grace’s mother. It had been passed on to Grace after her mother died—Grace had fought traffic and arrived five minutes too late. She never got to say goodbye.

Anasta had toyed with the locket so many times over the years. It was a simple gold heart on a simple gold chain. The only intriguing feature it had was a small hole in the side. Anasta had wondered often if it opened, but she didn’t dare try for fear that she was wrong and would therefore break the locket.

Today

Anasta’s doe-colored eyes flew open. Had she fallen asleep? The crinkle of brown paper brought her back to the present. Maybe she’d passed out from malnourishment and dehydration. ‘Not like it’d be the first time,’ she thought irritably. Her stomach growled. Heaving herself off the floor, she maneuvered maze-like hallways until she reached a glowing room, lit only by the light of a dozen candles in various stages of use.

“Meds,” she whispered, pushing them toward the girl in bed.

“Thank you, dear, you’re so good to me,” the girl whispered kindly, a smile around her eyes. Then her eyes fell to the hollow of Anasta’s throat; she frowned.

“Where’s your necklace, dear?”

Anasta’s blood ran cold. She hadn’t dropped it diving into the hideout… had she? She subconsciously grasped at her neck as she turned on her heel and ran to the camera room. She turned back the rewinding knob on the ancient camera system and watched herself slide like some out-of-date baseball player into the hideout. THERE! She tapped the pause button harder than she’d meant to. She rewound the tape and played it back. Her necklace, sure enough, slipping to the ground. Angry tears welled in her eyes as she silently admonished her own stupidity. As she closed her eyes, tears slid down her cheek.

Going out had been a death mission. Going back out in the same day—especially in her weakened condition—was almost certainly a death sentence. She fingered the pieces of jerky in her pocket as she pondered the situation. Without thinking, she counted—4 pieces. Two for her and two for the beasts. Damn.

She chewed her 2 pieces of jerky slowly, attempting to extract all the flavor she could. She poured herself a small cup of water—2 ounces, as allowed by rationing—and sipped it through a series of the tiniest sips she could manage. In this world, you savored every bite, every drink, every breath of clean air.

Feeling as refreshed as she could under the circumstances, Anasta took a deep breath and rose. She had to go back out. She’d never forgive herself if she lost that locket! What was the point of living without it?

With years of stealthy practice, she snuck out into the street. She breathed a small sigh of relief—the beasts were gone by now. The sun was setting—it felt as though it was setting on humanity. This thought saddened her deeply. She was tired—her 24 years of trauma had seemed like 100.

Hope sparked in her heart as her eyes settled on her necklace. What was she doing daydreaming out here? Looking around quickly, she snuck over and bent to pick up the necklace. It glittered in the light of the setting sun as she fingered it fondly. It was a simple gold heart on a simple gold chain. The only intriguing feature it had was a small hole in the side. Immediately, Anasta knew with her whole heart that this locket opened. She was meant to open it. Gripping it in her hand, Anasta placed the other hand on the ground to push herself up. As she did, a crunch sounded loudly in her ears, followed by a searing pain in her head. Screaming, she stumbled, her vision darkening. As she thudded back to the Earth, the locket bounced out of her hand and skimmed the ground. Through the pain, Anasta could see two things simultaneously: a zombie was eating her skull and brain and the locket was laying open near her. Inside, a small parchment was folded, practically stuffed inside! Had her mother written to her? As she rose, knowing nothing but the need to get to that locket, she fell to her knees as another crunch sounded and blood poured down her face.

As the zombie finished his dusk-time snack, he scuttled away, kicking a necklace as he went. It was some simple gold heart on a simple gold chain…