Musical Hordes

Musical Hordes

Music is the only thing left that separates us from the hordes of walking dead that walk outside our hideouts. As you can imagine, music has gotten very expensive, with no factories left to produce CDs. Even more expensive still considering the latest "studies" (conducted by the remaining people on this world), these studies show that depending on the infected individual, certain music will subdue them. Personally, I don't believe this. I just believe music is what separates us—they can't make music, they're brain-dead. The goal for survivors is to have the largest music collection possible. Even those with massive music collections were forced to leave their music at home in their trek to safety areas. I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

My name is Jack. The world isn't what it was. No one knows exactly how it happened, but it did. A massive disease was unleashed on the world causing the infected to become sick within about fifteen minutes (sometimes even in a matter of seconds), expire, then reanimate with an insatiable hunger for their loved ones' (or any other humans, for that matter) flesh. Anyone who is bitten becomes infected and death is imminent—this will account for the large suicide rate at the beginning of the outbreak. Imagine bodies swinging from trees. Imagine the infected feasting on these bodies only a short time later. It was gruesome. All that remain are those, like myself; fighters, like my now deceased girlfriend. We took everything in stride, making the best of a bad situation and migrating to less populated areas, which was the best move for anyone at the start of the outbreak. It hardly makes a difference now, the undead are everywhere. Corpses litter the ground, ghouls feast everywhere.

These thoughts of the past bring me further back. Back to before the disease came. We were more than just your average couple, we were best friends too. Her name was Tovi, I looked it up once, it means beloved. This was a nickname she had gotten from her grandmother as a child, it just stuck. Her actual name, we joked, was hideous; Winifred. Call her Winny, she’d kill you. It was Tovi, not Winny, not Winifred—sometimes Fred, but never Winny or Winifred.

We went to shows together, saw all the underground punk bands together, lived off booze, coffee, music, and cigarettes (together of course). She was everything. Neither of us believed in marriage, though we pretty much were married, all legal and religious matters aside. We lived together and had for about four years. We spent every moment we weren’t working together. I’m assured I won’t love again, half due to this disease, the other half due to…well, losing my other half.

We came from New York City, as the bloodbath was beginning to spread nationwide. As you can imagine, New York was hit pretty hard by the outbreak. I'm not sure how we made it out alive. One must be willing to break the law if they seek to save themselves—but with hardly anyone left to enforce the law, it was no longer an issue. What could they do to us? Lock us in a cell? Communication on a large scale exists only through radio, the justice system no longer exists. The world has disbanded. It is anarchy.

I couldn’t save her, and it always replayed in my mind like a bad earworm on the radio. We had stopped for gas outside of Andover, Kansas and that was where it happened. I didn't really see, but she went inside the general store to stock up on supplies, everything changed in that moment. A piercing shriek and she was running out the door with ghouls on her trail, she was bleeding uncontrollably, so much so, I couldn't even see from where. I grabbed my shotgun and shot the ghouls. It all happened so fast. I realized she had multiple wounds on her, and she just closed her eyes and nodded her head. I told her I loved her and... All I remember is the sound of the gun going off. I killed her to spare her from the fate her body would face due to the infection. That doesn't make it much better. Numb and alone, I pressed on without her; headed west, where it was rumored to be safe. I live with this every day.

When she died, I took possession of her CDs to remember her by. This was before the rumors about music being able to subdue the infected came about. She was into Johnny Cash, big time. We were punks, but we loved music in general. She had three CDs in the car: The Clash, The Buzzcocks, and Johnny Cash Greatest Hits.

Most humans believe only they feel in the way they do, that no one could understand a broken heart, the pain is so severe... No, I now believe we all feel the same in this world. Hopeless, broken, alone, numb. If you love, you will lose. There are no exceptions; there is no oasis of happiness to be found. Traveling alone is the only way. Abandoning all you love. Cellphones, telephones, internet, we have none of that now, no electricity either. As for running water, you take your chances it could be contaminated, or you can take the time to purify it yourself. It takes people to run the cleanup plants, considering there are no people left... Well, you get it. We are all thieves, drinking bottled water and old soda, listening to the radio.

Alone, I sit here in some desolate shack (a cleaned up general store), God knows where (Utah? Nevada? Arizona? Somewhere west?), I was lost long ago. Dirty sunlight streaming in from the cracks between metal gates pulled down over the windows. The groaning outside of the undead has become the soundtrack to my life. The smell is ungodly. There are no birds, just the dead that roam, consuming everything in their path. So, I'm here, reflecting to myself... Talking to myself. Damned near insane from all the infected I've slaughtered. Insane from murdering my own girlfriend. I have a collection of thirty-seven CDs (including Tovi’s) and tapes now, ranging from goth industrial to rock, metal, country, and blues. Most CDs I have stolen off the dead I have encountered. I have my radio/CD/Tape player, listening to people talk all day, debating on stupid issues—how did the virus start? How can we build our society?

I hardly think those things matter. The only thing that caught my attention was the music thing. Music always kept me sane anyway, I sit with headphones and barred doors. Listening to her CDs over and over, remembering things about her. Like her laugh, and the way her nose crinkled. How she hated ketchup. How she looked painfully like a punk rock version of her mother. I remember her voice and how I want so badly to hear it again.

I have a communication device, but it won’t reach her. Walky-Talkies with channels. I met a friend that lives a few miles north of here: Tony. I speak to him every day. He says he knows where I am by the description of the place I’ve given him through our many conversations. I haven't heard much from Tony today. He's a little late with checking in. I've been concerned. Who wouldn't be? In a world like this? It's disgusting. A horror movie turned real life. The last war of man.

I'm interrupted from my thoughts by a loud knock on the door. I can't say I'm not freaked out. I put on my Johnny Cash CD and unplug my headphones (just in case, you know?). It's been strange, I haven't heard too much groaning outside today. I peek out, and there is a dirty, bigger man, about my age (twenty-seven), standing outside, beating on the door, frantically. There are ghouls catching up. He's covered in blood, I can’t tell if he’s bleeding, he does look a little sick though. Hard to tell if it's THE infection, or just sick with fear.

"It's Tony, dude! Let me in! LET ME IN!"

I don’t have time to think, I let him in. I can’t live with any more blood on my hands.

Playing in the background, "Walk the Line," one of Cash’s most famous songs plays. Gotta love greatest hits CDs. I can't tell if letting him in is a fatal mistake, but he's my friend. I can't just leave him out there. He vomits on the floor.

"Oh! Gross, dude! That's nasty!" I cover my nose and mouth in disgust.

I take a few steps back, as I hear him groan. I have just realized, the hoard of zombies outside isn't even my biggest problem. I made a mistake. The ghouls outside have caught up and are breaking the glass windows and doors. Unable to pull the gates back down, I’m trapped. A horrible mistake. He lurches for me. The music isn’t subduing anything, it was all just false hope. I take another step back, bumping into the CD player. The CD begins to skip wildly. I know it's over... I just know. I grab my shotgun before Tony can overpower me. He's a big guy. I know he can. Anyways, if he can't there are more ghouls coming in.

The last thing I hear, over and over again is that rhythmic guitar, and "mine-walk...-skip-walk-skip-mine-skip-walk...". Barrel in my mouth, I taste metal... the last thing I see before my vision goes red then fades to nothing... I'm seeing my Tony smiling warmly. Tony says, “Music is life... Music is all we have left. Music and you, that’s all I need.” I pull the trigger.