Get Off My L@wn - A Zombie Novel Read Online Free

could not blame them, as
it was a beautiful place far from population centers.
    Denny and Meg were all packed up in their SUV
when I went over there at eight. A Humvee had already come through the
neighborhood announcing that there would be a rally point on U.S. 12 a little
bit east of here for an eight thirty departure over to the airport. The
destination was so close and familiar one had to wonder why an escort might be
needed.
    Denny handed me a tall potted plant wrapped for
protection in a black plastic garbage bag.
    “Thanks, Denny. I’ll bring this up to the
greenhouse,” I said.
    “It’ll do great up there in all that sunshine. We’ve
always envied that greenhouse you’ve got hidden up there.”
    “Are you heading to the airport safe zone?”
    “No, our plans are still Door County. We’re
going to head out now before we get stuck behind the group heading to the
airport.”
    We shook hands. “Well, send us a postcard.”
    “Will do Doug. Take care. Say goodbye to Ruth
Ann for us.”
    Denny and Meg Boetche drove away in their packed
up SUV. We never saw them again. Months later, their SUV was found in the
parking lot of a Comfort Inn off WI 29 near Shawano. The roads near there were
unnavigable later on but when Denny and Meg left, there should have been smooth
sailing. We will never know why they stopped there or what happened to them.
    I brought the plant back to our house and handed
it off to Ruth Ann. She brought it into the kitchen to unwrap it. While
checking my email I called out to Ruth Ann “Is it the oregano or the basil?”
    “What?”
    “Is the plant oregano or basil? Denny said they
had a prize winning crop coming in.”
    “It’s a prize winner alright but I don’t think
it’s oregano or basil. Come here and take a look for yourself.”
    I poked my head into the kitchen to see Ruth Ann
watering what she told me was a fine example of Mendocino Mind Fuck. I wondered
how she knew what variety the plant was. The Berkeley of the Midwest might
belong to the undead but the Mendocino of the Midwest would be alive and well,
and living on my roof.

 
    T he remainder of the day was surreal.
    A new word had been seared into the public’s
consciousness, “horde.” The undead were not solitary creatures. They seemed to
be attracted by whatever attracts one of their colleagues. Like a snowball
rolling downhill they collect more of themselves into bigger and bigger groups.
As they increase in numbers, they become unstoppable. They simply overwhelm any
defense put in their path. In China, hordes were said to number in the hundreds
of thousands and were still growing.
    They were like a plague of locusts leaving
nothing alive as they move through. There was an aerial shot of a horde moving
through the dormitories and factories in Shenzhen. Repetitive metaphors be
damned, they were like a horde of worker ants. Like a tsunami, the force of so
many bodies compressed in small spaces burst windows and caved in storefronts.
They oozed through tight spaces widening gaps until torrents flowed through the
broken and crushed obstacle. After a few minutes of watching, metaphors failed.
A horde was not like anything else.
    At two PM, the Governor declared martial law to
be in effect within the borders of the State Of Wisconsin. As the virus
originated at a research lab at the University of Wisconsin Madison, there has never
been nor likely ever be a more compelling example of the Wisconsin Idea that
says the fruits of the University should have an impact felt across the whole
state.
    The Governor advised all citizens to proceed to
one of several safe zones in the state, a list of which scrolled continuously
at the bottom of the screen. He told us that emergency information would be
broadcast continuously on several AM frequencies. He blessed us, wished us luck
and scurried off to wherever it is that the rich and powerful go when the dead
go walking.
    Throughout the rest of the day, we watched our
neighbors leave one