1 | How I Survived The Zombie Apocalypse

Rule 3: Beware of the Capybara

July 16th, 2024, Wednesday

Despite his clear contempt and disliking for me (and the fact that he had to be near another human being- gosh, the trauma), Dallas decided to stay the night at the motel. Then, he insisted sternly, he'd be gone before I even woke up.

He was still there when I woke up.

My night in one of the motel's dirty, unhygienic beds had been rough, to say the least. The motel itself was on the brink of collapsing, with crooked sign hanging overhead that read L, because the first four letters had fallen off. It was a sad sight, and inside was even sadder. The rooms were cramped and dark, with damp walls and mold in every corner. It made me want to puke up, but there was no way I would ever enter the revolting bathroom to do so. The bathroom couldn't even be called a bathroom, for all it had was a toilet, which didn't look at all pleasing to shit on, and a sink that definitely hadn't been washed in a good few months.

When we arrived, I took one look and was about to tell Dallas that I hated it and refused to stay there (think of all the diseases I could get?). But I clamped my mouth shut when I remembered that I was the guy who, for the first few days of the apocalypse, had literally lived under a bed.

Dallas barely spoke to me that evening. He unpacked a couple of supplies from the Wrangler, claiming that he'll leave me some more in the morning. Then he and Zombie Rat disappeared to different room without another word (or grunt, in Zombie Rat's case).

I retreated to my own room as well, armed with five bags of potato chips because I felt like I hadn't eaten in days. Actually, I don't think I had.

I lay on my bug-ridden bed for a while, clutching my aching stomach after consuming the chips in less than five minutes. My throat still burned from choking on a couple. I craned my neck to see out the tiny window but that was no use. The window was too caked in grime to see anything out of it.

"I should go to sleep," I muttered to myself, turning onto my side and gazing at the peeling beige wallpaper.

Good idea, replied my brain. Go get undressed now.

I got changed into a fresh t-shirt and pulled off my ruined jeans. When we arrived at the motel, I had found a bucket and a water pump and used that to wash myself as best as possible. The worst of the blood, mud and zombie guts were gone and I felt much cleaner. But my hair was still matted and greasy and I most definitely still looked like the undead.

I snuggled down into bed after taking a quick piss (in a piss bottle because I refused to use the motel's repulsive toilet). I sighed and closed my eyes.

Okay, now to sleep, mumbled my brain. How do you sleep again? Oh, yeah. Close your eyes and count sheep. Why does that work, though? I mean, there are literally no sheep so how am I supposed to count them? Oh, my God. Do you want me to use my imagination?

"Be quiet, brain," I hissed, squeezing my eyes shut tighter. "I'm trying to sleep."

Right, of course, said my brain. Sorry. Go to sleep now.

I pulled the thin blankets round me, ignoring the the fact that I saw a spider crawling over them earlier (don't worry, I'm not a psychopath. I ran out the room and got Dallas to dispose of it. He dangled it in front of my face first, before chucking it out the window).

Just as I was about to drift off, my brain said, What is sleep anyway?

I groaned.

I mean, how come our bodies just shut down and time seems to stop? It's so weird and unsettling when you think about it. We're literally paralysed for hours on end, unable to see, unable to hear, completely unaware of the passage of time or any of our surroundings. Someone could literally murder us in our sleep and we wouldn't even know. Holy shit. Can you imagine closing your eyes and never opening them again? That's hella scary, bro.