Wait, What Day Is It? Part 1

Swine flu had started it, and the vaccine had made it worse. At first, tests for the vaccine were inconclusive. I guess it’s because the flu was killing so many people, they just wanted some kind of answer. They didn’t even wait for the test results to come back, and I guess that’s what the problem was. They had a vaccine before in 1980-something, but back then the vaccine made it worse, but that time was kept all hush-hush. The only reason I knew about it was because my grandparents were alive during that time and told me stories.

The swine flu vaccine (which had become known as the Campion cure) had somehow found a way of taking the people who had swine flu and altered the flu somehow. Slowly things started going wrong, and the government wasn’t covering it up like they did in the eighties. News reports and radio stations were all about the new virus that was spreading in Mexico, Europe and Asia, but before the news could even tell us where it was, it was on our doorsteps. You’d look outside and there would be people collapsed on the streets, or looting happening in your neighborhood, and before anyone had a chance to react, that’s when it happened.

People started to change, and everyone knew this was the beginning of the end. The government, being in some of the worst areas of the virus decided to hide. They left us to whatever fate the Campion-virus (C-virus) had in store for us. People rose to the occasion, avid zombie fans who thought taking out a zombie was the same as this, and those people were the first to go. Reports on the news said it was like the movies, except it was happening downtown, or two blocks from your house, or right on your street. You never knew what was happening because the virus spread faster than the media could handle. Humanity started to fall.

The media did tell us certain weaknesses of the C-virus though. A person infected could die the same way as any normal person, accepting the fact that anyone infected was far from “normal”. You could take out the brain, or the heart for quick kills, or the kidneys and liver for slow kills. The infected could bleed out to death and this was where the strong point of the survivors originated. It was just like killing a person, a very, very angry person that wants to kill you or turn you. Whatever, game on.

Throughout the whole start of this ordeal, I stayed glued to the T.V. to find out as much as I could about this virus. Now, I’m no scientist, in fact, I’m the exact opposite pretty much. As a high school drop-out, I didn’t have too much of an education. I made the dumb choice of dropping out in my last semester of grade twelve (school is for douche bags), and followed my dream of becoming a writer, which is probably how I came about writing this.

Like any normal writer, I had my own inspiration, usually coming in the form of marijuana or alcohol. I had been introduced to both at a young age and had picked them up, trying the more “serious” drugs, but not liking them too much. Marijuana was more of a herb than a drug anyways.

Back to the story though. I stayed near the T.V. with two of my close friends, who decided to listen to me for once instead of dive out with the rest of the appointed zombie hunters and become a meal, and I guess that’s what saved them (yay me). We all decided to write what was happening and save it all to different websites, the hard drives, and any news website we could hack. This worked well. People like us from around the globe were responding asking for help, and that’s what we did for the first three weeks of infection.

Our house was boarded up and made impenetrable on the complete first and second story, while the third story served not only as a sniper post (guns only included my two crappy .22s and one .308), but also a means to contact anyone who might be flying, as we had access to the roof. Infected weren’t really around this side of the city because no one really lived in this part. The south end was made entirely of three apartment buildings and a small suburb thirty minutes walk from my station. As a normal house full of stoners, with no government, a house full of machetes, bowie knives, three guns, and a seemingly infinite supply of crossbow arrows (of course with functional crossbows), we decided to grow our own marijuana and hunt the infected while having fun.

The third floor had one way of getting out of the house and that was a rope ladder that was pulled up unless one of us was out. We never really had to leave because all three of us were getting ready for this outbreak to happen to begin with. We had stocked up on canned goods and bottled water long enough to last us a month, maybe more without having to leave at all, but a grocery store was only fifteen minutes drive if we needed anything. We were ready for this before it was even going to happen.

***

“Dude, pass me the bong,” I end up croaking after taking a huge popper. My ass was grass.

Jon dropped his right arm lazily, obviously feeling the effect of our home-grown brew and passed me the three foot –tall purple bong known only as Purple Fury. I blew out my large inhale, tossed another pre-packed popper into the shaft and squeezed another one into my lungs, automatically feeling a head rush as I heard the familiar ‘pop’.

As I blew out the cloud of smoke (which added to the slightly hotboxed room) I ended up asking, “Where’s Keenan at? I thought he wanted a popper or a BT.”

“I think he’s on the post. Fuck him dude, pass me his poppers, I wanna feel the burn.”

This is how we usually kicked off eight o’clock in the morning. Although Keenan was an avid sniper (probably the best out of us three), he was also a talented stoner. Things about weed that Jon and I didn’t know, he did.

Cracks from the .22 were heard upstairs, making both Jon and I jump, but that pretty much confirmed what Jon had said. Keenan always woke up at the crack of dawn to do some sniping while smoking a joint or blunt. He was getting predictable.

Jon passed me Purple Fury as he finished taking a huge popper, most of the chamber had been left for me, which I took professionally. We grew up together basically. I had moved into Barrie when I was fourteen, meeting Jon that same year as he lived on my street. We hit it off, becoming great friends. Keenan had almost the same story as Jon and I. We all used to live close together before Keenan moved to the south end. Eventually when I moved out from my parent’s house, I came to the south end as well, formulating a plan for both Keenan and Jon to move in with me.

Keenan then came thumping down the stairs, still dressed in his plaid pajamas but sporting the .22 rifle on his shoulder. Jon and I both acknowledged his presence with a head nod.

“Fuck dude, where’s my poppers,” of course he said while looking at me. I just held my hands up in defense, motioning with my head towards Jon, who was lighting up another one of Keenan’s poppers. Jon followed up with a short sheepish smile and continued sparking his bowl.