Kaput

Her eyes burned. Probably exhaustion from the past few sleepless nights. The tears weren’t helping either.

She rifled through her belongings, unartfully dumped in the center of her bedroom floor. No, she corrected herself, his bedroom floor. She was finally leaving him. Years of him insisting to her that blue was actually red, that down was actually up, were finally coming to an end. Too bad the zombie apocalypse got in the way.

It was not your average run-of-the-mill type of zombie apocalypse like in the movies. This zombie apocalypse crept upon them gradually over six months. People weren’t turning into literal flesh-eating monsters, but the so-called “zombies” had lost the inability to give a crap about other people. The loss of empathy appeared to mainly affect men, but also affected some women. Zombies appeared to continue to live their normal lives until someone crossed them, inconvenienced them slightly, or dared to make them angry. It was like regular people had been reduced to their basest, most selfish psychopathic states. And it wasn’t pretty.

The spread of this plague did not appear to be bacterial, viral, or even fungal. Nobody seemed to acquire a loss of empathy through eating another person’s brain. It spread by observing a zombie overreacting, often with violence. The media finally caught on and stopped showing footage of zombies going nuts, but by then, it was far too late. As for the origin of the loss of empathy? It was anyone’s guess, but more than a few people thought that spending too much time in the darkest corners of the internet played a role.

She had been incredibly lucky to live out in the middle of nowhere with a big house. Big pantry, big freezer, big gun safe. Funny that the guns are safe while I’m not. She didn’t really think that was funny after all. She desperately needed to get to Texas, where her sister lived. Her sister was the only remaining family she had, and the only one who would want her back. She had, after all, moved far, far away from everyone who loved her and isolated herself. If she got out now, she could fix this. She could try to fix everything.

He was going to be so angry when he finally came home from work to find her car missing. Although it felt like the literal end of the world for most, what with family members turning into psychopathic zombies, he still went to work every day like nothing had happened. Almost like he’d been living in this dog-eat-dog world his whole life and it was refreshing that other people were finally being honest about it. Some people could cope or even thrive in the tense, frightening new world, but not her.

Her small backpack was quickly filling up. It was time to prioritize and think about what she would need for the 20 hour drive. Fewer stuffed animals and more underwear, she chided herself. Socks will be very useful, especially if the car breaks down or runs out of gas and I have to walk. Things like gasoline had been tightly rationed for the past three months, but she had started a small stockpile and hid the containers in her car’s trunk under a few coats. She would have to be careful on the roads as well – there was no telling how many zombies were out there, like ticking time bombs, ready to explode if someone cut them off in traffic. Daily life had become so stressful now that zombies were everywhere. Oftentimes, zombies were nearly indistinguishable from normal people until they were triggered, and by then, it was often too late. The constant tension and suspense associated with dealing with other people was more than she could bear, so she only went out when absolutely necessary.

Her small wooden jewelry box was at the bottom of the pile. She kept only a few pieces of really nice jewelry given to her by her mom and sister. The whole box probably wouldn’t fit in her bag, but she could fit a few small things. If she encountered robbers, perhaps she could barter safe passage with shiny things. Or they would just steal everything she had, perhaps even take her life. In any case, she didn’t feel right leaving the sentimental stuff behind. One item that held high value to her was a small gold heart-shaped locket, engraved with a dainty hummingbird, that her sister had given to her years ago. It was coated in 14k yellow gold, and the chain had been broken for a long time. She stuffed the locket into her jeans pocket.

The grandfather clock in the parlor chimed ominously. She couldn’t believe it was so late. He would be home soon! She had to go. It was now or never, and hopefully it wasn’t already too late. Scooping her backpack over her shoulders, she rushed downstairs and grabbed the cooler holding her small stash of provisions for the journey. In the garage, she dumped the backpack and cooler into the trunk next to the extra gas cans and shut the trunk door.

She suddenly heard the screeching sound of her husband’s garage door opening and a reflexive smile plastered itself on her face despite the sudden chill in her blood.

His black car slid into the garage and she walked to the front of the car to greet him, frantically trying to come up with a story for why she was in the garage at this hour.

“Hi hon,” he said cheerily, slamming the car door and walking toward her. She got ahold of herself and fixed her smile. Time to channel the perfect, happy, compliant wife.

“Hi babe! How was work? I was thinking about going grocery shopping later,” she said, trying to sound effortless and breezy, which was the opposite of how she felt. Never mind that nobody actually went “shopping” anymore – the armored ration trucks sat outside the empty grocery store distributing food to the long lines of people until they were empty. He always insisted on trying to live as normally as possible, which included pretending that the world hadn’t changed for the worse.

“Sure, make sure to get some chunky peanut butter. Last time, you brought home that crappy stuff. My sandwiches have been awful ever since.” He walked into the house and she lingered, casually opening the garage door for her car so that she could exit in a hurry. She hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but she was beginning to realize she might have no choice.

It dawned on her that she hadn’t responded to him. He didn’t like that. He wanted to know that she was always listening to him, that his words were always important. “Y-yes, of course babe, I’ll get your chunky peanut butter. Can I have some money?” She stood in the huge kitchen across from him, each leaning on respective counters. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, counting off a few bills and handing them to her.

“Thanks babe.” She beamed at him. Always appear grateful. Always tell him how much you appreciate him. “I appreciate you.”

“Of course, honey. Now, I have a few things to get done before dinner. Want to watch a movie later?”

“Sure thing, babe. I’ll go ahead and get those groceries while you’re working.” She felt incredibly lucky tonight and would seize the opportunity to leave.

“Alright, I love you. Come give me a kiss.” He walked towards her and she involuntarily stiffened. Crap!

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s wrong? Why do you seem so… stressed?” He cocked his head slightly, studying her up and down, as if scanning her for irregularities. She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding in her chest.

“Just… just worried I’ll encounter a zombie while I’m out. That’s all.” She exhaled, attempting to release the tension built up in her shoulders. It wasn’t quite a lie, but a half truth was still only half the truth. Half the truth seemed appropriate for the half of a life she had been living.

His expression softened a little and he hugged her tight. Maybe a little too tight.

“You’ll be fine. Just take the gun. You know how to use it to protect yourself. Not that you’re a great shot, but better than nothing. Plus, the armed guards will probably take the sucker out before it can even get near you. And you’ve never been attacked before because you’re so nice!” He smiled a sardonic smile and released her, grabbing his laptop bag. She reflexively returned the smile.

He looked over his shoulder and casually added, “But you should definitely take my car. It’s bigger and safer. Plus, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to all of that gasoline you’ve got hoarded in your trunk, right?”

Her stomach dropped and her smile froze on her face. How did he know about the gas?! Was he watching her? Was he checking her car? She had been so careful. What was she even going to say to that?

She decided to try to laugh it off. “Okay, sure, will do babe. Love you!” She turned back to the garage door, fighting the urge to run. Okay, for real now, it’s time to go. To her relief, he walked in the opposite direction toward his office. He didn’t know that she was planning on leaving. Of course, she told herself. He couldn’t know.

Once in the garage, she jumped into her own car and started the ignition. Backing out as smoothly but as quickly as possible, the seconds felt like minutes and she paused for a moment to make sure he wasn’t coming after her. The coast was clear! She headed down the long driveway towards the gate with the sound of blood pumping in her ears. Time to go west. Time to go home.

A loud BANG interrupted her thoughts. Her driver’s side mirror exploded. Horrified, she glanced in the rearview mirror to see her husband with his rifle, already taking aim again at her within her car. I knew he wouldn’t let me leave so easily, but I didn’t know he would try to take me out! Even then, she wasn’t sure she was being completely honest with herself.

She sped toward the open gate, shots ricocheting off her car, the gate pillars, and trees. He was going to kill her. She would never make it.

Suddenly, a large, lumbering form blocked the driveway ahead. The neighbor! He was holding his own rifle and taking aim, but not at her. She recognized the zombie look in his eyes – he must have heard the loud shooting and gotten angry about it, and now he was firing at her husband. She swerved around him, scraping the sides of small trees in the narrow entryway in her attempt to give him a wide berth. She could not believe her luck, again.

The shooting suddenly stopped, and so did she, at the top of the driveway. She dared not look back. What if her husband was hit, was hurt, was dead? He didn’t deserve to die like that. Nobody did, in her opinion. Not even a zombie. But if she didn’t get out now, it was clear that she never would.

She closed her eyes briefly and said a silent goodbye. The worst part is, she thought, he wasn’t even a zombie. He was just born like that -- without empathy. It was almost comical that it took a near collapse of society for her to realize that her husband is, or was, a sociopath. Almost funny, but not quite. She had a long, long drive ahead of her. She patted the comforting weight of the gold locket in her pocket, and turned left, using her turn signal out of sheer habit. Hold on sister, here I come!