Zombie Appreciation Week: A More Personal Introduction

You already know what we have planned for you this week (BRAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIINS!!), but what about our own personal connection with the walking dead? Here you go…

Thea

“They’re coming to get you, Barbara!” – Johnny, Night of the Living Dead

“But I don’t care darling, because I love you, and you’ve got to let me eat your brains.” – Freddy, Return of the Living Dead

Paquita: “Your mother ate my dog!”
Lionel: “Not all of it…” – Dead Alive

Ed: Any zombies out there?
Shaun: Don’t say that!
Ed: What?
Shaun: That!
Ed: What?
Shaun: The zed-word. Don’t say it!
Ed: Why not?
Shaun: Because it’s ridiculous!
Ed: All right… are there any out there, though?
Shaun: I can’t see any. Maybe it’s not as bad as all that.
Shaun: Oh, no, there they are. – Shaun of the Dead

I love zombies. Really, who doesn’t? The gore, the guts, the ugly look at humanity stripped bare of its rules and safeguards…what else could you ask for in a book or film? I’ve been in love with zombies since I was a young teenager and watched Night of the Living Dead on cable for the first time (coincidentally, this is right around the time I saw the Evil Dead films). From there, I watched the other Romero classics, then anything else I could get my greedy paws on–from the gritty ‘serious’ films that use zombies as a metaphor for our own animal nature (the aforementioned Romero films), to the downright silly (Return of the Living Dead or the more recent Shaun of the Dead) and the deliciously gory (Dead Alive). Then there were the video games (how many times did I play House of the Dead in my local arcade?), then the books, then the comics. I have zombie dreams in which I fashion weapons out of assorted household items…needless to say, it is an obsession. **A note: I’m a zombie “purist”. I like the decaying, slow, shambling variety as opposed to the new superfast, talking, demonic variety. All cards on the table.**

With the resurgence in the popularity of the undead, and with a number of new titles coming out in new movies and fiction, I’m happy as a zombie locked in a bunker with unsuspecting human victims.

Ana
“I love zombies. Really, who doesn’t?” Thea

*raises hand* eerrr…I don’t?

It should come as no surprise that I am the least horror-inclined of the Smugglers duo (to put it mildly) and I can say with absolutely certainty that the amount of thought I have given to zombies over the years is close to … none. As a child I always avoided horror movies and the such and it hasn’t changed much in my adult life. I think I have had one encounter with a Zombie movie to which I went willingly and came away feeling good about and that was Shaun of the Dead, obviously. But come on, that was a comedy and it had Simon Pegg and Nick Frost and Don’t Stop me Now by Queen.

But that was only until very recently (Read: until I met Thea). It is impossible to survive an encounter with Thea unscathed and ever since we started The Book Smugglers I have found myself somehow (I suspect voodoo) agreeing to watch Evil dead marathons (and damn me, enjoying it), reading Marvel Zombies (and damn me, enjoying it even more) and finally, watching these famous Romero movies that Thea has been going on about for AGEEEEEES now and lo and behold, to my surprise: I am a fan. I still don’t love Zombies, mind you and if I start dreaming about zombies I will be the one taking on voodoo ( make Thea read Historical Romances for a month non-stop. Ha. That’ll teach her) .

And, just in case–you can never be too careful–here are our emergency plans, should the zombie apocalypse occur.

Thea’s Zombie Escape Plan
(Assuming the Apocalypse occurs and I am in my apartment)

I’m lucky enough to live on the top floor of my apartment building, and my unit can only be accessed via a single flight of stairs ending at my doorstep. So, it’s Z-Day. First thing I do once I notice some shambling brain-munchers outside is immediately take my handy power drill (it’s always charged) and unscrew the iron siding of my staircase in an attempt to disconnect the stairs from my front door. Once that’s accomplished (or even if it is a fruitless task), I lock the front door (which, by the way is incredibly sturdy, I know from experience having been locked out recently) and barricade it and my front hallway with my dresser and other assorted furniture. Next, I fill both bathtubs and my sink with water (in case of a longer siege and considering how fragile our infrastructure is, I’ll need all the water I can get), also trying to bottle and save as much liquid as I can get. I get my handy baseball bat and any other melee weapons (table legs, lamp stands, golf clubs) and keep them handy…and I settle in for as long as I can–at least until the initial chaos ends. I keep the battery powered boombox handy, and I wait for further instructions. After the initial chaos runs its course, I evaluate my options (and how busy the street is with corpsicles). I am one block away from a local high school (you might recognize it from Buffy and other movies), and two blocks away from a national guard and army training facility. Using my handy ladder, my exit route is through the bedroom window, down three stories to the ground (in a pinch, I could probably chance a jump) then running, baseball bat in hand, for the car in the gated garage…or if worse comes to worst, running the streets to get to the army facility. If it’s abandoned, or a zombie haven, or if the facility is full of d-bags as in almost all zombie films and literature, I double back to the school (which is gated, mind you) and hole up or gather supplies depending on how dire the situation is….and then, it’s back to the waiting game. Eventually I might make a stab for the Getty (elevated position, great art, possibility of growing stuff off the land, etc) should things stay hairy.

The Getty Center

At least, that’s the plan. For now. *ninja vanish*

Ana’s Zombie Escape Plan
(Assuming the Apocalypse occurs and I am at my house)
(I cannot believe I am giving this serious consideration.)
(frantically copies Thea’s list for pointers -but what the freaking hell is a boombox?)

I am SO doomed. Because clearly, and you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to see this, the chances of me surviving a zombie apocalypse are …zero.

Plan A) Try to copy Thea’s Plan: Heck, I don’t even know where to start. I guess by making an assessment of my house: ok. It is a two floor, end of terrace with HUGE windows and French doors to the garden, which is pretty open. I mean, I have a fence and all, but it’s low and it’s wooden and it’s not very sturdy. Zombies can jump that. I guess I lose right there right? But the double gazing seems to be quite sturdy and I guess I COULD chop the fence up and use it to barricade the windows and doors? But I have another problem – I don’t have a power drill (*adds to to-buy list*) , so how do I do it? I have zero strength in these arms of mine. So I will just shut the door, use the furniture to barricade myself inside and pray for the best.

I also don’t have any baseballs, golf clubs, or anything I could use as a weapon, DEAR LORD I AM ZOMBIE MEAT. I am writing this and I am starting to freak out. I am looking around at my items of furniture and I don’t have anything that I can break down and make weapons with – can I throw books at the Zombies? Will that stop them?
I consider plan B.

Plan B) Make a desperate dash to the door and try to find Thea and glue myself to her side until the coast is clear. This is so obviously a stupid plan though. How am I going to go from Cambridge, UK to California, USA in a Zombie–Infested world?

I am staring rather dejectedly at my computer when Dear Partner walks into the room and asks what I am doing. I say I am writing an escape plan in case of a zombie apocalypse (he knows better by now than to be surprised at the things I do with my free time, plus he knows Thea) and I ask him what he would do. I kid you not, without a moment’s hesitation, he says: “I would put some make-up on and pretend I am one of them until I feel it’s safe”. I blink and another plan is born.

Plan C) Pretend to be a zombie. But then I wonder– are they really that stupid? Can’t they smell fresh not-dead meat i.e. me? Still, I think this is the best plan. I figure it will at least buy me some time to find an army facility or somewhere where I can get help. Unless someone shoots me in the head, thinking I am one of them, that is. Crap.

I am doomed.

Now you know about our encounters and plans with zombies, how about you? Experiences, escape plans, etc?