FICTION

I swam out to my tiny island. At low tide it rises above the Pacific Ocean. It’s my escape from the onshore zombies.

I settled into a pool of water, watching the clouds and ignoring the silent floating buoy. I heard the motor sounds of a large boat approaching . . .

Photo by Moritz Kindler on Unsplash

You there! Out of the water now! I’m taking you into custody for fleeing the United States. You are in violation of the U.S. Zombie statutes.

That’s what I hear over the bullhorn. I stood up and saw the big Coast Guard boat. The sailors had rifles pointed at me. I yelled back, “What? I’m not fleeing anything. I’m just on my daily swim!”

They launched a smaller boat with 4 armed seamen, one a petty officer with sergeant’s stripes. He sneered at me.

You are fleeing the country. You couldn’t return to shore — you can’t see it from here.

I pointed towards the mainland. “I always know my way home.” I started to say more, but I passed out. I later found the two burned spots on my chest where the stun-gun probes hit me. Worse, I was wearing a zombie mask that couldn’t be removed, and my left arm was on fire with what I later learned was the dreaded zombie vaccination.

Photo by Ekaterina Novitskaya on Unsplash

I don’t know where I am now. I’m not feeling myself much anymore. I think I’m in a catacomb and maybe I am smelling the ocean. I don’t think I’ll ever be normal again.