Paul & Phil, 28

II.

“Do we have an exit strategy?” asked Paul, some time later over their umpteenth meal of spaghetti bolognaise.
“To be completely honest, no. I always thought we would just travel during the day so we can see them coming and all that. If they get too thick, we’ll climb something or go up some stairs.” answered Phil.
“Works for me.” said Paul.
He paused, then said, “You know, this is going to sound a little weird I’m sure, but, since all this happened, do you feel that things have…well…simplified a bit?”
“Oh absolutely,” responded Phil, “ think about it, we don’t have jobs or obligations or anything like them anymore. We have to stay alive and that’s pretty much all that’s required of us.”
“It’s very freeing, isn’t it?” asked Paul.
“Very. The stakes are higher, but the rules are simpler.” answered Phil.
They continued to eat in silence for a bit.
“You know, I was always curious how the whole power situation would go down during a zombie apocalypse. It’s weird that we still have power but we don’t have cable or phone service.” said Paul.
“How is that weird?” asked Phil.
“I don’t know. When you hear ‘zombie apocalypse’ do you think of power and running water and all that? Do you think, ‘oh, can’t text or check my e-mail, zombie apocalypse’? No, it’s all screaming and dying and dogs and cats living together…MASS HYSTERIA!”
Phil smiled, “True.”
“I thought for a moment that it was because there’s no reason for zombies to seek out power stations and fuck with them, but then again, there’s no reason for them to seek out anything else either, right? So why do we have power and water but no phones or cable?”
“Good question. Maybe since power is more of a priority, some disaster protocol was set in place? I mean, so much of our Internet is in Atlanta, but this might just be a problem with our local Time Warner place, you know?”
“Yeah. I’m glad this happened with Obama in the driver’s seat.”
“You think he has some sort of zombie apocalypse contingency plan?”
“Maybe. From what I hear he’s smart as fuck. I’m just saying that Bush would have just nuked everything in the name of his asshole Texan God probably.”
“Probably. One thing I am 100% certain about is that I’m happy these aren’t 28 Days Later zombies.”
“Fucking shit, yes! We wouldn’t last a week.” replied Paul.
“Anyway, as far as an exit strategy, not really sure. We should remember to take World War Z and the survival guide with us.” said Phil.
“Definitely. Ha. I wonder what Max Brooks thinks of all this shit. Do you think he’s as surprised as everyone else or do you think he’s feeling sort of smug?”
“I think it would take a major asshole to feel smug about something like this.”
“True, but think of everyone who said something like, ‘Oh, how’s the zombie book coming along! Yeah, that’s reeeal useful! Stupid kike!’”
“Why throw in the racial epithet?” asked Phil.
“Because deep down the person saying it knew that what Brooks was doing was right on and would not only sell millions of copies, but would also become utterly indispensable and be utilized by most of the literate human race as the sole guide to not being eaten by the risen dead before long.”
“I’ll accept that.” answered Phil in a neutral tone. “Although I think the point is moot. This guy is the son of Mel Brooks. The guy who wrote Spaceballs. I don’t know how seriously he took all this stuff.”
“Probably a bit more seriously than we did.”
“Mm.”
“What about weapons?” Paul asked.
“We don’t have anything here, do we?”
“Just some small knives. Are you proficient with anything?”
“Nope. Although I might create a weapon.” said Phil.
“Really? Like what?”
“Okay,” said Phil, leaning forward in his seat and holding his hands up, “I would have a pommel, like the handle of a whip.”
“…okay…” said Paul, a dubious smile growing on his face.
“Attached to the pommel would be eighteen loaded Desert Eagles with fishing line attached to each of the triggers.”
“Safety off.” said Paul, not asking.
“Safety off.” agreed Phil.
“Then, whenever there was trouble, I’d swing them over my head, and when I was ready, just jerk the whip handle, triggering all eighteen guns at once.” he looked at Paul, “What do you think?”
“Sounds good, but we only have sixteen Desert Eagles.”
“Oh, well then forget it.” said Phil abruptly.
“Maybe next time.” said Paul in a comforting voice.
“There might be some tools and stuff in the Superintendent’s place.”
“What’s that thing Brooks says is the ideal weapon?”
“It’s called a ‘trench spike’. They used it in World War One or Two. He says it’s like brass knuckles with a knife on the end.”
“Where in the fuck would we find one of those?”
“Max Brooks’ house?” suggested Paul.
“Probably those other two Desert Eagles as well.”
“Probably.”
“Any idea where he lives?”
“Probably not on the way to B.J.’s.”
“Maybe later then.”
“So when should we leave?” asked Paul.
Just then, all the lights in the apartment flickered, then brightened again, then flickered again, then went out. A few seconds later, there was a loud pop and they came back on again.
“You know, I can’t, with any real conviction, blame that on you…” said Philip, looking around the living room.
“But….?” asked Paul.
“…but I’m going to.” finished Philip.
“Excellent.” said Paul in a satisfied tone. “Shall we pack?”