Something a Bit Different

I remember when I was twelve, my father and I had just ended Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back. I was seated at my father’s feet while he sat in his chair, watching the final credit roll.  My father asked me to stand up so we could talk.

“Son,” he began, holding my shoulders.  “ I need to educate you about this world we live in.”

I had taken history throughout school, and I could almost predict what he was going to tell me about the Infection.  I believe he was the most informative on the subject, having survived it himself, and being head to the town Watch.

“You know what walkers are, don’t you son?”

I nodded my head furiously.  Biters, walkers, zombies, undead, it didn't matter what you called them.

“They taught us in school, Dad,” I replied.

“Good, what did they say about them?”

“That walkers eat people.  And they will chase us no matter where we go,”

That’s right, son.  A walker never gets tired.  You can run all you want, but they can and will catch you,”

I looked at my father.

“Now, when you see a walker, what do they say for you to do in school?”

“Go find a responsible adult!” I said, proud of my education.

My smile vanished when my father looked at me.

“How old are you, son?” he asked.

“Dad, you know my birthday is next week…”

“How about an early birthday present then?” he stood up.  “Come on,”

I followed him upstairs in our split-level home.  I was told to stop outside my parent’s room, and my father went in.  When he came back out, he was holding a small box.

“You will need to learn how to defend yourself in this world we now live in,” he said.  “And despite what some people may say about kids not being able to defend themselves, you can.  You can kill a walker,”

I looked up at him when he said this.  The box slipped from my hands, the top coming off when it hit the carpeted floor.  I stooped to pick it up, and between the lid and box was a folded knife.  Its silver blade was just visible above the bronze finish of the handle.  I picked everything up, staring at the blade.

“That’s yours son,” my dad said to me, taking the wrapping from my hands.  “I’m going to teach you how to use it.  Because when you’re old enough you’ll have to defend yourself,”

I’m nineteen now, and went off to university.  During high school I joined the Watch alongside my father when I was seventeen.  I killed my first walker with the knife at fifteen.  And I still have the knife.

My dad unloaded the last duffel bag from the SUV on move-in day.  My mother stood by the car with my younger brother and sister, the twins.  After my dad handed me the last bag, She hugged me.

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” I said into her ear.

“Make sure you call us every Sunday,” she said.

I gave my siblings hugs, reassuring them I would be back home soon.  While the rest of the family loaded up in the car, my dad looked at me.

“Do you have everything?” he asked.

“Yep,”

“Knife?”

I instinctively patted my pocket.

“Yessir,”

“Okay son.  Do well,” he embraced me in loving arms.  “Do what you have to,”

I am reflecting upon this now, at my fourth year on campus.  I was still used to walking around at night, patrolling a perimeter around the dorm.  The Watch here was good, but some habits had yet to quit out on me.  When my mind was at ease, I turned back to the residence hall.  It was on the way when I saw something strange a figure other than myself was walking in the yard.  His walk was staggered, jerking right and left.  As it was a week day, I decided it wasn't a drunken student.

My mind clicked after my body swung into action.  My knife was already drawn and ready.  The steel glinted in the moonlight.  The walker moaned, sensing the growing tension in the air.  The sound was low and horrible, making chills run down your spine.  I was going towards it, running towards it.  At fifty yards it spotted me.  I could smell him now.  Dead, rotting flesh.  Ten yards and one could see the black, bloody bile had run down its shirt, shining like my blade.  My body was on autopilot, after some years of experience.  One yard, reaching distance.

My pace didn't slow s thee zombie swung at me with both arms.  I easily ducked them, coming behind the zombie.  I grabbed its hair, jerking its head back and jabbing upwards with the blade.  My knife went into the base of its skull.  The strike wasn't perfect, but the soft cranial bone gave way easily enough, embedding the entire blade in the back of its head.

There was gurgling, then nothing.  I was alone again.  As I removed my blade I checked to see if the walker had landed a lucky shot on me.  Nothing.  My clothes were officially ruined.  But there was nothing I could do about that now.  Maybe a shower.