There were great philosophers that questioned our existence
in the world. Whether we actually existed and were not some elaborate illusion
in someone else’s dream. What one philosopher finally decided was “I think,
therefore I am.” Descartes said that. At least I think he did.
It is quite hard to think about this, ride a bike, and try
to ignore that two beasts took bites out of your leg and shoulder. But the
point is that pain is an illusion. Just like Descartes thought his way into
existence, I will think myself out of the pain. The new philosophy of the
apocalypse, at least for myself: “I think I don’t feel it, therefore it doesn’t
hurt.” Ah what a laugh.
I can still feel them; their sharp animalistic nails ripping
my clothes to access the tender and juicy flesh hidden beneath. Getting bitten
by an animal is one thing. It feels different. A savage beast either defending
itself or hunting you. While you may hate it afterwards you also know that the
animal was acting on instinct. When an infected bites you, it feels like an
affront to your humanity. You can feel the difference in the bite. No
pronounced canines of a carnivore but a more even spread of pressure that
increases finally becoming a jarring tearing motion, the teeth lacking the
proper ability to tear the flesh through sharpness alone. But the most
disgusting thing is looking at the wound after. Because it doesn’t look like an
animal attacked you it looks like you could have done this to yourself.
But they are animals in human form. They disgust me. I have
no love for killing. And in the beginning I used to hesitate. The infected
looked so lethargic and uncaring until they are in biting distance, especially
at the early stages of the sickness. But especially now, I do not wait. Nor do
I relish in the killing. If a healthy person was to confront me now and I had
to choose to take their life or them to take mine, I would willingly give
myself. Who wants to live in an abandoned wasteland, populated by seemingly
cannibalistic creatures?
No. That is the blood loss distorting my thoughts. Spotting
a flipped ambulance on the side of the road I coasted to a halt. Either the
blood loss or my apathy towards my own survival led to a less then secure
search of the vicinity. I opted for the more direct: scavenge what medical
supplies I can, hunker down for the night, and tend to my wounds.
And sleep, blissful sleep.
Sweat and pain is the best alarm clock. That is what woke
me. My forehead was an ocean of perspiration, the concave area of my chest the
inland wading pool for all the little children. And the odor of rotting meat;
the smell was almost reminiscent of the dumpster outside the old Chinese carry
out place on Lincoln Street back home. Finally discovering that the awful smell
is coming forth in choking quantities from my leg my mind clears.
Infection!
But thankfully not the mind destroying cannibalistic type of
infection, but the “honey you got dirt in your cut” kind of infection your
mother explained to you as a child. Ironic, an infection from the Infected. I
guess it’s not that ironic. They do often eat the dead and get all those
associated germs in their mouths.
“IN ITS GREAT GENEROSITY, THE MIGHTY AMBULANCE, I WILL USE
THAT WHICH YOU HAVE PROVIDED ME, NAMELY SANITARY WIPES AND STERILE BANDAGES!” I
shouted to the audience of syringes and surgical tubes. The fever has made me a
little loopy. But after many months of quietness and solitude it feels great to
shout and be loud and feel no fear from it. Not to mention it helped distract
from the pain of it all.
And as I used wipe after wipe in an attempt to clean my
wound I threw each one on the ground announcing “THE AMBULANCE GIVETH, THE
AMBULANCE TAKETH AWAY!” as each no longer sterile tissue hit the floor.
Finally after an hour or so when I felt the wound was less
on the road to festering and more on the road to healing I took a nap. It must
have been a longer and deeper sleep than I had intended since I had many dreams
of old friends and family coming by to visit me at my house, but they all
seemed to bang very loudly on the door. Finally I noticed a face I did not
know. A rough looking man in his mid-30s looking questioningly at me. He knocked again and said “hello can you hear
me?”
That’s when I realized I wasn’t sleeping any more.
