I am truly screwed. You must help me get out of this place. When I came to work today, zombies were just a weird story on the radio. But, now I am sitting here in my booth at the gas station watching the whole world collapse. Oh, the day started out normal enough. People would come in, get their gas, and go. There were a couple of broke ass bastards who couldn’t get “their cards to work.” I told them that insufficient funds tended to cause card problems. I know it wasn’t very Christian, but I wasn’t very Christian this morning.
 |
| The Gas Station Attendant's Booth at an Atlanta area gas station |
Anyway this morning, work went just fine. But, starting at lunch time, the world went crazy. Everyone was filling up. Some people had their cars packed with the wife, the kids, the dog, and almost everything they owned. People bought every case of water we had. We had lines eight cars deep and stretching clear across the parking lot. One guy came to the window and bought 10 cartons of cigarettes. Since he was carrying a rifle, I didn’t ask any questions.
After he paid, he says to me: “You better get out of here. They’re coming!”
Since he was making me nervous, I told him, “I guess you best be going.”
At the time, I thought I was safer behind the glass since he was openly carrying a rifle right here in this neighborhood. I mean, Lord, this isn’t a bad neighborhood. But, that guy wasn’t crazy. He was right. The ‘hood started to go downhill fast, too.
Once that crazy dude moved on, I started keeping my eyes open and looking for weird stuff from my perch in my plexiglass cage. It didn’t take long to start seeing some crazy stuff. About ten minutes later, a really messed up looking white guy came limping towards the station. He was skinny and walked with a strange limp. I noticed that his clothes were torn, ragged, and bloody. As he got closer to the station, I was shocked to see that he had a least three bullet holes in him. I don’t even know how he was still walking. I lost sight of him as he walked behind a Chevy Tahoe at pump number one.
The next thing I saw was a fat dude running from behind that pump. He shouldn’t have run. He came my way, tripped on the curb for the pump island, and went down pretty hard for a middle-aged dude. Before he could even get back to his knees, that skinny, bloody, creature was on that dude’s back. His hands dug into the man’s shirt like claws and drew lots of blood. The big man rolled and raised his arms to fend off his attacker, and that crazy dude just bit right into his arms. He bit down hard too. I mean he took out some serious flesh out with his bite! The big guy was screaming.
He didn’t scream long though. The woman on pump five calmly put her nozzle away, gots in her big Volvo SUV, started it, and ran right into both the big guy and the zombie. She pushed both of them out of her way and peel out of the lot. She was gone and she wasn’t even looking back. I was stunned. The big guy was down and bleeding out and the scrawny biter got knocked out into the parking lot. I hesitated for a moment and then I did my part: I dialed 911. And, Jesus, do you know what happened then? Nothing. The call didn’t even go through. All the circuits were busy. Who the hell contracts out their 911 service anyway?
I hung up the phone and started to go out there to help. Some lady from another pump ran over to the big guy and knelt down to apply direct pressure to his wounds. An older gentleman came sauntering over to offer his assistance and I could see some other customers were still in their cars frantically dialing 911. So, I leave out through my side door and start to come around the front.
And, Lord, do you know what I saw?
Okay, I’ll tell you. I saw the scrawny white dude--with the gunshot wounds and bumper imprint on his chest--getting up.
Lord, I’m not going to lie. I ran the hell back around the corner and got right back in this here gas station hut. The skinny bloody dude was right on my heels, too. But, I got in here and slammed the door in his face. He’s still out there. He is looking through the plexiglass now.
Oh, he took a break, he took a break to bite the old dude who came to help. He took a break to bite the lady who was helping treat the fat guy’s wounds. He took a break to bite everyone who came to help the lady. I don’t know what that guy is on. He bit everyone. Sometimes, he bit them until they were dead. It was horrible. Sometimes he ripped out their guts. Every time I looked out my window, there was blood and mayhem. But, Lord, that isn’t the worst part.
That scrawny guy and everyone he killed is standing right outside my window and right outside my door. The big fat guy is up and staring right at me. He’s bloody and looks pale, but he is up. How does that even happen? The lady and the old man who came to the fat guy’s aid are out there too. There must be two dozen dead people out there looking at me. They are waiting for me. I know they want to bite me too. I can’t even get out to the Coca-Cola cooler.
So here I am Lord. Tell me how I get out of here. They can’t get through the plexiglass and I can’t get out through my door. So what do I do? How can I escape? If you let me get out and live, I’ll start coming to church. Every Sunday. For real, this time. I mean it. I’m a good person. I work hard. Now I need you to help me.
Please, Lord, help me.
Amen.
