But that idea seems ripped straight from the Cold War era to me. In the fifties and sixties the questions were the same as now, just with a different antagonist: What will we do when the Soviets attack us? How will we survive a nuclear war? And the answers were equally similar: Hide in a bomb shelter. Come out when it seems safe. Protect yourself and your loved ones from the nuclear winter.
It’s time for a new plan. Remember: We won the Cold War in 1989. Even in the fifties, bomb shelters were places to throw parties, not hide from mushroom clouds. And let’s face it—the shelters wouldn’t have worked because they weren’t secure. A few years back, my husband and I rented a house with a bomb shelter. We turned it into an office. It was leaky and moldy and ruined some of our books. If rain got in, wouldn’t radiation?
I grew up while the Cold War was winding down. I went to high school in the early eighties. During that time, my nuclear survival plan was this: D.A.D. or Demand Atomic Death. I figured since we’re all going to die anyway, why not do so in a massive explosion? Go out with a bang.
My Zombie Survival Plan is just as simple: become undead.
It sounds radical, but it’s not. Most humans labor under the belief that being undead is a terrible curse. That the living dead are monsters, nothing more than animals. Most humans believe zombies are unhappy.
However, this is something we can’t know until we are undead. It’s like trying to figure out where you really go after you die. Heaven? Hell? Reincarnated as an ant? A part of the cosmic consciousness? Nowhere? No one can say with absolute certainty.
Instead of fighting the zombies, instead of shooting yourself in the head to avoid turning into one of them, let yourself go. Embrace it. If enough of us willingly became zombies, we could change the world. Start a new civilization.
A word to the wise: It’s best to control where you get bitten. When you finally submit to the inevitable, select your bite-site with care. Nothing is more of a pain than holding your guts in as you shamble or dragging your legless torso across the blacktop. A broken neck, a missing arm—these are all to be avoided.
This is easily accomplished by approaching a lone zombie. If you’re swarmed by a horde, it’s likely you’ll receive a great many bites and be like walking Swiss cheese after it. If your husband or daughter has recently turned, they’re a safe bet. You’d have the added bonus of being bitten by someone you love, as well as a better chance of directing the bite to the optimal spot. I suggest the thigh or the buttock, perhaps even the upper arm. For women, this is an opportunity to get rid of that flab that hangs down. For men, a shallow bite on the beer gut would be most flattering. In fact, any area with an excess of fat will do. Think of it as cheap liposuction. Just be sure not to let the bite penetrate too deeply and you’ll be fine.
I realize this idea might be difficult
for some people to swallow—no pun intended. But fighting the zombies will only
postpone the future. Zombies are the next step in our evolution as a species.
They’re at the top of the food chain. Once you become one, you might be
pleasantly surprised. You might find that you like it.