Desert Highway

Driving through the desert for seemingly endless miles, working our way back east. We stop every couple hours or so, so that the living among us can stretch their legs and breathe. There further we go the windier it gets, so that at our last stop you could actually see thin curtains of sand rising and falling away. The living people don’t like to stand out in it for very long, but I wish that I could feel the grainy air abrading my skin. We wear sunglasses, even at night, when we are outside. Not to look cool but to keep the sand out of our eyes.

I could look out at the desert sky all night and get bored. Sometimes I think that, rather than go on to Washington, that I should just gather up as many zombies as I could and more them all here to the desert, where there isn’t anyone to bother us. We could move into the Grand Canyon. Or maybe Death Valley would be more appropriate. We don’t need to worry about water, and while the wind, sand and sun would most likely take a toll on our skin, it wasn’t like we could feel sunburned. We’re immune to rattlesnake bites, too. We could find the ghost towns of the old west and move right in and create our own town.

The thoughts make me smile, because the idea of being able to get away from everyone that hates us certainly is appealing sometimes. But I know it isn’t the answer, not really. It might be nice to have a secluded corner of the world, but the world will always turn its eyes on you, eventually.

It would be great if zombies established some communities outside of “Normal” society—in the desert, at the poles, under the ocean. For all I know we could colonize the moon—we could go Anywhere we could be safe and free. But only if it was by choice, not because we were forced there or in hiding. Maybe if things go well in Washington we’ll have some of those options.

Those were some of the thoughts I had as we moved sleeplessly through the desert.