I: The Singer

Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush.

I’m not going to give you some dramatic nonsense, about how “the world came to an end” or refer to it as “the Apocalypse”. Truth be told, while the event as a whole blew goats, as Curbie used to eloquently put it before his inevitable demise, it could have been worse. Actually, to allow a little bit of optimism, it could have been a lot worse.

Don’t get me wrong, when the power went out, the running water following suit shortly thereafter: it sucked.

On the Day Everything Changed, I was at home, playing video games. Ironically enough, the game I was playing became real-life as I broke my personal record and advanced to level sixteen. It was the dreaded warehouse level, the one that the fanatical gamers creamed their pants over, thanks to the level of difficulty as well as the stellar graphics.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the opportunity to truly enjoy the level in such a manner; shortly after my character jumped the ledge into the docking bay and turned the first corner, everything went black. The TV, the red light on the game console, even the “12:00″ on the VCR: vital signs of normality, cut off.

Twenty-two hours later, I found out what was around that corner…

But we can get to that later. That was seven months ago, and since then I have pretty much gotten used to the living arrangements, so to speak, after the Day Everything Changed. I’ve also bulked up a bit, but that’s to be expected when you spend several months hauling ass and living each day with a high level of stress.

At this point in time, I’m hauling ass, along with rations and the bare essentials, on my own. It wasn’t always this way, though; for quite a period of time, there were quite a few of us. The group grew over time, and over more time, the group dwindled. Everyone left in their own way, whether by choice, by vote, or by… well, let’s not dwell too much on that.

I remember the day I met the man I would come to know as Singer. He was a good-looking man, at least by the standards of the females we acquired over time, with a youthful spirit; however, this was not my first impression of him. In fact, when I first met the man, I thought he was either insane or one of Them. As it turned out, he wasn’t the latter, and he was only a fraction of the former.

When I first saw him, I was peering down the scope of a sniper rifle. At least, I think that’s what it was; I was using it more for telescoping purposes than for target practice. Mind you, I know how to use a gun, but I couldn’t begin to tell you the different types. As it is, I can tell you that it’s either small, medium, or large, and if this one makes a loud noise or if that one makes a softer noise. Aside from that, my knowledge of firearms becomes non-existent.

I had been situated at the top of an abandoned building. They were all abandoned, but this one in particular had an incredible view of one of the main intersections of the city. It was what people in rural and urban cultures alike as the main street, and it had the different aspects of a main street: sidewalk cafes, shops, banks, you name it.

This main street, however, also had one thing you wouldn’t normally think to add to the image: Them.

Okay, fine… For the sake of quelling your curiosity and to get the story moving along, the Them in question are, in fact, the undead. Or zombies, if you will. Whichever name you wish to put with them, really. Just think of a slow, shuffling, almost-upright humanoid being, with half of its face hanging off, its kneecap showing, and a bit of its lower intestine dragging along the pavement: that’s just one of the variety of undead you can find looming around the city. I’m sure you can find more of a variety, the further out of the city you get, but for right now I’m sticking with the city, sticking with what I know.

I’m like that, so sue me.

I spotted Singer as I was making my afternoon sweep with the rifle’s scope. At first it was a means of keeping watch, but then it became something of a ritual habit. Only this time, instead of just seeing zombie-check-zombie-check-zombie-check, the rhythm changed slightly…

Zombie-check-zombie-check-breather-check-zombie-waitaminute!

I had to look through the scope a number of times before I could believe what my eyes were telling me they were seeing. A final inspection told me that, yes, my eyes were telling the truth: there was a breather down on the main street.

In response to the Day Everything Changed, people’s attitudes began to change. Some became content with the way things had become, some became more belligerent. And then there were some who gave up completely. They took their lives within days and weeks of everything being turned upside-down. The reasons were numerous: from the family being destroyed by the events to the favorite reality program no longer being aired because of the events. A vast spectrum, and people were offing themselves like it was nobody’s business.

So when I saw Singer, though I did not know him at the time, standing in main street, surrounded by a heavy group of the undead, I figured him to be one of the many who had decided to throw in the towel. It was odd, to be taken down and possibly become one of Them, but to each his own.

I watched breathlessly as this man I had yet to meet strolled down the main street, with a growing population of shufflers amassing around him. My eye twitched as it peered anxiously through the scope, but I didn’t dare blink; I didn’t want to miss a thing.

What I didn’t miss surprised me into breathing again.

Here was this man, this man I had thought to have given up and wanting to end it all, casually strolling down main street, his hands in his pockets and his eyes almost all the way closed. He seemed incredibly content, in spite of the circumstances literally surrounding him. As I watched, I found that as he moved, the crowd of undead moved with him. The nearest zombie was, at best guess, ten feet away from him; as he moved forward, that distance didn’t change. The zombies were keeping their distance, and as the man I would know as Singer moved into the heavier groups of the undead, it was clear that there was a ten-foot radius constantly around him.

No undead entity, it seemed, could move closer than ten feet from the man!

As if the sight itself wasn’t enough to blow one’s dome – yet another Curbie-ism – my ears picked up a slight sound coming from the main street. It was faint, but it sounded like… No, it couldn’t be. And yet, it sounded so much like…

I looked through the scope, one more time, and felt the disbelief take over every last inch of my body.

Singer, the man I had yet to meet, was not only walking through a heavy crowd of zombies: he was singing to them.