In the days before the Day Everything Changed, I used to work in a comic book shop. It wasn't a big deal: the corner shop in a mini-mart strip mall with the hand-crafted sign touting the quaint title - Ye Olde Commik Shoppe.
Fritz, the owner of the graphic novel emporium, had stuck with the name after a promise he'd made to his sick grandmother. The promise, as Fritz would tell me, was made after his sick grandmother, who had been a traveling gypsy in her younger years, swore to curse him and his success if he did not go with the name that she had personally chosen.
Not being one to tempt fate, no matter how senile or decrepit it may be, Fritz went with the name. Whether or not the success with the business was helped or hindered by the decision remained to be seen.
The shop itself carried all of the titles known, unknown, and specially-tailored to certain audiences; I would name a few, but that's not really where I'm going with this. People came from all over the city, as if flowing from the woodwork, to stand around in Ye Olde Commik Shoppe. Whether they were reading issues without paying for them, having intense discussions with fellow fans, or having heated arguments with fans of the opposing comic producers, these people spent most of their waking hours in Fritz's shop.
I was never big on the comic book scene... Don't look at me like that: just because I happened to be a gamer in my life before the Day Everything Changed, it doesn't mean that I had to be a comic book nerd on top of that. That's stereotyping, and I'd appreciate it if you looked beyond the assumption.
Now, I was never big on the comic book scene, but while working at Fritz's I happened to sneak glances at what the comic aficionados were purchasing and discussing with such vehemence. In that time, I read about heroes from other planets, from other realms, from mythology, and from basic science itself. Some could run fast, others had nifty gadgets, while the rest had tweaked-out genetics. There was a spectrum to the fantastical and the weird, and I had considered myself something of a learned expert on such things. So when the Day Everything Changed took place, I actually had an idea of what to do, what could work, and what was just dumb to even try. That's right: there was a comic series about it. Talk about wicked ominous foreshadowing.
And yet, none of my comic reading prepared me for the sight before me...
Singer strolled down the main thoroughfare of the main street, crooning a happy little tune while surrounded by his undead fanatics. The zombies lurched and shuffled, focused on the man at the center of their mass; and yet, they seemed to be focused on something else entirely. It's hard to explain, but trust me on this: it was absolutely insane.
Following the singing man's direction a ways, I managed to deduce his destination: the food market just a few doors down. A little mid-afternoon grocery shopping, I supposed. Hey, the weather was perfect for it; slightly overcast with a slight breeze, a heavy cloud of the undead slowly making its way from the east... Do you see why I was a comic shop clerk and not, oh, a TV weatherperson? Yeah, me neither.
A few minutes passed and I had started to let the idea of a singing man walking amongst a heavy crowd of zombies become a member to the club known as Reality. As he walked up to the front door of the mini-mart, the open area around him started to take on a weird pattern. Upon getting closer to the wall of the shop, his decomposing followers found themselves walking into the wall, continuing their shuffle as if unobstructed. They basically walked in place while, as the singing man came even closer to the wall, their fellow shufflers walked into them. All the while, the ten-foot distance being kept as the zombies dispersed in order to let Singer through.
An enormous crowd of zombies flowed along the walls of the shop as Singer, with ease and finesse, popped the chain holding the shop's doors together, then proceeded to open the doors and walk through them. Holding the door for a dramatic moment, I saw through the rifle's scope as I had watched this entire performance draw out, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide to provide the loudest, sweetest note to end his aria.
A moment later, his eyes shot open, his mouth snapped shut, a smirk appeared on his youthful face. He swiftly closed the door and used the chain to seal himself securely inside the store.
No sooner had the final note been dropped and the last echoes had dissipated, the zombies seemed to realize what they were doing. Their slow, serene shuffling mutated into cannibalistic madness. The ones who had been the first to be softly crushed against the shop's wall fought their way through the throngs of those pressing against them. Snarls issued challenges, and unintelligible noises shot back at the instigators. While some madly snapped and swatted at each other, the majority of the crowd went about their own business. They loped around, waiting patiently for the next meal to come waltzing down the street; one, however, that didn't come with its own musical theme.
A few had realized that their next meal was awaiting them on the other side of the doors that had just been closed. These were the ones who had been close enough for the spell of Singer's crooning to be easily cut off as the slam of the doors marked the end of the tune. They threw themselves lazily at the doors, which were, for some inexplicable reason, made of solid wood. Had they been made of glass, this story would have taken a much different turn; as it is, they weren't, so we're staying on track.
The insane singing man had been in the shop for quite a while; probably enjoying a nice meal of canned meat, crackers, with that cheese that never seems to go bad. Wash it all down with a nice bottle of water, and you have yourself a meal fit for a king.
Thinking about it made my stomach growl out its own opinion of food, and how it would like some, please. I peered at my watch, which hadn't worked since the third day after all of this went down, and figured it was good a time as any to try to rustle up some grub. The sun was going down, and there was a thing I had read and observed first-hand about how the undead acted when the darkness came out to play. Trust me, you don't want to be privy to that kind of experience.
Scanning the rooftops for and finding the best possible way to the grocery store - I have a terrible singing voice, so that was out of the question - I reached into my utility belt and pulled out my grappling hook. I loaded it, aimed it, and fired it. The hook sailed majestically through the air and landed on the rooftop directly opposite to where I was currently standing.
I won't bore you with the specifics on how I used the grappling hook's wire zip-line across to the opposing rooftop. Needless to say, I had done this a few times, and I had become particularly adept at using the grappling hook, the zip line, and the suction cups that were only a few of the items to be found in my trusty belt.
I will tell you, however, that I ended up having to use the grappling hook and zip-line seven times before I ended up, comfortably, on the roof that belonged to the mini-mart. There was an access hatch that led down into the depths of the store. After breaking the padlock with the mini-blowtorch I had acquired after one of my first adventures since the Day Everything Changed, I made sure everything was back in the utility belt before climbing down and eventually meeting the man I would come to know as Singer.
Once again, I was never big on the comic book scene... until the day my life became one.
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