A hard message to deliver.
Damn this city. Damn it straight to hell. It all fell apart anyway. I think it must have happened in one day. One day….unbelievable. I still remember seeing that guy going into convulsions, in between his friends. Before we knew it, they were everywhere.
It happened so fast here, faster than anywhere else. On Queensday, the day we celebrate the birthday of our queen, a big drunken festivity flooded the city with people from all over Holland and god knows where else…. Add some foreigner with a different strain of Mexican flu...…..Ah, well…… We all knew what that would lead to.
And here I am: writing the memoirs of the city that ate itself alive.
We were the first and the worst, a benchmark for every other city that got run over.
They even used the name of our city as a benchmark from that day onward, whenever such an atrocity occurred: “The city got Amsterdamned.” Thank you for making sure how we will be remembered in history. I’ll be sure to send you our notes.
The early ones must have had a feast. About one and a half million people stuck together in a small city, corners and alleyways everywhere. And then all hell broke loose. If I had a nickel for each person I saw getting dragged off during that day, I’d have a lot of nickels.
Looking through the barricaded windows of the building I used to call home, I can see strangers, neighbours, friends and familiar passersby feeding on strangers, neighbours, friends and familiar passersby. A hard thing to swallow. To deliver this passage of your book I’m going to have to shovel my way through these sometimes familiar zombies, vigilantes and rats...
Rats…….Goddammit, I hate those little bastards.
After the first horde of the zombies, came the second wave. Rats, thousands and thousands of the little merchants of death came flooding the streets, hungry and unafraid. They were even worse than the undead, feeding themselves on rotting food, corpses and zombies, feeding the virus. Walking dead with rats eating through their bodies was not an uncommon sight; even sloughing piles of rats were sighted.
As soon as more of these little rodents got infected with the virus their little mouths tried to bite us 'normals'. The zombies didn’t care: It just made their job easier. Harder to fight, compared to zombies, and even more difficult to kill as they reproduced rapidly and were everywhere.
Did you know that when you get bitten by an infected rat, it takes you longer to turn? We didn’t know either. And those bites are damn hard to spot when letting in the people you know and love as they’re banging on the door.
The second wave was the worst. Every once in a while a household would either be breached through carelessness allowing the zombies outside a pathway in, or it would turn itself into a barricaded death trap when some loved one, some stranger would suddenly snap, get up and start feeding. It sounded like the whole city was screaming. That's what happens if you live in an infected city built on a swamp, I guess.
We’ve all gone up now….hoping that the rooftops will provide some protection to the ravenous horde below and in between the walls. But the chances are slim. At night we can hear them around us, so we have little sleep, as the constant fear keeps most of us awake. I don’t even know how many of us are still left. Judging by the amount of undead in the streets I’d say we’re done with. All that’s left to do is season us with some salt and pepper. The people are going crazy too. I saw a guy who actually stage dived out of a window into a zombie horde. I swear he crowd surfed for a bit, but then just got ripped apart. I guess he took the easy way out. I hope the poor bastard got eaten before he came back. Dying twice…. Nobody wrote the book on that one.
As for the rest of us, well, we’d best be moving on. I just don’t know if I can bear to go out there again….. Sloughing ankle-deep through dead bodies. Correction: Dead-ish bodies. Ugh.
No use delaying it I think. The book has gotta get out there. Let the rest of the world know what atrocities happened here. Let the rest of the world know that we were mauled into a recipe. A goddamn zombie cookbook.
But who am I taking with me? These people won’t be of any use anyway. Look at them. I’ll be damned if any of ‘em make it through two blocks from here. Remember Queensday? The guests are all still here, only now they’re looking for the main course. And guess what’s for dinner? Oh yes: U-S. Us.
Then again: if I go out alone we all may have a better chance to survive. Get out; see how far I can get. Avoid those fucking rats. As soon as I hit the streets, shovel a few zombies in the head. Get to Post Central Station and then make a break for the harbour.
“Making a break for it”…Sound like a solid plan, you fool? The only thing you’ll be breaking is their skull when they start trying to gnaw on you. The one you locked up next door is getting pretty rowdy already. Must have been his turn…..
So: stay in, get eaten. Go out, get eaten. I hate choices. I need a drink.
Still got to deliver the hard message out there…Guess I gotta go outside anyway then. There’s no use in writing all this for so long and then let it all got to rot in this cesspool down here. Cesspool…. If only that guy from Fox, what’s his name..… O’fucking Reilly or something could see us now.
Gotta take the shovel for the hordes out there. Gotta take the book. Strap it on me well, so I don’t lose it. It’s important. For all I know the book might be the only way people will remember us.
So: contingency plan. Open door, kill zombie(s), close door, pass hallway, jump balcony to street, hope I don’t break anything, follow the tramlines to the Damn Square. Pass the Memorial Monument: kill some more zombies.
Great plan. It’s just gotta work. Thought through so carefully, heck: I’ll take my own word for it… and another drink.
GO!
Door is open. Zombie eyes ready feast. A cracking sound tells me the bone gave way to the metal of the blade. I pass the hallway. The balcony is clear, only the street is a fuck end away. Whoever the guy was that decided Amsterdamn couldn’t be higher than four stories is a genius: at least I don’t have to climb anymore. Fuck. The door’s still open. GO!
Trashcan. I can hear them smelling me. I grab the shovel. Jump, you fool. Up! Retching I reach for the side of the container. Pause. Breathe. Check. I still got the book on me. A moan echoes down the alley. My grip tightens. Take one more breath and run…..
Somehow the zombies I pass and slash look surprised, am I the only one on the streets? Several of them seem familiar, before their expression gives way to my shovel. No remorse. Stay dead.
Covered in thick black blood I lean against the monument panting. No time for breathers, but I just can’t run anymore. I should’ve cut down on the cigarettes. They could kill you. The horde around me is slowly thickening. The strangest thing is that whole city went silent sometime ago. Now the only sounds around me are from those who are slowly advancing upon me. My soul for a gun.
Go on old fool. Scan your surroundings. Where’s your way out? I turn round: whack a few more of those things, and start running.
A cracking sound behind me. Whizzing sounds pass my ear and something splatters on my back. Another cracking sound and some muffled screams. It seems like the horde is falling before me, and I feel relieved. Did I just wet my pants? Run, dead man, run. Make sure you make the last mile in dignity, or what’s left of it.
Pearly gates open. Fire rains down and the blood splatters a dark carpet before me. To the sides of me the zombies fall as if in reverie. I pass out between the gates.
I arise naked in a bed. The room is large, light and comfortable. And there were no more screams. A man walks in, dressed in chefs clothing. “You were almost dinner out there son. Luckily our bellboy saw your dumb ass on the square. What the hell were you thinking, going out for dinner?”
“Dinner. I could go for some steak. Sure would beat rats.”
