I don't think I'm going to be able to add much to the current discussion going on. The issue's been discussed in general terms for a while now. Most people have already picked their sides.
So why write anything at all? I guess it's just that crazy impulse to make something more enduring than the thoughts in your head or the flesh on your bones.
So here's a little impromptu on my own personal experience with zombification.
I've been lucky as far as zombies go.
I was driving back to our campsite on the delta. Our son, Cole, managed to climb up on the picnic table with a stick and beat on the gas lantern we'd hung like a piņata. He didn't break the glass, but he did turn our last two silk mantels to powder.
So I'm driving back from the country store along a dirt road. The driver's window is down enough to let in the cool summer's night air. I think I'm taking it safe going only 25 mph, but I miss the turn off anyway.
I crash into the slough and roll upside down into the water. River water pouring in through the open window shocks me out of my daze. I struggle against my seatbelt, undo it, panic, flail around, and start to die.
I've got to tell you, drowning sucks.
My life didn't flash before my eyes. Instead, all I could think of was all the reasons to live, mostly my wife, Mary, and my son. There was no bright light. The last thing I remember is the sound of my heart pounding.
Mary tells me that the park ranger heard the splash and checked it out right away. He called 911 and was able to find my wife in the campground by the license plate number of our car. It still took ten minutes or so for emergency personnel and a tow truck to show up. It wasn't their fault at all. We were out near the middle of nowhere. And in the maze of the delta, sometimes you can see where you need to be 50 yards away across a slough, but you have to drive a mile up and back to the nearest drawbridge.
From my perspective, I just woke up. The car was full of water. I felt strangely numb, sort of detached from things.
A county sheriff shattered the half-open window and I let myself be pulled from the car. He dragged me to the steep side of the levee and someone used a harness to pull me up to the road. I could hear my wife crying, but I couldn't see her.
The EMTs swarmed over me in the harsh light of several spotlights. I heard them call out in firm voices: "No pulse!" "Body temp is 36.7." "Clear his chest!"
I chose this moment to sit up.
"Holy shit!" someone exclaimed.
"Sir, can you hear me?"
I meant to say "yes" but instead just spurted water.
"Sir, nod if you can understand me."
I nodded.
"Crap. No pulse. Total flat line. Pupils constricted. Looks like we've got another one."
By this time, I'd managed to push out the water in my lungs and I rasped "Got another what?"
"Sir, just stay here. We won't be a moment."
Mary pushed her way through the cordon of officers and EMTs.
"Oh my god! He's alive! Oh thank you! Oh my god!"
"Ma'am, please listen. I'm afraid he didn't make it. Your husband is a zombie."
My wife took it fairly well.
Science still doesn't have an answer for what happened to me and still happens to thousands of others.
You'd think that my current state would spur some sort of soul searching or religious fervor. Actually, it does for the living. When you're dead, all that stuff isn't important any more.
Statisticians peg the human reanimation rate at around 1%. Some people and things re-an, some don't. Everyone is trying to figure out how and why. I've heard reports of steaks re-aning on the grill, squirming and humping around. One family in Grand Forks, North Dakota had the holiday turkey start kicking as soon as it thawed.
People are finding that the longer something's been dead, the less likely it is to re-an. I think the record for people so far is a murder victim in Austria. She was nearly skeletal when she came out of the Matzner forest, but she was still able to finger her killer. Considering her physical state, she had herself cremated.
I said I was lucky as far as zombies go. I'm not a stinking shambler. I underwent transition within 20 seconds of total death so I'm pretty fresh. All I need is a spray tan to hide the deathly pallor. My skin isn't growing and sloughing off like a live person's would, so a single spray tan should last me a while. This also means that my body doesn't heal from injuries. I cut myself woodworking last year and now I've got a permanent super-glued bandage on my palm.
I don't have much of a sex drive any more. Mary and I still make love because it still feels good and it makes for some wicked inside jokes between us.
I don't hunger after brains any more than I did when I was alive. I enjoy being here for Mary and Cole. I guess that's why I'm still hanging around. Cole might have grandkids. Mary will grow old and die. If she doesn't go zombie herself, I expect that I'll just check myself into the local crematorium. I can't imagine myself wanting to go on any further after that.
Pakeha