I need to ask you something. Back when I was telling you about Clements and I mentioned that this is the story of how I died, did you really believe me? Or did you assume I meant something metaphorical, like how I died on the inside? Because I can see how you might think that, considering what I told you about that mine shaft incident, because, sure, that slayed a ventricle or two. Or you might think that I’m in the process of dying right now as a result of everything that went down over the last few months, bleeding out while I stammer my story on the side of the road, imparting dying wisdom to a younger version of myself.
But I’m not. I’m dead. El finito, as the Italians say. This is the story of how that happened. It was horrible and painful and more than a little embarrassing. And baby, it wasn’t dysentery that did me in. So settle in and get ready to hear the long and short of it.
Once we’d sorted out the seating assignments for the station wagon (if you don’t remember how that happened, your memory is almost as short as Clements is now), it was time to hit the road, just like I was Jack Kerouac, and Somerset, Pariah, Wedge, and Agent Five were— well, like they were whoever traveled with Jack Kerouac. Of course, since the radio was dead we had less Jazz, and none of us were much inclined towards reciting what scant poetry we could remember or make up, and Agent Five had already consumed all the psychotropics on account of the zombies. All right, I suppose it wasn’t much like On the Road after all.
Even so, we were united by a quest: Clements might have been an old basket case, but his dream of a safe haven on the West Coast was as good a fantasy as any. And if you’re thinking we should have sat pretty and waited for someone to save us, well, you’re probably right. Since I’m dead and all.
Alright, let’s get the clichés out of the way right now, shall we? Yes, this is a zombie story. Yes, it’s also the story of how I died — is there any other type of zombie story, when you get right down to it? And yeah, I’m not too chuffed about the whole debacle.
Why not? Because it’s the story of how I died. I mean, come on. How can you expect someone to have fun with that sort of thing?