by MK Laughlin

I took a drive through lower Manhattan and found myself picking out places to hole up in case of a sudden zombie apocalypse. Battery Park seemed like a good choice: trees to impede the shamble, jagged war memorials to forge into lobotomizers, a fleet at South Ferry all set to pull away from infested docks. The Holland Tunnel also looked workable, provided that a) the taxi drivers remained levelheaded enough to barricade the Manhattan entrance with their cabs, and b) the Jersey zombies all swarmed down the shore, leaving the turnpike clear for the tunnel refugees. I also considered the cranes hovering over the pit at Ground Zero, although chances are I’d starve to death as zombies feasted below me, and future survivors would find my moldy skeleton clinging to the top and think, what a fucking coward, dying up there without a fight. So I drove down 6th Avenue thinking up more options and suddenly a bike messenger sailed through the intersection ahead, cutting me off, nearly clipping the fender of my car. With his speed and gutsy traffic skills he’d probably maneuver through the apocalypse just fine, but as he flipped me the bird in response to my blaring horn I couldn’t help but think, man, I hope he’s the first to get bit.


MK Laughlin teaches English at Western New England College. She is not afraid of zombies.


Quin said...

this is why my hair is short.

organise before they rise.

RASmith said...

Sounds like just another FYP trip.