The

  note stared at me from my bedside table. It had been more than a day

  since I found it and I still was unsure of what exactly I wanted to

  write back, if anything. For now, I had set it aside and tried to put

  my focus on resting from all the bending and stretching I had done

  over the past several days. I had been ignoring the deep cravings for

  rest and sleep in the interest of getting my garden started, but the

  more I pushed the more exponentially likely it became that I would

  make a mistake. Now that I had something to seriously consider and

  weigh the options, I had to recover to make sure my mind was as clear

  as possible to weigh all the options.

  Very light rain tapped at random on my window and the sun was just

  starting to crest over the top of the buildings and throw diffused

  light through the light cloud cover. In a different time I would have

  pushed myself out of bed to go sit by the window with it cracked open

  so I could enjoy the smell of the rain and bask in the drizzly

  sunlight. Now I was too afraid to even consider being by the window

  too long. I found myself wondering if there would ever be a time like

  that again in my life, where I would feel safe enough to enjoy those

  little pleasures.

  Surely it seemed logical that the zombies would not be around

  forever. Everything dies eventually and well, the zombies already

  were mostly dead so they must have a head start. Maybe in a few

  months from now they’ll have rotted away to little more than piles

  of goo. Then the world could start to rebuild, people naturally

  tended to want to band together and create societies.

  The idea should have comforted me, but I wasn’t sure I had much

  hope for humanity any longer. Society had left me behind and treated

  me like a burden before when it had more than ample resources to help

  me. Now that things would be infinitely harder and more complicated

  with fewer resources and systems to go around, it was likely most

  people would just see me as a burden. I expected that people would

  not be keen to accept me in and share food and shelter when I likely

  didn’t have too much to offer in the way of physical labor. People

  would be needed to work fields, tend animals, rebuild modern systems,

  and I was not able to help much with any of that. I wasn’t even

  able to keep a basic part time job, even a remote job the way I was

  when the world was still normal.

  It felt unfair, yet at the same time I also understood in my own

  way. I didn’t think I could leave anyone behind who couldn’t help

  it, but I wouldn’t hold it against anyone who would put their own

  survival over mine. When faced with splitting scarce resources with

  someone who could not help replenish them, I understood the

  hesitation. I wasn’t too on my soap box to realize that while I was

  healthy I didn’t understand what being disabled was like. I just

  didn’t know and had not ever had anyone around me that was for long

  enough for me to understand. Cruelly, I thought it was something that

  people could only understand by experiencing it.

  People take for granted being able to pop out of bed in the

  morning and do their routine without much thought. Sure, I remember

  when I was younger and healthy grumbling about the alarm going off

  for work and just wanting to get a bit more sleep, but I was able to

  throw on an outfit, brush my teeth, and guzzle down a coffee in

  twenty minutes, then make it to work and have my biggest concern for

  the day be how bad the two p.m. slump was going to be for me. Then

  I’d make it through, pick up groceries after work, go home and make

  dinner, have a hobby, then go to bed and start it over again the next

  day. Did I feel tired? Yes, of course, but it was just tired, not the

  deep, soul draining fatigue that I felt after just doing the very

  basics of living life now.

  The way I felt everyday after getting sick was inconceivable to

  healthy me, so I got how everyone else just didn’t have a clue. I

  hated it and still felt it was grossly unfair and felt angry about

  it, but I got it. People never stop to consider that everyone becomes

  disabled eventually unless they die in an accident. Everyone’s body

  gives out eventually, mine just decided to do it way earlier than

  normal.

  By the afternoon I felt okay enough to have a meal and I

  considered the note left again. I doubted that someone that had bad

  intentions would have bothered to reach out. They would have just

  found a way in or given up and moved on. Them leaving a note pointed

  to the fact that they might live in the building as well. Maybe the

  building was more secured than I thought and it was relatively safe

  to move around and I had just been being hyper cautious and paranoid.

  My eyes flicked to the floor to where I knew the zombie downstairs

  had settled down in its favorite corner. It hadn’t left the

  apartment at all, it was trapped and hadn’t figured out the door or

  window, maybe the zombies were stupid enough to be easily contained.

  That was a big assumption to make, one that if true would make the

  world a lot less scary, but if wrong I was underestimating the danger

  and that was the easiest way to die. Still, the zombies down in the

  alley seemed to not even consider wandering up the stairs and the

  short times I had taken to watch them it seemed like they were the

  same zombies and were not wandering away very far.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The idea of being able to get out into the building and have more

  space and a lot more supplies was appealing. Food was not going to

  grow in time for me running out of the supply I had now. Time was

  ticking, even if I was trying not to think about it. Denial was good

  for keeping me from being too scared of the inevitable, but it didn’t

  do anything for helping me prepare. I would have to get out at some

  point and take some risks. It would be easier to maybe have a friend

  than to do it all on my own, but I would be upfront.

  Deciding on what I was going to do I went to search for the pen

  that had rolled to the back of the drawer in my bedside table. Soon

  as I shoved my hand back to fish it out there was an electronic pop

  and suddenly all the electric hums in the building went silent at

  once. Dread filled my stomach and I found the pen, but instead of

  writing, I sat for a moment, looking forlornly towards the thermostat

  on the wall by the kitchen table.

  I knew the power would not last forever and it was probably pretty

  lucky that it had lasted this long, but still I was not ready

  mentally for it to be gone. The nights were getting chillier and it

  would only get worse. Humans had survived long before electricity and

  central heating and would adapt, but the idea of having to figure out

  how to stay warm on top of everything else I already had to figure

  out felt incredibly overwhelming.

  Maybe if I found other people to help and I could offer something

  to them by way of service, even if I had to force it and be

  miserable, maybe it could work. I supposed that my plant knowledge

  might be valuable and I could help people organize their food

  sources. I would do better planning and directing instead of

  physically doing the work, but maybe that would be enough. Would that

  be worth it to people to help keep me warm and sheltered? I didn’t

  know and it scared me to think of any life outside this apartment,

  even know when I knew long term I wouldn’t be able to stay.

  Regardless of what I needed to do in the future, for now I was

  going to have to start taking calculated risks. I flipped the note

  from under the door over and wrote on the back. “Yes, but

  disabled.” I felt it was only fair that I was upfront. If that was

  a deal breaker, then they would either leave me alone or worst case

  scenario try to come take my stuff since I would have a hard time

  stopping them. Still, I was trying not to only think of people as

  evil and greedy, there were good people out there. Gloria’s smiling

  face came to mind and I rose out of bed to waddle to the hallway door

  and place my reply. Surely there were bound to be more people like

  her in the world and if I could find even just one person half as

  kind and wonderful as her I might end up okay.

  Note placed, I wandered over to the now dark and silent grow room

  and carefully gathered all of my little seedlings by gently pulling

  up the roots and ball of soil around each one and brought them back

  to my apartment. Without any light they would be doomed in there, so

  they needed transplanted immediately. It was not what I had wanted to

  do today and I still wasn’t rested enough to feel good enough to do

  it but with the power off I could not dictate that it waited. My food

  source was more important to ensure survived than my avoiding more

  paint and fatigue.

  Over an hour later my back was threatening to lock again and I

  felt dizzy whenever I moved my eyes, but I had a sea of plant pots on

  the floor next to my window and each had been given a little bit of

  extra rain water to help encourage them to survive moving to their

  new homes. The potatoes and onions I have left in the other room as

  they hadn’t done much yet and they could wait another day.

  The rain was still going and very slowly trickling into the

  plastic bin and I was grateful for it. I had worked my way through

  all the stored water in the kitchen and had moved onto what I had in

  the bathroom. With this tub at about a quarter full I felt a little

  better, though soon as I had a full nights rest I would go and tear

  apart the now defunct grow room to harvest more tubs and tubing to

  set up more water storage.

  I had my hopes and wishes of having other people to help me, but I

  felt the chances were actually low and that after telling whomever it

  was that I was disabled that they would actually care to keep trying

  to contact me. Most likely I would be here alone and I would just

  keep operating as if that was the truth for as long as I could. That

  meant expanding my water, rationing food, and keeping warm.

  Fire was out of the question to keep warm with all the safety

  hazards of having it indoors, so blankets would have to do. My last

  chore before crawling into bed was to go around to the apartments I

  knew had bed linens and collected them all. I made a sort of blanket

  fort around my bed using my beside table, books, and a floor lamp so

  that my bed was now in a blanket cocoon and would keep the warm air

  in around me as I slept. It was actually incredibly comforting and

  cozy and I wished I had thought of it a lot sooner. Despite the back

  pain and general shaking of my tired muscles, it did not take long

  for me to fall asleep.