The moderate peace did not last. Soon I was finished with the peeling, slicing, and cinnamonning of the apples and had resorted to watching my dad and his game from the vantage point of the back of the couch, torturing dad with my flood of questions.
"Where's the crying coming from?"
"The witch."
"What's a witch?"
"A type of special infected." Dad recieved a blank stare followed by the inevitable question.
"What's-"
"Zombies with special abilities." Suddenly, a zombie charge at my Dad's character yelling in some weird language.
"Dad!"
"What?"
"That zombie TALKS." Face-desk.
"What language is it speaking?"
"It's not talking, it's just making noise."
"You know what I think?" I asked.
"What?"
I whispered in Dad's ear, "I think it's talking zombie." Face-palm. This time from K2.
The next half hour went on like this. Then, finally, Dad's team made it to the rescue helicopter and the flew away from the zombie infested hospital they had been trapped in. Suddenly, a thought came to me.
"Hey, Dad?"
"What?"
"What do the zombies do after you leave?"
"I don't know. I guess they go back to wandering around."
"That is, the ones that don't throw themselves off the roof trying to catch the helicopter," chimed in K2, smirking at the thought. He got a punch in the arm. Another thoght came to me.
"Maybe. They create. A COMMUNITY."
"What?!?" Both brother and father stared at me like they'd just found out I was an alien come for their Pops cereal. Yeah, that look. Dad recovered first.
"Jordan, zombies can't create a community. Their brains are too small to comprehend the basic concepts of teamwork or relations...or goals," Dad explained, just as a giant horde of zombies basically used 'teamwork' to acomplish their 'goal' of incapacitating my dad's character. I gave him a look.
"That's a horde, not teamwork," Dad mummbled.
After that, the Schutzes came over, picking up Mom and dropping off Ben, Sam's younger brother, the house fire that happened a bit ago started, we saw the smoke from our front window, and piled into Dad's car, minus our shoes, which turned out to be a disadvantage when we finally got there, realizing the street was jammed up and the only way to see the burning house would have been to walk. Zombies were no longer talked about for most of the night. But I started think ing about zombies. What if they did form a comunity? And what if they did form their own language, like Zombese? What if zombies are actually vegetarians? And they go crazy when they eat non vegetarian foods? For some reason, I think that would be pretty likely. As well as the possibility of zombies liking apple crisp....Don't ask where that came from. But what if zombies really were vegetarians that go nuts when they eat non-vegetables? Would that mean that instead of shooting zombies when the zombie appocolypse comes, which my brother swears will happen eventually, we would just have to throw vegetables at them? Of course, then people like my brother and dad would be greatly disappointed. Throwing vegetables at zombies isn't really the same as throwing grenades at them, as far as my brother will believe.
There is one thing I'm certain about all of this. When you go to bed thinking about stuff like this, you either don't sleep at all, or you have wierd dreams about zombies attacking bowls of apple crisp. And if you're the kind of person that likes to make up characters and write stories, you end up waking up after have dreams such as the ones before mentioned, and realized that you have made up a new character who is a zombie named Derren who worships apple crisp and runs a giant rollercoaster in an amusement park. Again, don't ask, because I seriously don't know.
