The Beginning of the End

Maybe he was too trusting or too willing to see the best in people, but Adam never expected people to be one of the biggest threats to his personal safety in this zombie apocalypse scenario. He honestly figured—and maybe this was naive of him— that he would stay in his apartment until he ran out of supplies or until zombies forced him out (or killed him, which was truthfully more likely.) He never imagined he’d be basically run out by his fellow man.

It all started when he heard movement and voices in the hall outside. Nearly everyone else in the building besides Adam had left the city, so it likely wasn’t his neighbors stirring. Adam tensed and quickly grabbed the knives from his kitchen that would have to serve as weaponry. He crouched down behind his futon and waited.

He definitely heard talking, and that was a clue that there were people around because as far as Adam was aware zombies didn’t talk. Still, he wasn’t about to totally let his guard down.

Soon there came a knock on the door—well, actually a banging, and soon enough, the door was broken down. Before Adam could say or do anything, there was a man pointing a gun at him. “Drop the knives and get up,” the man said, “Put your hands up.”

Adam did as he was told, but not without question. “What’s going on here?” He looked to find several other men going about his home and rummaging through his belongings.

“What’s going on is we’re gonna take whatever you’ve got that’s worth anything and whatever you’ve got to eat, and you’re gonna stand right there and let us,” the man pointing his gun at Adam replied, “There anybody else here with you?”

“No,” Adam answered, seeing no reason to lie, “Just me.”

“Good,” the man said, “You stay right there. Don’t move.”

“Man, this guy doesn’t have anything good,” another man who was going through the cabinets in the kitchen area said, “What is this? Tea? Some little fucking cookie things? What kinda faggotry—?”

“Oi!” Adam protested, well aware that he was pushing his luck by doing so.

“Oh, sorry, man. Are you actually like a fag or something? My bad, dude,” the man replied. The sincerity of this sort-of apology was difficult to determine. The man continued to mutter to himself, but Adam wasn’t sure what he said.

“Marcus, if you don’t shut the hell up and hurry the hell up, I swear to God I’m gonna throw you in front of the next motherfucking zombie we see,” the man whose gun was still pointed at Adam said.

“Look,” Adam ventured nervously, “Whatever you need, food, water, shelter, anything, you don’t have to take it. I don’t have much to offer, but I’m willing to help you; you don’t have to point a gun at me and break down my door and rob me.”

The man pointing the gun who seemed very evidently to be the leader of the outfit laughed. “Man, you are either the nicest or the stupidest guy we’ve ever stolen from. Hell, maybe both. Look, mate, I don’t know how they’re handling things where you come from—” And neither did Adam, but he said nothing about it.”But around here, we gotta take what we need; we help ourselves. Dog eat dog. Survival of the fittest or whatever, know what I mean?”

Before Adam could respond, a third man said, “I got his phone and computer. I don’t see anything else of value that we can carry.”

“Please don’t take those. That’s the only way I have to contact anyone,” Adam pleaded, “At least, leave the laptop. It’s old and doesn’t even work half the time anyway.”

“Hey, in case you haven’t noticed or forgot, we got the guns and we’re running this,” a fourth man said, pushing past Adam and the third man in a rough fashion. He mumbled something about doing some dishonest sounding trade with the devices in question, but Adam wasn’t really listening anymore. He was too distracted by the reminder that he might very well be shot and no one would even know what had happened to him.

All in all, it would be an almost mundane way to die, getting murdered by another person. It wouldn't be the most expected way to die during the zombie apocalypse, would it? Getting shot while a group of men rob you and make fun of you.

Adam didn’t want to die, especially not like that, not alone in his home with no way to let anyone know what had happened. So, he stopped talking, and he stood very still. He made a plan; if he survived this, if they let him live, he’d pack whatever necessities he had left that he could carry in a knapsack, and he would go to Kurt’s apartment where Kurt and Rachel (and maybe Santana...he hadn’t heard any updates on that situation) would hopefully still be.

“Alright, boys, we ready to roll?” the group’s leader asked. Having confirmed they were indeed ready, he commanded, “Let’s roll.”

Adam held his breath, thinking that if they were going to shoot him after all this they would do it at that very moment. His heart pounded frantically in his chest, as if it could save him from this situation just by working harder.

Fortunately, the men left without firing any shots. Adam heaved a sigh of relief, and his legs buckled underneath him. He was alive.

--

Now to take inventory and get packing. He grabbed his knives from the floor where he’d dropped them, thankful to still have them, even if he never wanted to use them (well, never in the way he probably would have to use them soon.) As expected, his kitchen had been utterly ransacked. There had been very little left anyway, but now there was nothing but boxes of tea.

Well, at least they’d left him his tea. “Thank you, Marcus,” he said, as he grabbed a box from the cabinet, “I could’ve done without the name calling though.” The biscuits Marcus had also mocked were noticeably absent; Marcus’s hunger must have been larger than his attitude. “Ah, of course.”

He had two thermos containers that didn’t leak, so he filled them with water and packed them. Then, he grabbed some clothes. Lastly, he took three photos off his refrigerator: one of the Apples, one of him and Kurt, and one of his family back in England. These were people he would always carry with him.

He took one last look at the place he’d called home for several years, currently trashed as it was. It held so many memories. He recalled moving into it from the shoe-box of a dorm room at NYADA; back then, he’d had a roommate, an odd fellow named James who also attended NYADA; really this apartment had been James’s to start with, but after a year of living in it with Adam, James left and left the place to Adam. Adam never saw or heard of the man again, and his disappearance was something of an amusing mystery.

Joey from the Apples had lived with Adam for a few months one year, and that had been fun, even if they did have their disagreements sometimes. Other members of the group stayed as guests for shorter tenures. On a few occasions, they gathered the whole group in there at once.

The first time Kurt had come to visit... The first time he’d stayed the night... That one time he’d stayed for almost a week because he was fighting with Rachel over something neither of them even remembered anymore...

Adam turned and left. He had to go to Kurt. There was nothing for him here anymore.