Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Humans vs Zombies

Wow...two posts in one day...but such is the life of a proud mother. I had posted earlier tonight about my younger son and his amazing pitching prowess in his baseball game this afternoon. I was a very proud mother.

Well, I now have to brag on my older son....but first, a little background. Older son is attending Truman State University, where twice a year, he engages in the notorious "Humans vs Zombie" game played campus-wide. This semester, the game began last week, and my son was very proud of managing to stay Human for all this time. Today was to be the last and final mission - and my son's goal was to survive the mission today and be one of the last few surviving humans.

Being an anxious mother, I have waited all day to see how his mission turned out....and then tonight, he posted his story on his Facebook page. I am copying it below, word for word:


Our last & final mission is today in Ophelia Parrish – we shall conquer or die. Given that at the moment we’re outnumbered nearly 4 to 1, that prospect seems pretty grim, but in the next two hours, half of the zombie horde shall starve, making the odds about 2-1. Since we can mount ranged attacks, I call that even odds.

No zombie horde sightings yet today, which is odd, considering I have been outside often. The day is bright and sunny, and many zombies will starve without brains – but they are not hunting. Perhaps the handful of surviving humans have been so quick and so clever that the zombies have given up hunting in between classes? I can only speculate.

I reached Ophelia, and regrouped with the last remnants of the human resistance. There were perhaps two dozen of us remaining. 24 humans against perhaps 80 zombies. Our task was to activate the failsafe on the ultimate weapon we had spent the last few days preparing, activate the weapon itself, then race to the bunker that had been prepared Sunday before it detonated in 15 minutes, eliminating the zombie scourge.

We raced across campus to West Campus, moving so quickly the horde never spotted us. Hurrying through, I pressed the button to activate the failsafe, and then it was south, across campus again, to Barnett.

We hurried, and a force of ten zombies appeared coming down Patterson Street. They attempted to cut us off, but without reinforcements (the horde was rushing to West Campus at this time) they retreated, and we safely made it into Barnett.

Ten minutes later, we finished activating the weapon. In fifteen minutes, it would detonate, wiping out the zombie scourge and saving the human race. Our own survival depended on reaching a bunker prepared – Violette Hall. But there was a problem: Somehow, the timer only read ten minutes!

We stepped outside, and the horde confronted us.

Arrayed all amongst the parking lot, the entire surviving zombie force stood between us and safety. Nine minutes.

I nervously waited for them to engage, but they refused, encouraging us to come to them. Eight minutes.

Glancing up and down our line, I realized we would have to charge them. Again, I waited for someone to make a move. Seven minutes.

Then I realized it. Humans are a cowardly lot. They were edging back, trying to stay hidden behind each other. No one wanted to be the first to charge the horde. No one wanted to embrace almost certain death so that the group could survive. Human priority is first and foremost to survive.

I sighed. I’m not a fighter. I have never pretended to be one – I can handle one or two zombies, perhaps even three at a time, but I am not like those who casually stun six on their way to class. No, I have always been a strategist, one who can lead.

And right now, these humans needed a leader. No one would advance, they would sit there and wait for the detonation, rather than be the first, doomed human at the zombie horde.

I remembered the first day, the ambush that almost killed me.

I remembered the battle at the bridges, when human leadership had proven decisive.

I remembered Centennial Hall, when the inability of humans to be led had caused the deaths of many good men.

I knew what I had to do.

And so I stepped down in front.

I cocked my weapon.

I began to walk forward, and I began to sing.

“This was a triumph…”

I was munched there, leading the way out of Barnett, but the humans in front of the building received the jolt they needed and they began to move, fighting their way across the street, and then breaking up into small groups and racing for safety. Nine were killed on the way there, but would not become zombies – the corpses would be destroyed before they could reanimate. They died as humans. Three were unable to reach the bunker in time and were consumed in the blast. But twelve humans survived, triumphant.


So...my son gallantly and bravely laid down his own life to save the human race. As I sit here in my grief tonight, I cannot help but be so proud of him. He died, fighting the zombies, in order that the few remaining humans would survive. It doesn't get much better than this.

(And to think this is what we're paying for when we send our kids to college.)



Anonymous said...

That is too funny. Your son is a good writer. You are, too. Keep up the funny stories on your blog.

Anonymous said...

How sad. I am sorry your son died today against the zombies. Better luck next time.