Zombie Juice
© Jordan Long

March 17th 2025

Mark and Rachel are now zombie hybrids because I borrowed some of Mom’s Zombie Juice just to see who would drink it at camp. When the police showed up on my doorstep with an arrest warrant for my mother, I couldn't just admit it was all my fault. Plus she would have eventually gone to prison anyway. My mother is what my therapist calls a hoarder; Our house is full of toxic substances, which according to my therapist is pretty common. She thought I was talking about mold until I gave her cat rabies. I think she’s the one who tipped the police.

Anyway, I had planned to give the Zombie Juice to the kid in the wheelchair. It’s not easy for somebody who can't walk to eat a finger, let alone the counselors and most of the campers. What’s he going to do, roll after them moaning? First of all zombies are dumb, everybody knows that. Secondly they’re slow. Assuming Fritz could even remember how to work his wheelchair, I figured he’d flap moaning, which is what he pretty much does anyway.

The problem started when Fritz didn’t show up to camp. Apparently he died last year when his mother accidently knocked a twenty inch TV into the bathtub. Oops. So there I was with a vial of Zombie Juice. I’ve seen all the reports on the news, but people stopped trusting it after The Enquirer took over FOX and reported stories about aliens from outer space and babies hatched from eggs. The ratings when through the roof and all the other networks jumped on the bandwagon. Just last week they aired a recipe for smart stew and my grandmother has been boiling her feces ever since. I’ve been living with her now that mom’s in prison. Of course supposedly the prison was overrun by Zombies, so I guess she’s dead. Except you can’t trust the news.

I mean I’ve seen a real zombie attack. I was the one who started that last outbreak, remember? After I spiked my best friends’ cool aide, it took about four hours for them to go completely bonkers. But before that, they’d already eaten the lunch lady and Miss Berry. She had this annoying habit of saying “Turn that frown upside down.” If Mark and Rachael hadn’t eaten her, there was an “accident” planed during archery. In a way I was kind of bummed about it- the archery accident, not the zombie mess. I had practiced being shocked in the mirror but I never got a chance to put my acting skills to the text.

Anyway, while all the campers were screaming I did the smart thing. I grabbed my coat- Mark and Rachel’s too- and locked myself in the walk in freezer. It was cold in there. And boring. Noting to do but wait for rescue and practice being traumatized. I had to be careful though. From time to time people pound on the door, screaming “Help!” Yeah, despite what my mother calls a dark disposition and my therapist calls the second coming of Hannibal, I’m not the least bit suicidal. And you’d have to be to open any door during a zombie attack.

I was in the freezer a long time by myself. One thing zombie attack survival guides fail to mention is eventually you have to go to the bathroom. This is why I recommend the walk in freezer. As long as take enough coats, you can stay rather toasty until help comes while avoiding stink of your own shit. At least until the zombies unplug the freezer. Then things get toasty within a day and the turds you deposited in the corner start to smell like grandmother’s smart stew.

As it turned out it wasn’t the zombies who unplugged the freezer. The Army cut off the power. I guess they thought hunting for zombies in the dark was way better. Then again, 60 Minutes ran a special about the crisis. According to them zombies had taken hostages and were demanding to speak with FOX news about zombie discrimination. CBS paid me a million dollars for an interview about my ordeal. People have been sending me get well e-cards with money attached ever since. As well they should. I was the only survivor of what e-papers are now calling Camp Zombie. I was locked in that freezer for a week for crying out loud. That’s slow even for the army.

Well I survived or I wouldn’t be writing this and I just want to say I’m kind of glad to be alive. My therapist says that’s normal after a life and death experience. She said I might even be human. I think she feels guilty because she reported Mom for storing Zombie Juice. I didn’t tell her, but I don’t mind at all. Now that mom’s in jail I can try out the stuff she stored in grandma’s basement after ours got full. There’s a box labeled Plague, Do Not Handle that looks like fun.