5/30 Rumor and Reservation

5/30

I've never been inside a pornography store before
Or really noticed the architecture
Of the windowless building up the hill from the truck stop
But the Christian radio station is telling me to go there.

Since this zombie disaster struck
I have left the house only twice.
Once to get the short-wave from the storage unit.
Once to loot supplies with the neighbors at the 7-11.
Each time I was lucky to return.

My house is not safe,
The radio reminds me.
Large first floor windows are no barricade.
I am a fish in a barrel.
A barrel with big glass windows.

Christian radio is the only station still on the air
They've stopped broadcasting the sermons
And uplifting music,
Their purpose turned to saving lives now, more than souls.
The only religion they speak anymore is
God help us all.

They advise me to seek out a fortress
Find a place in your town with thick walls
No large, open windows.
They suggest an armory, a jail, or a porn shop.
We have only one of those in this town.
Is anyone even there?

To leave home
I'd have to tear down the barricade
Get to my car
Leave myself and my home vulnerable.

If I go there,
There's no guarantee it will be safe
That anyone will be there
That they'll let me in

I calculate the odds of getting there at all,
Or there and back.
If it's deserted
Or closed up.
I keep packing to leave anyway

I decide against it,
The trip being too risky
And uncertain.
Though it would have made for a good story:
Sent to the porn shop by Christian radio to escape zombie hordes.

The bag slides off my shoulder,
Slumping hopelessly against the inside of my barricade.
I will not go, I decide.
In the next room,
A window breaks.

I shoulder the bag once more.