Saturday, March 3, 2012

Day 55

Charlotte is in front of me, her face close to mine as she dabs some ointment on the scratches for the fifth time sense I got them. She cleans each one and then moves to my left hand ring finger and right leg. She tries to be gentle, but it doesn't matter since all we have is alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. It stings but I grit my teeth and bare it.

"Do you think the zombies are aware of what they are doing?" She asks suddenly, dabbing at my leg. "I mean, do you think they have a choice, or maybe fight what they are doing but are unable to?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "I would guess that they are not aware at all. I mean . . . the original person died, right, and that is when this infection, bacterial, or whatever, revives them. I would say that whatever was there before is gone after they die."

"What? Like their spirit?"

"That's one way of looking at it. Have you heard of conscious theories?"

"A little, but nothing in detail."

"That," I start, "is one of the biggest questions within science and philosophy. Where do we get our consciousness, what it meant by consciousness, and why is it important, if we even have it. I think the more important question is are these creatures conscious beings? Do they have in themselves a separate consciousness that drives them and gives them cause to attack? Or are they literally zombies, a term that, in philosophy, refers to one who is without consciousness."

"And it would matter because we are killing them," Charlotte continues, catching on to my train of thought. "We kill them to survive, but would it be ethical to kill them just to kill them?"

"Exactly. I had a hard time at first coping with having to kill them. I think more so because they looked human. Many mangled, but still human. But then I thought, what makes a human human. I'm not talking about biological; not, what makes a Homo sapien a Homo sapien, but what exactly makes us humane? What is different between the violence that I take part of when killing zombies and the violence they show towards us? Because violence is violence, right?" I wince as she dabs hydrogen peroxide on my leg again.

"I guess, right," Charlotte says, "but isn't ours more in self defense? To protect us. You ran at a zombie with no weapons to protect us. In most context that would be suicide, but you did what you needed to do." She pauses, "so maybe that is the distinguishing factor in our violence. We are doing it because we have to."

"I don't think it can be that cut and dry. All things wish to survive. I've been watching them, you see, and I think they are evolving rapidly. Not physically, but behaviorally. They are alone and feed, then they are in groups and are migrating. They don't attack cars if we're just driving by and now they are stalking. To me, this seems like classic survival skills. Which makes me thing that whatever is infecting them needs them to be violent. Whether that is for their own survival, or just a side effect of the infection, it seems like a necessary part of the zombie process.

"I think what makes us human is something deeper, more primal than violence. It is our willingness to survive. To survive in a way that will give us happiness. That is why we have religion, because with out it things seemed bleak. Whether you believe in God or not, that belief brings about hope. And I think only a conscious being could think of something as grand as hope. Without it, what is all of this for? Why am I letting you clean me--which is painful--if I didn't have hope that gave me this instinctive survival motive."

"So do you believe in God?" She asks, now wrapping gauze around my leg.

"Yeah. I do."

"Did he give you consciousness?"

"Probably not. I think some version of me has always had it. I think maybe he helps it grow. How about you? Do you believe in a God?"

"No. I don't think so. And if I ever did I think that belief left when all of this shit started happening."

"But who says that this is God's work or will?" I ask. I wait to see if she will respond but she doesn't. "I think the biggest problem with religions is people feeling as though everything is ruled by God. A tornado touches down and kills dozens and all of the sudden people are questioning how this fits into God's ultimate plan, or how can God allow something like this. And there are many building up attributes to my believe, evolution, progression and freewill, mainly, but the basis behind it all is that God has nothing to do with it.

"I think there is no difference--when it comes to God's responsibilities and actions--between me cutting my finger on a knife, and a zombie apocalypse wiping out most of the world. I think what matters is what we do with ourselves during these times, and how we cope with them. God won't interfere with our pain, because that is an aspect of being human. But he will give us, by default of religion and belief, opportunity after the fact to gain this hope that makes us humane."

She finishes wrapping up my leg and hand, obviously in deep thought. She stands and thanks me, hugging me as she does.

"I don't know if I'll ever believe in God, but thanks all the same. I think I needed this conversation."

I smile and hug her back and think to my self that this . . . this connection that we have between us, our connection in loneliness that makes living important. We are all alone, every second of every day, and the only thing that can help is that acknowledgement of the loneliness and taking comfort through others joint loneliness, knowing that they can feel the same as you.

* * *

The search is fruitless and we end early, arriving back at the house we'd slept in the night before. Tomorrow we will go out again, at least this one last time, and look for my family who may be dead, and all I can do is hope that they are still alive, somewhere, hoping to see us again.

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