Hope On The Rocks/Issue 154

This is Issue 154 of Hope On The Rocks, entitled "Don't Call it a Phobia".

This issue is Lia-centric.

1204, Don't Call it a Phobia
I’m sitting on the helicopter, looking at Miles on the department store’s roof. He’s standing there, looking at the zombies on the street. I don’t hope he has give up. I haven’t. Garrett is standing with a .22 rifle, obviusly considering if he should open fire. Jim and I have told him not to, even though I get why he’d want to. There is no way the others will be able to cross this road if we don’t kill some of those zombies. “They’ll be fine.” Jim says, sitting inside the helicopter. I look at him. He’s faking a smile, balancing a revolver in his hands. “Yeah, I know.” I say, sending him a smile back. “I’m just worried.” Jim sighs as he says “Yeah, me too.” “Can I ask you something?” I say, trying to lead my thoughts away. “Of course.” “How was your life before the outbreak?” Jim smiles and looks down. “I thought we talked about that when I was hanging myself.” “I mean... Did you have a good job and such?” “My job was fine, I guess. I was a pilot, so it wasn’t because it was boring or anything.” “Did you fly big planes?” I ask, actually interested. “Yeah, sometimes. Mostly just smaller aircraft from one state to another.” “That sounds fun.” I look at Garrett. “Don’t you think?” Garrett looks at me quickly, then turns back to the street. “I hate flying.” He mutters. “You doesn’t seem nervous when we’re flying.” Jim says, getting out of the helicopter, joining Garrett. “Guess I’m good at hiding it.” Garrett says, sounding like he doesn’t care. I understand him; he’s nervous. My father hated flying too. He always had four paper bags with him, at least, because he’d vomit all the time. He really, really hated it. I miss him. While it was Doug’s fault that he died, I haven’t really blamed him. It wasn’t his intention and well... yeah, I killed his son. Not that it made us even, but... yeah. “How many do you think there is?” Jim asks, refering to the zombies on the street. “Probably around...” Garrett thinks. “200 I’d say.” I join them, looking at the zombie infested street. I think there’s more than 200. Way more. “Only 200?” Jim says. “There has to be more than that.” “500 is my guess.” I say, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds more right.” Jim says, still balancing the revolver in his hands. Starring at all the zombies, I begin to wonder what all these people did before they became zombies. I see a woman, same age as me, with half of her hair gone. Probably rotten away, or maybe it was pulled off when she was bit. That could have been me on so many occasions. This group, these people, have protected me so far. Let’s just hope we all survive this day. Another zombie down there is a man in his 40’s with a big beard and glasses still on. Looks like he turned recently, as nothing has rotten on him. That reminds me of Doug again. He died recently, but of course that was in the other end of the country. We never got time to kill Doug. I mean, he’s just walking around as a zombie right now. That’s just sad. Nobody should suffer that fate. I really hope nobody else from this group will end up that way.

Deaths

 * None

Credits

 * Miles Vance
 * Lia Camper
 * Garrett White
 * Jim Iroas