Just in case of a zombie outbreak …

One thing Steve and I have in common is a love of zombie movies. Our shared top pick: 28 Days Later, which scared the shit out of me and gave me nightmares for weeks. Last Sunday–as part of our mini-honeymoon–we made a rare appearance at the actual movie theater, and splurged on the extra $2 per person to see Zombieland on the big screen. The movie was scary (to me, but then I’m a total wimp when it comes to scary movies), gross and hilarious. I would see it again–likely will when it’s out on Netflix. Lord knows I’ve watched Shaun of the Dead at least 9 times on Comedy Central.

Every time we watch a zombie movie, we start talking about our survival plan in case of a zombie outbreak. This conversation will continue long after the drive home from the theater, or trip up the stairs to our bedroom. We’ll be driving along days or weeks later, and one of us will say, “Oh, and we need to make sure to stock up with seeds, because if we have natural light, we can grow food.” And the other will know exactly what’s going on.

In case of a zombie outbreak, here’s what we’re doing:

First, we need to win the lottery this year so we can buy land in the nearby mountains and build a compound. Yes, you read that right, a compound–an underground compound. Above, it will look like a normal cabin. However the walls will be steel-reinforced and fireproof. The windows and doors will have steel covers we can bolt on–or weld on if need be. Below the house will be a fully stocked home, with geothermal heat and solar electricity, a storeroom of food, a deep well for water, simulated natural lighting, and a full library of books and DVDs and and video games and board games, computers, paper and ink cartridges (because you can’t run to Home Depot when there are zombies out wandering around). And comfy bedrooms and some exercise equipment.

And an arsenal, with shotguns and handguns and rifles and, if we can find them, machine guns and all the ammunition we can get our hands on. Maybe a flame thrower too. And a few big-ass machete knives. We’ll have an indoor shooting range too for practicing. And, of course, upstairs we’ll have one kick-ass truck–maybe one of those ridiculous Ford Superduty Trucks that are about 15 feet tall. Or a Hummer. And every so often we’d go outside for fresh air and to make sure our land was clear of flesh-eaters.

“When the shit starts coming down, we won’t be one of those people hoping everything will be all right and waiting for the government to tell us what to do,” Steve says ominously. “We’ll get our guns and get the hell out of the city. If we have to kill some people along the way, so be it.”

I’ll retort: “We don’t have to kill people. We only have to kill zombies. The normal people, we’ll just stun or something. Unless they’ve been bitten, and in that case that motherfucker is dead. No waiting around until they turn before you blast them.”

We’re not gun freaks, but Steve’s ex-Army and I’ve been to the shooting range (twice). I think if there were a zombie outbreak, I’d want to be with him over pretty much anyone else, because the Army taught him to kill people with bayonets and bullets, (and he even went to French Commando school so I think he’s probably a badass) and even though he’s not in that mindset now, I can imagine a screaming zombie chasing me or one of the kids would trip that switch back on. Then it would be him and me and the kids alone at the end of the world … at least until all the zombies die of starvation.

Now if we don’t win the lottery this year (you can’t win if you don’t play!!) we’ve decided in the event of a zombie outbreak that we’d go live in a Wal-Mart. In the original Dawn of the Dead movie, the survivors go live in a mall, but today’s malls no longer have what you need (what, you’re going to fend off a zombie with that Prada bag you picked up for free at Neiman’s? Not!) Wal-Marts, however, have EVERYTHING you need: clothes, food, water, bathrooms, crossbows, guns, ammo, shovels, pruning shears, books, video games, TVs, soap, sleeping bags, lip balm, pharmaceuticals, cigarettes, condoms (but alas, no sex toys), microwaves and crockpots, and even Christmas trees and lights if you took it over between September and February.  Eyeglasses, of course. No flame throwers, though. Best of all, Wal-Marts are almost entirely made of concrete, which makes them near impossible to claw through. Sure you’d have take over BEFORE the panic sets in so there are still supplies left, and then you’d have to block off the entry doors and the loading dock after clearing all the zombies out, but after that, you’d be set. A well-stocked regular Wal-Mart could probably support about a dozen people for six months if you were careful about rationing the food. A Super Wal-Mart, well hell, you could probably support a few dozen people, and maybe even their dogs (if they don’t turn into zombies–how come they never show what happens to the pets in those movies? Do ferrets get zombie fever?).

If Dec. 21, 2012 comes around and the world turns to zombies, I want to live to fight another day.