These sorts of stories typically start by saying "Oscar
awoke to a normal and seemingly uneventful day, and then things got
worse." But that's not how it happens in real life, or at least not when
zombies are involved. No, Oscar Fitzpaul was awakened suddenly by what he
thought was an explosion outside. What it actually turned out to be was his
record player crashing to the floor across the room, no doubt ruining the 1968
Count Basie vinyl he'd left spinning on there through the night. As his eyes
adjusted, he registered the cause of this disaster and gasped at the sight of
his personal care attendant doubled over against the wall.
"Ricky," he said slowly, reaching a hand out to
comfort. "Ricky, are you ok?"
Ricky let himself into the house each morning, always with a
smile and a song, to shower the bachelor cripple, and to clean up around the
house. He liked to call himself an "odds and ends man," and he did
his job well. But now, the 6' 8" 180 lb nurse was balled up on the floor
like an abused dog, shivering and groaning.
Oscar, who's underdeveloped legs were the mainspring of
Ricky's employment, pushed himself off the bed and into his wheelchair with a
plop. He rolled closer to his friend and placed a hand on his clammy shoulder.
"Ricky," he said again, and this time, the nurse
turned to face him.