World War Z_ An Oral History of the Zombie War ( PDFDrive )

There wasn’t anything?
[Smiles.] This was not America, where there used to be more firearms than people. True
fact—an otaku in Kobe hacked this information directly from your National Rifle Association.
I meant a hand tool, a hammer, a crowbar…
What salaryman does his own home maintenance? I thought of a golf club—there were many of
those—but I saw what the man across the way had tried to do. I did find an aluminum baseball bat,
but it had seen so much action that it was too bent out of shape to be effective. I looked
everywhere, believe me, but there was nothing hard or strong or sharp enough I could use to
defend myself. I also reasoned that once I made it to the street, I might have better luck—a
truncheon from a dead policeman or even a soldier’s firearm.
Those were the thoughts that almost got me killed. I was four floors from the ground, almost,
literally, at the end of my rope. Each section I made extended for several floors, just enough length
to allow me to gather more sheets. This time I knew would be the last. By now I had my entire
escape plan worked out: land on the fourth-floor balcony, break into the apartment for a new set of
sheets (I’d given up looking for a weapon by then), slide down to the sidewalk, steal the most
convenient motorcycle (even though I had no idea how to ride one), streaking off like some
old-timey bosozoku, 4 and maybe even grab a girl or two along the way. [Laughs.] My mind was
barely functional by that point. If even the first part of the plan had worked and I did manage to
make it to the ground in that state…well, what matters is that I didn’t.
I landed on the fourth-floor balcony, reached for the sliding door, and looked up right into the
face of a siafu. It was a young man, midtwenties, wearing a torn suit. His nose had been bitten off,
and he dragged his bloody face across the glass. I jumped back, grabbed on to my rope, and tried
to climb back up. My arms wouldn’t respond, no pain, no burning—I mean they had just reached
their limit. The siafu began howling and beating his fists against the glass. In desperation, I tried to
swing myself from side to side, hoping to maybe rappel against the side of the building and land on
the balcony next to me. The glass shattered and the siafu charged for my legs. I pushed off from
the building, letting go of the rope and launching myself with all my might…and I missed.
The only reason we are speaking now is that my diagonal fall carried me onto the balcony below
my target. I landed on my feet, stumbled forward, and almost went toppling off the other side. I
stumbled into the apartment and immediately looked around for any siafu. The living room was
empty, the only piece of furniture a small traditional table propped up against the door. The
occupant must have committed suicide like the others. I didn’t smell anything foul so I guessed he
must have thrown himself out of the window. I reasoned that I was alone, and just this small
measure of relief was enough to cause my legs to give out from under me. I slumped against the
living room wall, almost delirious with fatigue. I found myself looking at a collection of photographs
decorating the opposite wall. The apartment’s owner had been an old man, and the photographs
told of a very rich life. He’d had a large family, many friends, and had traveled to what seemed
every exciting and exotic locale around the world. I’d never even imagined leaving my bedroom,
let alone even leading that kind of life. I promised myself that if I ever made it out of this
nightmare, I wouldn’t just survive, I would live!
My eyes fell on the only other item in the room, a Kami Dana, or traditional Shinto shrine.
Something was on the floor beneath it, I guessed a suicide note. The wind must have blown it off
when I entered. I didn’t feel right just leaving it there. I hobbled across the room and stooped to