Happy Birthday, Me!

This is a good day. Wanna know why? 'Cause it's my birthday. I turned 33 years old at 7:11 in the ante-meridian. I have officially begun my Jesus year. If I can make it to 34, I'll have the old man beat. Please don't tell him I said that.

In honor of me I have decided to tell the story of the day I was born as it has been told to me by my mother, who may be slightly crazy but who should be trusted nevertheless.

First, however, I will eat the Wendy's chicken sandwich my wife brought me for lunch. Please hold...

Ahhh... Delicious and only $.99! Alright, back to business...

January 10, 1978. The temperature was shockingly low. The barometer was doing some interesting things. A tiny, pregnant woman in her late-twenties stood at her kitchen sink while her two young children made life rather unbearable by being young children. The youngest, Michele, ran into the kitchen to get her brother in trouble for the lamp she just broke, but saw something far more interesting. "MOMMY PEED HER PANTS!" she yelled angelically. 

"Mommy" was Ellena Beers, mother to David and Michele Beers. She was so stressed out with the dealings of life that she had forgotten momentarily that she was pregnant and briefly wondered if she had peed her pants. Then she understood. "Oh, crap. Davey! Get your sister ready to go! I want you both in coats and boots and waiting for me by the front door in ten minutes!"

"Where are we going?" Davey asked, looking up from the doll whose eyes he had only partially pried out with a pointed nail file.

"Hospital. The baby's coming." Ellena waddled back to her bedroom where she had an overnight back stuffed under the bed, although she hadn't bothered to pack anything into it. She proceeded to stuff things into it now, scooping up the phone from the bedside table. She called her parents and updated them on the situation. "Are you going to call David?" her mother asked. David was Ellena's husband. "Do you even know where he is?"

"The same place he's been for the past four months, Mom. Not here." She hung up and finished packing. She found, to her surprise, both of her children awaiting her, ready to go, by the front door. They both looked scared but neither of them said a word.

Ellena loaded the kids into the car, a 1974 Chevy Vega. Brown. It was the perfect car for snowy weather. It rarely started so there was little chance of getting yourself stuck in a drift. But, by some miracle, the car started and, with many prayers and swears the truncated Beers family made their way across town to Parkview Hospital.

As they drove, Michele spoke up, betraying her fears. "Mommy, when the baby comes are you going to love us less?" Ellena chewed on the inside of her cheek, looking for the right answer. "I don't see how that's possible, Sweetie."

They pulled into the hospital parking lot and Ellena knew immediately something was wrong. One quick glance was all it took to diagnose the problem. As if the headaches of scraping by on a meager one-parent income, juggling two rotten kids, wondering where on Earth her deadbeat husband has been the last four months, and navigating the icy streets in a puttering deathtrap weren't trouble enough, now the hospital seemed to be overrun by zombies.

Without missing a beat, Ellena reached under the front seat and pulled out her trusty sawed-off shotgun, checked that it was loaded, and tucked a few extra shells into the pocket of her apron, which she had forgotten to take off before leaving the house. She then reached into the glove box and pulled out a pair of snub-nosed .38 specials, which she tossed to David and Michele in the back seat. "Knuckle-up, kids. Davey, I want you on point, Michele, watch my rear. We're headin' for the third floor. Elevators are bound to be out, so head for the stairs."

David tucked the gun into his coat pocket and reached over the seat back, rummaging in the back until he brought out a baseball bat with a number of long nails driven through the head. "I'm ready, Mom."

Michele tied a black scarf around her blond hair and smeared black paint on her cheeks. She then pulled a long, sharp dagger out from the space between the seat and the seat back. While she was digging around in there, she also found a dime. Bonus.

Seeing that her children where ready, Ellena grabbed the steering wheel hard with both hands and floored it. The Vega met the curb at top speed and stopped. They had to walk the rest of the way.

The trail of undead that was left in their wake is indescribable. Well, not really, but I'm running a little over as it is, so just imagine gore and violence that you can't describe, and then dial it back a notch.

I was born the following morning.

(Note: We aren't completely certain, but Michele may have been bitten.)

Thank you,
      Matt Beers