Al and his wife Eleanor inhabited a tiny house off grid in mystical Taos, New Mexico.
For a while their lives were idyllic, living free and easy on the Taos desert land before a ragged band of zombies began invading the desert, their origin story unknown, as mysterious as UAPs.
Long before the news caught up with them, the band of zombies roamed the Taos desert like an invading, merciless army rabidly killing scores of human prey.
While Eleanor was tending her garden of prickly pear cacti behind her and Al’s tiny house, the sun ducked behind a dark cluster of clouds in the New Mexico skies, and a pitiful little zombie girl shuffled toward her crying and growling.
Not suspecting a zombie, but thinking the child was in shock, her body in tatters, perhaps from an awful auto accident, Eleanor worried for what she saw as an innocent, little girl traumatized and in a medical crisis.
Eleanor invited her into her house to console her and dress her wounds and drive her to the Holy Cross Medical Center for medical attention.
Al wasn’t home at that time, hiking in the environs, enjoying his relaxing time in nature on that cloudy day.
As Eleanor was helping the little girl, the little girl moaned and growled and bit Eleanor on her jugular vein. After a few gurgling screams, the wound fatal, blood running down her body, Eleanor died.
The little zombie girl feasted on her for a few moments, her young appetite easily sated, and shuffled away at an astonishing fast pace for a zombie.
A little later, Eleanor’s eyes popped open and she began to stir. She was pretty much brain dead and totally zombified.
When Al returned home and saw Eleanor’s zombified state, he was shocked and horrified; he’d seen enough zombie movies to know Eleanor’s irreversible, dark plight.
Not wanting to share her fate, he locked Eleanor out of their house and prayed for a miraculous restoration of the woman she had been before the zombie bite.
After a week of Eleanor scratching and pounding on their front door, Al missed her desperately despite the deal breaker of her walking dead disease.
Still loving her like the in sickness and in health marriage vow they solemnly shared in a little Methodist church in Idaho, Al opened the door.
Despite knowing he was doomed, out of love for Eleanor he held her in his arms while she bit into his jugular and ended his free spirit life.
Somehow Eleanor’s romantic instincts and her wifely loyalty survived her deactivated, undead mind.
When Al returned to life zombified, she hugged him and kissed what remained of his face.
And they walked withered hand in withered hand to some distant living dead neverland, proving even for the zombified – love can find a way.
Bob Boyd