Post by Leon Silverblood on May 28, 2009 22:54:43 GMT -5
Leon grunts, an admission of one more thing he didn't like to face. One more thing that made life harder if you tried to deal with it because you can't. There is no dealing with it. No coming up with a solution, no eliminating the source of stress by problem solving or aggression. Ah, sweet avoidance. The strongest and foremost of all defense mechanisms.
Another shot for Leon. As much as he drinks these days, it hardly effects him. It takes a few bottles between dawn and noon just to get him level-headed. He wonders briefly why he keeps it up, then realizes he wouldn't be having this internal discourse on psychology without it. He'd probably be eating the business end of the pistol he'd drawn earlier, and with the safety off this time.
Another shot. He feels numb enough to face it, so hell, why not?
"A movie I saw before all this happened had a character who said "On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero." I don't like to believe it's true but it IS the most likely thing. The large handfuls of survivors left dwindle down to smaller handfuls. If they're lucky enough to have children without the babies drawing enough zeds to eat the family, it won't happen often enough. The gene pool will become shallow, inbreeding will cut whatever small chance anyone has then in half, and we'll cycle down to extinction."
"However," he continues with the tiniest bit of hope allowed to creep into his voice. "There is enough genetic diversity remaining even now to pass on the immunity that some people don't know they have. You see, thanks to 'genetic drift', it's infeasible for any single organism to successfully attack more than 98% of the population. That leaves 2 out of a hundred people immune."
Then his eyes lower and his head drops again.
"But zombies don't just infect, do they? And there's no genetic solution to having your guts torn out."
He takes a deep breath and steels himself for the final analysis, swallowing hard but forcing the wicked truth out.
"Things will get a lot worse. They'll never get better...No, not without intervention. Under quarantine, there is no other outcome. Everybody eventually dies. We might last one half of another generation. Our teenagers may see the sun, but not for long. I don't think calculate anyone born today makes it past 20, and anyone else will be long gone before then."
He's silent for long moments, then looks over at Noah and tilts his head in a sideways shrug. No wonder he'd got lost in his own attic. Leon takes another deep breath. Another shot. Another shot. And lets go, releases the pain in a long sigh that isn't quite sad, just relaxing.
"You know, though. It doesn't change a thing, the virus. We're born. We die. If it weren't this, it would be something else. Car accident. Electrocution. Some other disease. We're the same as the people outside this quarantine wall. They'll die, too. They'll perpetuate the species, but they'll die too. Our odds are just a little higher each day than theirs are. So! Eat! Drink! Be merry! For tomorrow, on this side of the wall, on that side of the wall, you die!"
His laughter is sincere, his own irony has brought back his usual good cheer. He raises his bottle and smiles to Giddien.
ValJohn appears with a burger and sets it down before him. He looks up at the 40ish cook and nods, passing him the bottle. Val upends the bottle, taking a swig, then wipes his mouth and passes it back. Leon punches him lightly in his large but not enormous belly and could almost swear he hears the slightest grunt of a laugh from old ugly as he turns and walks off again.
"You da man, Val. Now go be grumpy like I'm used to."
Another shot for Leon. As much as he drinks these days, it hardly effects him. It takes a few bottles between dawn and noon just to get him level-headed. He wonders briefly why he keeps it up, then realizes he wouldn't be having this internal discourse on psychology without it. He'd probably be eating the business end of the pistol he'd drawn earlier, and with the safety off this time.
Another shot. He feels numb enough to face it, so hell, why not?
"A movie I saw before all this happened had a character who said "On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero." I don't like to believe it's true but it IS the most likely thing. The large handfuls of survivors left dwindle down to smaller handfuls. If they're lucky enough to have children without the babies drawing enough zeds to eat the family, it won't happen often enough. The gene pool will become shallow, inbreeding will cut whatever small chance anyone has then in half, and we'll cycle down to extinction."
"However," he continues with the tiniest bit of hope allowed to creep into his voice. "There is enough genetic diversity remaining even now to pass on the immunity that some people don't know they have. You see, thanks to 'genetic drift', it's infeasible for any single organism to successfully attack more than 98% of the population. That leaves 2 out of a hundred people immune."
Then his eyes lower and his head drops again.
"But zombies don't just infect, do they? And there's no genetic solution to having your guts torn out."
He takes a deep breath and steels himself for the final analysis, swallowing hard but forcing the wicked truth out.
"Things will get a lot worse. They'll never get better...No, not without intervention. Under quarantine, there is no other outcome. Everybody eventually dies. We might last one half of another generation. Our teenagers may see the sun, but not for long. I don't think calculate anyone born today makes it past 20, and anyone else will be long gone before then."
He's silent for long moments, then looks over at Noah and tilts his head in a sideways shrug. No wonder he'd got lost in his own attic. Leon takes another deep breath. Another shot. Another shot. And lets go, releases the pain in a long sigh that isn't quite sad, just relaxing.
"You know, though. It doesn't change a thing, the virus. We're born. We die. If it weren't this, it would be something else. Car accident. Electrocution. Some other disease. We're the same as the people outside this quarantine wall. They'll die, too. They'll perpetuate the species, but they'll die too. Our odds are just a little higher each day than theirs are. So! Eat! Drink! Be merry! For tomorrow, on this side of the wall, on that side of the wall, you die!"
His laughter is sincere, his own irony has brought back his usual good cheer. He raises his bottle and smiles to Giddien.
ValJohn appears with a burger and sets it down before him. He looks up at the 40ish cook and nods, passing him the bottle. Val upends the bottle, taking a swig, then wipes his mouth and passes it back. Leon punches him lightly in his large but not enormous belly and could almost swear he hears the slightest grunt of a laugh from old ugly as he turns and walks off again.
"You da man, Val. Now go be grumpy like I'm used to."
