Chapter 2 – Running Is a Married Man's Skill
The scratching at the door turned into pounding.
Not polite knocking.
Not even angry knocking.
This was the kind of pounding that said "we are definitely here to eat you."
I stared at the door.
The door stared back.
Another heavy thud shook the wood.
The cheap bolt rattled like it was already reconsidering its life choices.
I took one last swig of my warm Thums Up.
"Alright Kripa," I muttered to myself. "Time to demonstrate the only survival skill you truly mastered during marriage."
Running.
Another bang.
The bolt bent.
I grabbed the rolling pin.
Then I paused.
Looked around the flat.
Living room full of corpses.
Kitchen smelling like burnt paratha and apocalypse.
My wife lying on the floor with half her face gone.
"Sorry Sunita ji," I said respectfully. "But I think I should leave before your extended family arrives."
The door cracked.
A gray hand pushed through.
Then another.
Then a face squeezed between the gap.
A man from the building next door.
Or what used to be him.
His nose was missing.
So were both lips.
But somehow he still managed to drool like a professional.
"Yeah," I said calmly.
"Definitely time to go."
I bolted toward the back door.
Our flat had a tiny balcony connected to the staircase that led down to the alley.
Sunita had always hated that staircase.
"Too dirty," she used to say.
"People spit gutkha there."
At that moment, gutkha stains felt like the least of my problems.
I sprinted down the stairs.
My slippers slapped loudly against the concrete.
Behind me I heard the front door finally give way.
Wood splintered.
Something heavy fell.
And then came the moaning.
Lots of moaning.
"Wonderful," I muttered.
"Now the entire neighborhood wants breakfast."
I burst out into the alley.
Morning sunlight hit my face.
Smoke drifted across the street.
People ran in every direction.
Some chased.
Some screamed.
Some… were eating.
A scooter lay on its side.
A dog barked hysterically before disappearing around a corner.
And then I heard a very familiar sound behind me.
"Grrraaaah…"
I turned.
Big mistake.
Sunita stood at the top of the staircase.
Or rather, what remained of her.
Her saree was torn.
Her hair hung loose.
Her one remaining eye locked onto me.
And beside her—
My mother-in-law.
Still missing half her cheek.
Still looking disapproving.
Even as a zombie she somehow radiated disappointment.
"Of course," I sighed.
"Even death can't stop family drama."
They started coming down the stairs.
Fast.
Very fast.
Too fast for people who had technically died ten minutes ago.
I ran.
Down the alley.
Across the street.
Past a panicking vegetable vendor who was attempting to beat a zombie with a cabbage.
I didn't stop to help.
Because helping people during the apocalypse is how you become lunch.
Behind me the footsteps continued.
Slapping.
Dragging.
Moaning.
I risked another glance over my shoulder.
Sunita was gaining.
Mother-in-law followed close behind.
Her saree trailed along the ground like an angry ghost.
Then something wonderful happened.
Sunita's foot got tangled in her saree.
She stumbled.
Flipped forward.
And landed face-first on the pavement.
Her head bounced off the ground with a very satisfying thunk.
I slowed for half a second.
"Careful, Sunita ji," I shouted helpfully.
"Saree safety is very important!"
Behind her, mother-in-law tried to avoid the fallen body.
Unfortunately her own saree decided to betray her.
Her foot caught in the fabric.
She tripped over Sunita.
Both zombies collapsed in a tangled pile of cotton, limbs, and pure marital karma.
I took advantage of the situation and sprinted harder.
Because I knew two important things about zombies.
First, they were persistent.
Second, my mother-in-law had always been extremely good at getting back up after a fall.
I turned the corner onto the main road.
The scene there looked like the trailer of a very low-budget horror movie.
Cars abandoned.
A bus sideways across the street.
Someone screaming inside an apartment building.
Someone else screaming because they were being eaten.
And right in the middle of the road—
A liquor shop.
"Sharma Wine & Spirits."
The shutter was half open.
And several zombies had already gathered inside.
My first instinct was to run the other way.
Then I noticed something important.
The zombies were busy.
Very busy.
Apparently the shop owner and two employees had not evacuated in time.
They were currently providing what appeared to be an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Three zombies gnawed on the owner.
Two more fought over an employee's leg.
Another one chewed thoughtfully on a shoulder.
No one was looking at the shelves.
And those shelves…
Those beautiful shelves…
Were filled with bottles.
Whisky.
Rum.
Vodka.
Brandy.
And there, glowing like a divine blessing from the heavens—
Blenders Pride.
I stopped running.
Because I am a man with priorities.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Yes this is happening."
I crouched and slowly slipped through the half-open shutter.
The zombies were so busy eating they didn't even glance at me.
One of them ripped something loose with a wet tearing sound.
I avoided looking.
Because if I saw exactly what part of the human body that was, I might lose my appetite.
And right now I needed to focus.
Quiet steps.
Slow breathing.
Careful movements.
I reached the whisky shelf.
Blenders Pride.
Several bottles.
Beautiful amber liquid.
My hands moved quickly.
One bottle into my bag.
Second bottle.
Third bottle.
Then I paused.
Because if you're already committing theft during the apocalypse, you might as well commit proper theft.
Fourth bottle.
Fifth bottle.
I considered taking a sixth but my bag started making concerning stretching noises.
Behind me a zombie suddenly turned.
Blood covered its face.
It stared at me.
I froze.
The zombie stared harder.
Then it turned back to the buffet.
Apparently human meat ranked higher than middle-aged government clerks.
"Thank you," I whispered politely.
Just as I was about to leave, I spotted something even better.
A small stack of mini bottles near the counter.
Travel-size whisky.
Perfect emergency rations.
I grabbed several and stuffed them into my pockets.
Then I carefully slid back toward the shutter.
Outside the street had grown louder.
More screams.
More running.
More chaos.
I crawled under the shutter and stood up.
Victory.
Five bottles of Blenders Pride.
A pocket full of minis.
And I was still alive.
Best Monday ever.
Then I heard the moaning again.
Louder this time.
I slowly turned.
At the end of the street, two very familiar figures staggered into view.
Sunita.
Mother-in-law.
Covered in dust.
Still angry.
Still chasing me.
Sunita's saree was now wrapped around her leg like an incompetent snake.
Mother-in-law limped slightly.
But they were coming.
Determined.
Relentless.
"Arre wah," I said.
"Round two already?"
I tightened the strap of my bag.
Adjusted the rolling pin in my hand.
Then I ran again.
Because surviving the zombie apocalypse requires three things.
Luck.
Speed.
And the ability to outrun your in-laws.
Unfortunately for me…
They were getting faster.
And somewhere behind them—
Dozens more zombies had noticed the running man with the whisky bag.
Which meant one very important thing.
I was no longer escaping.
I was leading a parade.
A very hungry parade.
And the worst part?
I had absolutely no idea where I was running to.
But one thing was certain.
If I stopped running…
I was definitely becoming lunch.
So I ran faster.
And prayed the next corner held something better than zombies.
Maybe a car.
Maybe a weapon.
Maybe a miracle.
Instead…
When I turned the next corner—
I ran straight into something that made me stop dead in my tracks.
Because standing in the middle of the road…
Holding what looked suspiciously like a shotgun…
Was someone I never expected to see again.
And the first thing they said to me was:
"Kripa?"
"What the hell did you do this time?"