It started out like any other Sunday in the fall. The air was crisp. There was a slight breeze, which caused the leaves to dance in delicate swirls on their way to the ground.
We had big plans for some family fun that afternoon. My husband and I were looking forward to the season premiere of The Walking Dead that night. We never thought we'd be living through it.
We came upon a roadblock. Before we knew what was happening, the car was surrounded. They were everywhere, shambling through the streets, directionless. It was terrifying! Hundreds of them, with a singular goal: to feed.
We couldn't turn back now; we needed supplies. I thought back to season one of The Walking Dead, when Rick and Glen covered themselves in walker guts and walked right through the herd. That could work, right?
We decided to try and blend in. We slowly picked our way through the churning mass of bodies.
"Remember," I told my son, " . . . no loud noises, no sudden movements." We were in the thick of it now. They were all around us, but they didn't see us. I wondered if they saw anything; the way they dragged their feet and bumped into one another made me think they were guided by something other than sight. Instinct, perhaps?
The sound was deafening. Screams came from every direction. I tried to ignore them, to think only about what we came here for, but they were so loud, I could feel it in my bones. We'd finally reached our destination, and I couldn't believe my eyes: there was nothing left. This whole ordeal was for nothing.
We managed to get back to the car and floored it out of there, zipping past the rotting discards laying in the road, half hoping to mow down members of the herd on our way out.
Next October, I think I'll just buy my pumpkins at Stop & Shop, because going to the farm during apple-picking season isso not worth it.
This post originally appeared on In the Powder Room.