The first zombie apocolypse began with a plate of baked beans. Well, that's not exactly fair. Chronologically, it began when a large hog, known only by the tag in his ear as #145623 eyed the masculine parts of another hog numbered 145335 with a glint of piggy amusment in his eye. 144335 didn't like the other animal appraisng his personal bits, and when the chance arose 335 bit 623's curly zittle tail in retribution. No one noticed the wee tail was broken, nor the gangreen that set in. Eight days later when both hogs were stuffed into a trailer and taken to slaughter, 623 died of infection while on a convayer just moments before a nail pirerced his brain.
623 was quickly rendered. His belly was baconed, his feet pickled, his lions were shrink wrapped for a warehouse store, and his gangreneous butt was wrapped and shipped to a discount resturant distributor. That butt was bought up by a resort near Zion National Park in Southern Utah, and slow cooked until began to disintegrate and was put into a pot of Chef Becky "Becks" La Verkin's famous baked beans & ham.
The cursed beans & ham sold out rapidly, and thanks in no small part to safe food handling, fasditious hand washing,and through cooking, only one person suffered any affect of the pig's infection.
That one person was Ghram Polsen of Portland, Oregon. He was dying of Pancreatic Cancer. After months of chemo and a failed surgery, he decided he just wanted to go on one last trip before he died. He was forty, but looked like a hale and healthy hundred-and-two. He was gaunt, gray skinned, and when he bothered to smile little children cried. His twenty-eight year old wife of three years really didn't want to bother, and mildly resented Ghram for inconviencing her as he was dying. He pretended not to notice.
The trip took them to Craters of the Moon, Yellowstone, then south to Bryce Canyon. Zion was supposed to be just a stop on the way to Grand Canyon, but a quick stop at Beck's Diner and a fateful bowl of beans prevented him from making that appointment.
Marla was driving and remarking on the geology while Ghram suffered. A concoction of radiation, gangrene, and the natural evil of beans conspired in his cold, writhing belly. He burped a foul brew that made him wish he were dead, and another burp later he was.
Marla didn't notice. Mostly it was due to inattention, but there were also the facts that Ghram continued to sit upright, look around, and make generaly unpleasant digestive noises.
Like all zombies, the hurt and resentments Ghram had suffered in life impelled him to a quiet, brain eating rage. Though the memories died with Ghram, the zombie vaguely recalled a glint of pigish amusement when Marla had first surveyed his man bits, and he hated her for it.
When his hand grabbed the back of her neck, Marla's first thought was that she wished she weren't shackeld to a clamy, dying man. He second was relief that it would be over soon. The third was lost in the screams as zombie teeth tore into her cheek.
Ironically, were Marla prone to panic, she might have driven her white Toyota Camery off any one of the nearby ledges, and saved three-billion lives in the process. Instead she hastily pulled over, and put the car in park while a zombie munched her shoulder.
Two hours later a Park Ranger stopped to see why two people were stopped on a narrow road. The violent shaking of the car alighted a suspicion, and just for kicks he opened the door.
His first thought was that the woman in the driver's seat could use some sun and a hair brush. The second was she bit faster than a rattlesnake.
One might think a backwater neck of Utah would make for a good place for an undead outbreak to happen, but a quick look at the nearest city shows otherwise. Springdell, Utah is a town of 1,015. They have no urgent commincations out of the city, they produce nothing, and in short if city were smashed by a space rock the only people that would notice would be tourists who had to drive a few miles further to find a greasy diner.
