CHARLESTON, WV — Although West Virginians possess many qualities that appear useful during a zombie apocalypse, experts warn the state would probably lose half its population before everyone agreed something unusual was happening.
The first zombie would wander through town for six hours before anybody reported it because everyone would assume somebody’s cousin was high again.
Even after the creature attacked a mail carrier, three dogs and the inflatable tube man outside a used-car lot, residents would remain skeptical.
“He’s always been a little off,” one neighbor would explain. “Let’s give him some room.”
The official emergency alert would arrive four hours later, except nobody living farther than eight minutes outside town would receive it because their phones had one bar and were still trying to send a picture from Tuesday.
Those who did receive the warning would immediately post screenshots on Facebook asking if anyone knew whether it was real.
Within minutes, the comments would contain 47 conflicting reports, one blurry photograph of a bear and an accusation that the entire outbreak was invented to stop deer season.
Evacuation orders would create additional problems.
Approximately half the population would refuse to leave because “the government ain’t telling me where to go.” The other half would drive directly to Walmart at the same time to purchase bread, milk, ammunition and every remaining case of Mountain Dew.
One man would arrive with four shopping carts despite having no plan beyond “getting what we might need.”
Experts also believe West Virginia’s strong family bonds could prove disastrous.
Every survivor group would eventually accept a relative who arrived without food, water or medicine but somehow brought 14 fishing rods and a broken chainsaw he planned to fix later.
At least one person would conceal a zombie bite beneath a camouflage jacket.
“It ain’t that bad,” he would insist while sweating heavily and attempting to eat the curtains.
The outbreak would spread rapidly at community shelters because nobody would lock the door after someone outside yelled, “Hey, it’s me.”
No one would ask who “me” was.
Fast-moving zombies would create an entirely different crisis.
West Virginians are prepared to run toward a buffet, away from a yellow jacket nest or across the yard when somebody yells that the dog has something in its mouth. Sustained cardiovascular activity, however, has not traditionally been part of the state’s emergency planning.
Residents would initially attempt to escape by vehicle, only to discover the truck has been sitting on empty since Monday and the nearest operating gas station has a handwritten sign reading CASH ONLY.
Others would flee on four-wheelers, attracting every zombie within six miles while becoming distracted by a mud hole that “looks pretty good.”
Even organized resistance would face setbacks.
No two groups would agree on who was in charge. One would follow the sheriff, another would listen to a retired coal miner named Peanut and a third would reject both plans because somebody’s uncle had watched three seasons of The Walking Dead.
The state’s final defense would likely collapse after survivors accidentally revealed their location in a Facebook post titled, “Still Alive Up Here on Briar Fork Road.”
The post would include six photographs, a recognizable landmark and a comment explaining exactly how to reach the house.
Despite these challenges, experts have not completely ruled out West Virginia’s survival. The state remains heavily armed, naturally mountainous and filled with people who can repair complicated machinery using baling wire and language inappropriate for children.
Unfortunately, those advantages may not matter if everyone spends the first two days arguing about whether the zombies are real.
West Virginia could probably defeat the undead.
We would simply need to finish blaming each other for the outbreak first.
NEXT IN THE SERIES: Why West Virginia Would Absolutely Survive the Zombie Apocalypse
The Holler Herald — West Virginia’s Least Reliable News Source
If it happens in the hills, we’ll probably report it. If it didn’t, give us about twenty minutes.
