The library closest to my Crash Pad has a group called Bite-Sized Book Club that meets once per month. They only discuss books under 250 pages to accommodate people who “don’t have time to read.” Isn’t it interesting that we’ve reached a point in book history when 250 pages is considered “bite sized”? Anyway, for the first part of the year, they have a theme of Queer Speculative Fiction. Given what’s going on in the U.S., I think we could all use more Queer stories.

The Only Safe Place Left is the Dark by Warren Wagner comes in at a bite size 92 pages. There are two timelines, though the older one reads more like flashbacks than an actual separate timeline. It’s the 1980s, and our protagonist, Quinton, is comforting his lover, who is dying of an AIDS-related illness. Quinton is HIV+ himself. There are some complicated feelings Quinton has about serious love for his boyfriend and the short length of their relationship: a mere six months.

Shortly after the boyfriend’s death, science has advanced, and now medication is available to keep HIV from progressing to AIDS. Quinton is depressed, so he hides out in a cabin in the woods where he is oblivious to a pandemic that spreads, turning those who exchange bodily fluids into zombies. Cut to thirty years later. Although Quinton has been able to find medication in abandoned pharmacies and stock up, a group of men take over the cabin and destroy his stash, leaving Quinton to sit tight and die as the HIV virus progresses, or go out into a world filled with the walking dead.

Okay, I know 99% of you don’t read horror, but hear me out. During the 1980s AIDS epidemic in the U.S., folks who were positive were labeled “the walking dead.” I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: horror is a vehicle that drives us through real life and shows us the scary stuff, but we know we’re safe because the windows are up and the car doors are locked. From that vantage point, we can analyze the horror that’s happening around us safely.

Therefore, author Warren Wagner isn’t just calling the zombies and the victims of the AIDS epidemic both “the walking dead.” True, he does write the following about HIV/AIDS-positive patients: “Those who weren’t killed were left waiting. Waiting for a cure. Waiting for the end. They weren’t dead yet, but they weren’t alive either. They were zombies.”

No, the comparison goes deeper. The actual zombie-zombies still have all their human thoughts. The zombie virus only affects their bodies, meaning the virus compels people to do things to help spread the virus (like biting, of course), all while the carrier thinks like they would normally. When Quinton is chased by a hoard, one zombie shouts, “Please run, I’m coming! . . . I can’t do this again!” I’ve read books about the AIDS epidemic and noted how apologetic some patients were — sorry that someone else had to care for them because they couldn’t control the often gruesome deterioration of their bodies.

Furthermore, the living can essentially be “zombies.” Quinton is so grief stricken from his boyfriend’s death that he hides from the gay community, avoiding new opportunities to, he assumes, lose someone. Finally, Quinton realizes, “They lived for those they lost. Until they could live for themselves again. This isn’t the place for him anymore. He needs to stop being a zombie and start living.” Is self-isolation a way to avoid danger, be it grief or a virus, or is it another form of zombieism? After COVID, this is a sticky question, but I do know folks who were still self-isolating in 2022.

Quinton does meet another survivor, whom he learns to trust, and discovers something new about the zombie virus. Of course, it wouldn’t be a zombie book if they didn’t run into a cult where the leader is taking advantage of all the followers. My only “problem” with the book is Quinton and his new companion supposedly walk 300 miles in 48 hours to find more life-saving medication. Here’s hoping they were on roller skates.