I'm mobile posting from a car. It's not mine. Driving south on Interstate Five. With me are Charles, an enlisted man from Ft. Lewis (long since overrun with zombie hordes and hazy with smoke, like streets after the Fourth of July), and Kayleigh, a barrista from the local coffee shop. She's shivering in the back.
I found Caroline's car in the parking lot at her work. The door was hanging open.
The building teemed with the undead fuckers. No screams. Bad sign.
I fear the worst.
At last count, Jaye and Anton were down, too.
If it weren't for Charles and Kayleigh, pulling me from the heap I'd become, I'd have died right there. The zombies streamed from the doorway as soon as I got out of the car.
We just passed Maytown, the auction yards are still. Smoke rose in crooked columns on the horizon.
The EBS just stopped dead on the radio. Now, it's all fuzz.