SLEEPING WELL ON OAK STREET

"Love the new place."

"Thank you. It's nice to finally be moved in." Nancy motioned for Tina to follow her into the living room. They sat, Nancy pouring coffee for them both.

"You look rested," Tina said.

"Yes. Finally. It's been wonderful. You forget how amazing it feels to get consistently good sleep."

"Wish I could say the same."

"You know, there are houses still available. Not just on Oak but Maple Street has an entire new development. And I've seen a few places with FOR SALE signs on Birch and Willow. You don't have to live on Elm Street."

A light went on somewhere in Tina's mind. How had she never considered that?

"You know, you're right. I'll talk to my real estate agent today!"

BARELY WALKING

Rick loaded a fresh mag and racked the slide. They were our there. Out there... where he needed to be. He had already used the .44 shells he had in his service revolver and was halfway through the 40mm ammo he'd found on the dead soldier.

He still wasn't sure what happened. He woke up in a hospital, unsure of how he ended up there in the first place, only to find it empty save for casualty after casualty--bodies strewn everywhere. War? No, there were no opposing forces, no fighting. Nuclear? No, he'd be dead from the initial blast or he'd be surrounded by radiation-sick hospital staff. Besides there was no sign of any kind of explosion. Terrorists? No, the hospital would be swarming with law enforcement.

The answer presented itself: Zombies.

He didn't have time to believe or not believe before he found himself blasting the gnarling, gnashing ex-humans with round after round until he was able to find a secure room on the ground floor. It was the cafeteria. It had metal garage-style doors that covered the windows and entrances. People must really get hungry, he mused.

But now he figured he needed to leave. To get out. To look for survivors.

...or did he?

He had been standing in the storeroom so completely lost in thought about how to survive this harsh new hellscape reality when it hit him: He was safely ensconced in a hospital cafeteria! There was enough long-term hydration and calories readily available for him to survive a year or more.

It didn't take a year. Or even a month.

He wasn't sure who was knocking. Do zombies knock, he'd wondered? They don't, but human rescue teams do. Once he was secured and had a chance to gather himself and get cleaned up he got the story.

"Turns out that biology is persnickety," the rescue team's doctor began. "While adaptation's pathfinding over eons is relatively successful, quick, sudden changes are rife with issues. In this case: Longevity. The CDC accidentally unleashed a Zomboidal into the world with devastating immediate impact, but host takeovers are the viral equivalent of a coup, and coups are notoriously unstable for exactly that reason: It is much, much too difficult to just take something over that complex. The hosts died too quickly.

"The human body needs things to survive. Depriving it of any one of these things results in catastrophic failure. Rule of Threes came into play. Some of the zombies, unable to control their new bodies, found themselves falling into water, getting stuck in holes, or situations that otherwise found them wanting for oxygen. 3 minutes without O2 and you're toast.

"The next subset to kick the bucket were the dehydrated. They started dropping about three days in. Apparently, Zombies don't know how to open a water bottle. Stupid sonsabitches."

Rick watched as a crews moved about the hospital, working to get it back online. He suddenly felt useless, like he should do something to help.

"Whoa, stay seated buddy. We still need to finish our workup."

"How bad was it?"

"The zombie invasion? Shyooot. I was more of a 'Zombie Annoyance.' I mean, we lost some good people those first few days, but mostly here and at CDC headquarters. Silver lining is that we already have a vaccine."

Rick nodded. "That's good, I guess."

"Yep. Now we can get back to human-on-human violence like it used to be."

SLIGHTLY LESS MISERABLE

"You doody pants! How could you kill her? You can't kill her! You have to bring her back."

"I can't. The book has already been published."

"You can do whatever you want. You can say it wasn't real, that it wasn't her body."

He looked at the crazy woman looming over him. If he was fully healthy again, maybe. But no, she was no dainty flower. She was built more like a former defensive tackle and had a similar wide-eyed, frothy-mouthed countenance.

Plus, he remembered seeing a sledgehammer by the door. Who keeps a sledgehammer by the door?

"You know what, Annie? You found me out. I was going to try to surprise you--well, all of my readers--but you are just too damn smart. Now, what do you say we have some cocoa and play gin rummy. It's going to be a long winter. Can I get another pillow?"

THE SPLURGE

"That seems like a lot."

"Yeah, but you remember what happened last year."

"I guess. But the next one isn't for two more months. Why are you buying so much ammo now?"

"Are you serious? Like, we have 364 days to prep. I have an entire checklist of stuff to do throughout the year. Fortify the house, prep body armor for Mary and the kids, training drills for the cul de sac, checking provisions. You telling me you just wait for the day of before you start thinking about this stuff?"

Barry, sheepish and feeling called out, turned to the Cabela's clerk. "I'll take six boxes of 9mm and a case of 12 gauge. Also, what are you getting for that Sig with the Leupold optic?"