I ran. That was what my brother told me to do. Before he died. As I ran behind the rusting car that time had forgotten, an explosion threw me off balance. It was ten seconds before I realized that I was shielding my face with my arms. As I slowly moved the shield of flesh from my face, I peeked out just enough to see that the car in front of me was on fire. My eyes widened, and I backed up, slowly at first, but then with the realization that the automobile in front of me was going to explode, I broke into a sprint. Running away from the imminent danger. Should I have been surprised when broken yellow hands grabbed me, dragging me to the ground? As I fell to the ground, wildly shooting my gun, the last thing I saw was that cursed car finally explode.

Sorry, I guess we didn't get to know each other very well. My name is Jake Xam.

What're you laughing at? My last name? Anyway, I don't know where the others went. Or anyone, for that matter. In fact, it seems that I'm the last person on earth to survive this apocalyptic scene. Fires are everywhere. The ground is singed black and very few patches of grass dot the ground. Sad little flowers try to poke out of the hard ground. The sky is a dirty brown, and clouds are dark orange. Sounds like a bad zombie movie, right? In fact, after months of debate, I decided that these things are zombies. They walk in a stumble. They moan like hell whenever they see anything alive. They do physically impossible things like walk underwater, something a live human would never do. The disease isn't limited to people, though. Dogs, cats, even fish. That's right, fish. Once I saw a half rotted fish swimming around in its fish tank. Hell, once I've even seen a zombie fly. Yup, saw it dragging its poor little legs around the dining table. Not much of a threat, though. Just squish it and be on with your life.

About five years ago, I was just sitting at a table, eating breakfast, when it came. In the movies, you see them get a little bit of warning before the zombies come. You know, a news report, a phone call, anything like that. Not so here. I was just sitting there, eating my nerdy little Frosted Flakes when they shattered through the windows. At first I thought the thing was dead, but then the strangest thing happened. It looked up at me with yellow lifeless eyes and moaned. Well, I just sat there like a retard while the thing tried to free itself from the window. I wasn't stupid, and I knew that thing wasn't here to play tag with me. On a sudden burst of adrenaline, I just grabbed a carving knife and charged at it like Rambo. I stuck it right between the temples of its head. I swear, you don't understand how hard a human skull is until you stab it with a carving knife. The thing just shuddered and ceased all movement. I've seen enough zombie movies to know that where there's one, there are others. I ran frantically around the house, grabbing anything I might need. Knives. Hammers. Food. My pet snake. After I had gathered this mish-mash of items I might need to survive this new threat, I went to the cluttered garage and pressed the button that opened the noisy, creaky garage door. As it creaked open, more and more of the real world started to appear to me. I hurried out to my dusty old Ford Explorer and fitted the key into the lock. As the ancient engine roared to life, I backed out of the driveway and onto the street. I was immediately amazed at what I saw. These things were everywhere. Some appeared to have died long ago; maybe, a couple of weeks. Some appeared to have just risen. Like any other normal human being on the planet, this freaked me out. Not thinking of the consequences, I stomped the gas and tore out of the street, crushing the once-human predators beneath the wheels. As I sped away from the infested zone, my albino corn snake, Jerry, raised his head and looked at me quizzically. I looked back into his deep red eyes.

As I sped along highway 101, just as I had thought, there was no one on the highway. This was starting to freak me out more and more. As the distance between me and the next town closed, it became more and more obvious how many of these people were infected. Some just lie on the ground moaning; their guts spilling out like confetti; a twisted looks of pain and sadness on their faces. I saw some of them on the road, but I just crushed most of them. As I looked into the rearview mirror, I saw that most of them weren't dead. Most of them had shattered spines, now just crawling around. I shifted my gaze back towards the road. As I winded through the now hilly terrain, I looked at a nearby sign: Grass Valley, 5 miles ahead. And sure enough, about 30 minutes later, I saw another sign saying: Welcome to Grass Valley. I pulled into a nearby conveinence store, and kept the key in the ignition. Never know when I might need to flee. I opened the door of the car, and at the same time, in one fluid motion, I picked up the hatchet that was lying on the floor. I began walking towards the old rusty door. When I got close enough, I tried to open it. It was locked. I broke off the lock with the hatchet, and making quite a racket, I stepped inside the store. It was just a small store, maybe 15'x17'. I stepped behind the counter and vigorously rummaged through the possibly deceased person's possessions. A porn magazine; a cigarette butt; three empty beer cans, and after a couple minutes of disgusting searching, I found what I was looking for, which was a box of ammo and a .357 Magnum. As I brandished the weapon, as if on cue, I heard a low moan. I slowly walked through the isles; dairy, clothes, cigarettes and tobacco, and finally, there he was, lying there and moaning like he had been too tired to notice me come in. I softly said, "Hey." The man looked up, not in surprise, but as if he had been expecting me. "Hello," the middle-aged man said in a raspy voice. "Have you been bitten?" I asked very point blank. "No... But the others, they were." He pointed towards isle 7, cigarettes and tobacco. I crept towards the isle the man had pointed to, and upon arrival, found a pile of dead bodies. As an involuntary response, I vomited. I hurried back towards the man. "How did you kill them?" I asked. He replied, suddenly irritated," Every man with a bit of damn knowledge of zombies knows you got to kill the brain to kill the zombie." This didn't come as a surprise to me. "I know how to kill one, but I'm asking you how you did it." "Oh." He pointed towards a blood-encrusted hammer. "You have a gun?" I asked. "Yeah." He grunted with the strain of getting up. As we walked towards the back, he said, "The name's Que. Que Robertson." "Mine's Jake. Jake Xam." We reached the back. He pulled out a key and opened a rather large safe; it was about a foot taller than me. Out of it he pulled a Colt M1911. But it didn't stop there. He pulled out also a long-handled axe, several Molotov cocktails, and some huge pointy-looking knives that were so long they could have been swords. "Let's roll," Que said with a little too much confidence.

After we had loaded all the secondary weapons into the back, Que was now sitting in the passenger seat and Jerry in the back. Poking his head out of his cage, he looked slightly irritated.

I looked over at Que. He was probably about 43. He had a mustache and balding brown hair, which he covered up with a San Francisco Giant's hat. He was lean and muscular, and he wore a dusty red oversized sweatshirt. As we drove into town, I parked in front of a thrift shop. "We need a plan." I said abruptly. "You're the first person I've seen in 26 hours. I thought I was the last person alive." Que kept looking forward as he said, "Well, son, from the way you saved me, I'd say you've got a knack for helping people. Why don't we gather survivors?" And the moment he said that, our destiny was locked. Que, Jerry and I were all going to help crush this zombie infestation. I got out of the car. I didn't keep it running; I'd need to save gas. Fortunately, there was another car next to us and the keys were in it. Unfortunately, there was an obviously infected person curled up in the passenger seat. Shivering and sweating, she clearly had scratch marks on her neck. "Hey J, you better come see this," Que shouted from the other side of the car. As I walked around, I noticed that he had the trunk standing open. As I peeked inside, what I saw was horrible. At least a dozen zombie heads were severed and inside the trunk. Still thrashing around, they starting hissing when they saw us. Obviously this person had been a zombie fighter. Too bad she got infected before we could enlist her. Realizing the only good thing to do, I went to the truck and got out two weapons; the Magnum, and a hatchet. First I approached the front car window and pointed the gun at her head. With one shot it went clean through the windows and into her skull. All movement ceased. Putting the Magnum back into the car, I walked over to the trunk and gave Que the hatchet. Since neither of us wanted to waste bullets, he just raised the hatchet and brought it down, one by one, until nothing in the car moved. After dragging out all the cadavers and burning them with some alcohol and a match, we watched the flames engulf the bodies. We watched until the fire died down and nothing remained but bones. When this gruesome victory party had come to an end, I turned to Que. "We need to find other survivors." He nodded and got into our newly possessed car. "We'll meet back here at 10:00!" I shouted. Sticking his hand out of his window, he gave me a thumbs-up to show that he had understood. As he drove away, to some other part of town, I knew that might be the last time I see him.

I didn't take the truck. It would make too much noise. Instead I found an abandoned Schwinn, picked the lock with one of the swords, and I was off. Besides the Scwinn I had the Magnum, (I guess Que had taken the Colt) and several Molotovs. This all went into my backpack, as well as Jerry did. I rode all around town, looking for a place that would be most inhabited. Eventually I saw a hotel but then assumed that would take too much time to sweep. My search continued. Soon after, I found an antique store that was just small enough to suit my needs. I put the bike outside, it wasn't like anyone would steal it. As I walked into the little shop, bells rang on the door. It was a cute little shop. I might have taken some more time to shop if a full-blown zombie invasion hadn't been going on. I crept through the displays of earrings, china plates, and other assorted items. Near the gift cards, I found a young boy. He couldn't have been older than 13. His back was turned to me. He was at the display case of jewelry, loading what appeared to be a shotgun. Suddenly, he whirled around. Now that I saw him face to face, he was probably 11. He was tall and strong as well as having long black hair that covered his eyes. He wore a black hooded sweatshirt. From the look on his face when he saw me, He probably would have killed me if he wasn't observant enough to notice that I was human. "What are you doing here?" He asked rather violently. "Sweeping the town for survivors, and it looks like you're one of them." At that moment, he seemed to relax. "My name is Max Houghton." He stuck his hand out. "Jake Xam." I shook his hand. He looked at me strangely. "What?" I asked. "Your last name is my first name backwards," he said. "Whatever. Now, we need to sweep the town. Isn't that gun a little big for you, fellow?" He turned around and fired. The porcelain teacup that had been on the display case suddenly shattered into pieces. "I've got good aim."

Five minutes later, Max and I were searching the town for survivors and/or zombies. As we turned onto Lomitas Ave, we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by zombies. I counted 12 in total. 3 on each side of us. I had kind of been hoping for this kind of action. I pulled out my magnum and let loose on the creatures. Max, with his shotgun, could do damage but suddenly shouted," They're not dying!" "You have to destroy their brain!" I shouted over the sound of flying lead. After he knew that, he was nearly unstoppable. When the dust cleared, we had won. But it appeared that the sound of gunfire had attracted more monsters. And their numbers had just about doubled. Knowing this was too much, I grabbed a Molotov from my backpack. I lit it, and threw it at the nearest zombie. Since the zombies were closing in and were brushing against each other, the fire found its way from one zombie to the next. They all began to drop. By the darkening sky and the time on my watch, I saw it was time to meet Que back at the meeting point.

10:10 P.M. We were ten minutes late. As we neared the meeting point I said to Max, "Just let me do the talking." We pulled up to the truck in front of the thrift store. I said to Que, "I found one survivor." Que then pointed towards the car where there was a thirty-something man who looked very timid. "Did ya get any zombies?" "About 35." Que's eyes bugged out. "What? I didn't encounter a single soul except Jared here." "Well, isn't that strange," I said, rolling my eyes. "On more PRESSING matters, who's going to take the first watch?" "I will." Jared rose from the car. With him he brought an SMG. My eyes nearly vomited at the sight of this. "Why is it that during a zombie outbreak everyone suddenly has heavy weaponry?" "Must be the author." "What?" "Nothing."