That particular day, I’d had a doctor’s appointment, a battery of tests, and was already late for work. I popped into the Starbucks-Financial near my office and who should greet me behind the counter but a guy with all the symptoms: translucent skin, rotting jagged teeth, skim-milk eyes, whole deal.


Full zombie. Voice like ice in a blender. “I help you.”

I sighed. “Grande. Soy. Cran. Latte.” I said it as clearly and patiently as possible.

He said back to me in that curdled grunt: “Gramma sing con verde?”

I stared at him. “Grande … Soy … Cran … Latte.”

“Gramma say come hurry?” His dull eyes blinked and he must’ve heard the impatience in my voice—“No!”—because he started humming the way they do right before trouble starts, “Gran-maw!” he yelled, and the manager, standing behind him, gave me a look like (Dude …) and I looked back at the manager, like (You’re blaming me for this?)

I understand the economics—I work for a multi-corp, hell, anyone with a job works for a multi-corp. More than that, I get the humanity of hiring zombies—listen: my ex-girlfriend started shooting Replexen after doctors announced it was dangerous. Andrea actually chose to go zombie. So I know how their brains work; I know abstraction and contextual language give them problems; I know they’re fine as long as you avoid eye contact, speak clearly; that as long as they’re not drunk or riled up, zombies can be as peaceful as anyone.

Fifth floor. Math class. 2:13 p.m

Today will be the worst day of my life.

No, wait.

Today will probably be the last day of my life.

At the end of period 1, we are suppose to go outside with the rest of the school, ( For a rally) but some kids in the class starts a fight over a broken pencil and the teacher decides WE are too immature to go anywhere, so we have to stay inside. For once by ourselves.

Now the whole class are mad at the kids who had started the fight.

"What the hell was you thinking!" Kid one yells across the room at kid two. "Now we'll be stuck in here, because of you!"

"What did I do, you freaking idiot? You're the one who made her mad in the first place!" Kid two yells back. ( "Her", meaning the teacher)

"Shut the hell up, both of you!" I snap a pencil in half, in my hands. "Fighting over a broken pencil-what were you BOTH thinking?"

"Exactly. What jerks, now we'll be ALL stuck in this STINKING PLACE WHILE THE WHOLE SCHOOL IS OUTSIDE ENJOYING THE WEATHER!" Sam, usually a nice kid, yells.






Now the whole class is yelling at each other-which is stop by sudden screams, in the distant-coming from the school ground.

"What the..."

Muttering to themselves the class move over to the windows to see what is going on.

A few girls screams when they see what are down there. Even the guys stops breathing.

I push past a few guys and take a long look myself, and when I do, I literally stop breathing.

The whole school ground are dominate with...zombies.

Shambling hordes and hordes of them.

And the whole school is down there.

"Oh my god..." A girl clamps her mouth shut with her hands, about to throw up, and I don't blame her.

A teacher with glasses wearing suits trips and fall down on the stairs leading to the school front door-then this half face zombie without any arms falls on her and sink it's rotten teeth into her neck. All the while she's screaming hell and flailing around uselessly. UGH.

A cute looking female wearing jeans and a pink hoodies gets run over by two of these thing-she is screaming and crying and the zombies are ripping her chest apart, blood is pumping from her chest as she tries to get the hell away from them-she is drag back down again. Now her throat is getting tear apart. She stops screaming. Now she stop struggling- she's dead.

I pull my head in and glance at my classmate. Some are cowering in the corners, some are trying to act brave, some are just hugging on to their boyfriends, girlfriends, whatever.

Trembling,I turn to my so call best friend Dan and ask in the most frighten voice, "So, what the hell are we suppose to do now?"

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