How to Survive Z-Day Without Looking Like a Jerk But Still Looking Pretty Badass

FILE #5

It was 3 in the afternoon when the arrest warrant came. We'd been able to intercept the phonecalls to our parents, the warning letters, even tricked the FBI into going to the wrong houses. But, no, of course we couldn't keep it up. They found us, and we all knew that they would. Unluckily for the feds, though, their timing was a bit off as they simultaneously arrived at our houses.

I sat in my comfy lounge chair in my comfy chaise lounge chair on my comfy back porch in my comfy, spacious beach house in Hilton Head, South Carolina. The waves were lolling about the sand, a loggerhead turtle was laying eggs about 10 yards away (a man was pathetically skimpering about to mark off the area from tourists who'd like to get too close) and I then raised my pathetic figure to a cross-legged position, fingering my cell-phone, in a much less sexy manner than worded. In fact, in my surpressed hysteria, it was more like cell-xual molestation.

I had first gotten word of our warrants via Jett, who video called me from his iPhone. By the time they arrived, all of us were at least two hours away from Cherokee. Only two hours. It wasn't long, now. Our parents didn't even know yet, and for all we ourselves knew they could be jailed for harboring fugitives.

To give them credit, though, there were dead people walking around and chomping on everybody; it's not like anyone would blame them for being a tad bit preoccupied.

We (that is, Mom and Dad and I) were a great deal away from the zombie attacks now, but everybody knew we couldn't stay safe for ever. Even my dumb parents. They were still frantically screaming about what to do next, if they should evacuate the continent, why this shit always happens in America. I could see a resemblance between my parents, and an autistic boy having a bad acid trip. Yeah. They're that bad. 

I figured I needed to clear my thoughts. So, I shut my laptop closed, and leaned back. Panicking would not solve our problems. It's not like we'd all actually be able to come up with a solution on how to stop the zombies once and for all, right? Of course not. And, now, I was technically a fugitive. Tritter, bless his beautiful black soul, had finally found spy activity on mine, Jett's, and Ryan's computers and traced it back to the FBI. I couldn't even keep my laptop anymore. They'd be here soon, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it  except run.

...Then again, I'm only a fourteen-year-old girl. It'd be a jerk move to leave my parents like that. What would we manage to do out in the wild? Slay and eat wild bear? Make fires with the shirt off of Jett's stupid back?  I ain't no where near particularly menacing, with my petite figure and curly blonde bob and brown puppy-dog eyes that nobody could take seriously. To be honest, the jerkheads of friends I have are no better.

Porter and Raynee had texted me minutes earlier with what the survival guide they had conjured up. They were advising me to post this onto my blog as soon as I could, which I, of course, advised against. They were so cute, how they still placed all of their faith in the older dudes to protect us. And Porter was a grade above me, even. Still, it was understood we were no longer safe from anybody. The news was even reporting about an anonymous group of teenagers who forewarned the internet about the attacks, about how warrants were ready for our arrests, about how we did the world a favor and why should we be put into jail? Because they likely have much more information they shouldn't that they can't be allowed to harness. But they're just children.

Well, shit. I'm going crazy.

So, we had to split. But to where? Pip was suggesting his cousin's house in Nevada. Dahlin still believed we should all just stay where we are and die.

Well, I thought, swallow my pride, act first, and think later.

As my loving parents were preoccupied with contacting whomever within their upstairs lounge, I traversed to the living room where I had yet to bother to put away her suitcases. One, I found, was of a decent size and contained straps for carrying on one's back. Excellent. I raced into the spacious kitchen area, where food was also yet to be put away, and carefully picked out what wouldn't be missed but would hold me (well, us) over for however long we'll be on the run until the government realizes they need our help. Like that would ever happen.