Forty eight days in the apocalypse, my best friend Macy is dead, my family is dead, my pet fish is dead.. which admittedly is probably due more to my neglect than the nasty, rotting zombies that are walking around- but let's get back on the topic at hand. Forty eight days since the first zombie started gnawing some girls arm off in New York. It probably wasn't the first one, but it was the first one that had been caught on camera at least.
This had all been terribly bad news to me forty seven days ago when that first sighting of a zombie had already spread to Los Angeles, and even worse when forty five days ago it was affecting people in Africa, China, Russia, and even some scientists on Antarctica managed to get the disease.
Nowhere was safe, people were falling to the disease spread through the bite, and even more were falling to the militia's that cropped up.
But I hadn't worried about this, not really. I mean of course I was sad when my brother ate my mother and my father killed himself before he could turn. I'd been upset even when the annoying boy down the street had been killed by the old lady who lived across from him. I don't think he was a zombie really, she just never liked him and saw a prime time to rid the world of him.
None of that really got to me, not in the way that I suppose it should have. That boy had teased me about my hair, my parents were never on the nice side and my brother would rather let his perverted friends grope me than stand up for me. What really pissed me off about the whole thing, was that a good fifteen years of my life had been devoted to imagining what I'd do if something like this ever happened. I say fifteen because my first zombie movie had been at the age of two.
I don't pretend that the creatures made up of rotting flesh outside my little safe house don't scare me, but I'd been planning for this. Of course it had always been a what if, theoretical, something I might never have to deal with, which I was content with.
Fifteen years, fifteen years I spent deciding which store I'd raid first, which of my friend's had the best house to hole up in, who'd be okay to be in my little pack, and most of all what my weapon of choice would be.
And now here I am, in Grace Lee Avery's house, with my machete and the gun I'd found in her dad's night drawer, backpack filled with the essentials, and I'm being dragged down by one, impossibly stupid, mundane thing.
A few crooked teeth, bad timing, the premature death of my orthodontist, and there you have it.
Now instead of finding the cure and saving the world- which had been my plan since I was twelve I might add, I am on the quest of finding an orthodontist who can take these wretched bands off my teeth.... and then I might think about saving the world, but we both know that's a minor concern at this point in time.
