Making the Best of the Post Apocalypse

October 23, 20XX

The zombies came for us again last night. Scratching and pleading for brains at the door, they persisted until five in the morning. About that time we heard a truck driving down the access road. I was confused and then elated at the prospect of more living people this far north. She was terrified and angry.

To her, more people meant more feelings.

"I only have room in my heart for you now," she'd said, after all of our folks went missing.

She had never been the same after that. Honestly I hadn't either. I'd made the best of the post apocalypse, but that's not saying much.


I moved quickly to the eastern wall of the cabin and looked through the small gap we'd left between the boards. The truck had stopped and appeared to be backing up.

"Don't do that," I whispered.

"Do what?" she whispered next to me.

"Gaaaa!," I said, jumping a little. "Don't scare me."

She just smiled at me and waited for me to calm down. Then I smiled too.

"Do what," she repeated pointing out the gap.

"They stopped their truck."

"Don't do that," she said, pushing me out of the way to have a look.

"I know, what are they thinking?"

"They're hungry, desperate and they must've seen our place as they passed."

"They must be stupid too," I said. "Everyone knows you don't stop in the woods under a full moon."

Right then we heard the first scream and then a gunshot.

"Can you see anything?" I asked, trying to move her to see for myself. She smacked my hands away.

"No way," she said. "You got to watch last time."

She was right. Seven months earlier a caravan of RVs drove through with their cool roof top mounted 50 caliber M2 Browning Machine Guns and football helmets. They'd stopped too and just like the unfortunate travelers in the truck they'd been dispatched by a gnarly pack of werewolves.

"How many are there?" I asked her, having given up on trying to move her out of the way.

"Six."

"Is the gray one with them?"

"Yeah."

"What did you name him?"

"Lon Chaney Jr."

"Right."

By morning the werewolves were gone while the zombies, being well fed from the leftovers, were napping on our lawn. Scavenging the truck we found two shotguns, five cartridges, nine cans of Vienna sausage, Tang, a worn copy of Tolkien's Two Towers, and Ten by Pearl Jam on CD.

"Hey can I turn on the generator for this?" I asked, holding out the album.

She looked up from her pillaging on the driver's side.

"Ok," she said. "But I get two cans of sausage and a full glass of Tang for lunch."

"Deal."

Luckily, Vedder's voice didn't wake the undead snoozing on the lawn. Unlike the vampires in the cities, they had no taste in music.