PREFACE

It’s strange, the things you used to worry about – that test you had in Biology, the date you were supposed to go on next Saturday. It’s also strange, the times you think about the things you worry about.

We were driving down Interstate 95; we were the leading car in the caravan of five. The road passed slowly, with nothing to entertain the sightseer. Our five vehicles had been the only ones on the road since we left Maryland, and everything around us had either been abandoned, ransacked, or blown to smithereens.

I stared at the window, and I worried. I worried about how much money I had in my checking account. I worried about what grade I ended up getting on my Psychology final. I looked down at the new ring on my left hand and wondered when Zach and I would be getting married.

I should have been worrying about saving our asses long enough to even plan a wedding.

Zombies are real. I can’t say it any clearer. You can try to delude yourself by saying they’re not – whatever puts you to sleep at night – but in the end, you’d be wrong. And perhaps – no – more likely, you’d be dead. It would be much better if you would prepare yourselves.

Sleep lightly and with an axe nearby.

Make sure your doors are really locked.

Storm-proof your windows so they can’t break through.

And maybe, just maybe, you might live to see the next sunrise.

But you won’t do it, will you? You’d rather live in your delusional fairy-land where there are no monsters that go bump in the night.

And I can’t help you, can I? Because I’m trying to save my own skin.

You’ve been warned.