Disclaimer: I don't own and am not associated with Wal-Mart in any way. I also do not own Glock or any other type of gun mentioned in this story.

I don't remember much. Sounds, mostly. Champagne flutes clinking, bright laughter, soft music. Then, nothing. I woke up in the middle of the street with a headache the size of Alaska and a knot on my head the size of Rhode Island. I was slightly nauseous and my stomach growled.

Everywhere I went was deserted, so I helped myself to some food from a nearby shop, promising myself that I'd pay back every penny. Then I noticed a pool of blood only inches away from where I stood. I dipped my finger in it. The blood was thick, cold, and congealed. I stood up and turned around, terrified that I would find a body lying around somewhere. Instead I found a brown leather wallet that looked vaguely familiar. Inside were two credit cards, $200 in cash, and a driver's license.

The name on the license was Annika Thomas. The picture reminded me of someone. I looked in a mirror on the wall, and realized who the picture reminded me of. "It's me," I whispered. Gray eyes stared back from my reflection. I reached up and touched my blue-streaked black hair. "I'm Annika Thomas." I rolled the name around in my mouth. I liked it. It felt…right, somehow.

I collected some food and put it in a plastic bag. I walked out, carefully avoiding the puddle of congealed blood. My intention was to wander around the small common area, looking for a place to eat, rest, and find a way to get rid of my headache, while trying to figure out exactly where I was.

I heard a faint groaning behind me, though it was more of a rhythmic groaning rather than one of pain. I stopped and debated on whether or not to turn. "Fuck it," I muttered.

I turned slowly, my sneakers squeaking slightly. The people gathered behind me were horribly disfigured, chunks of flesh missing, limbs twisted unnaturally, congealed blood covering their mouths. I was horrified, scared beyond reason, yet strangely relieved. If they were what I thought they were, it meant that I had a chance. Humans were dangerous; zombies were predictable.

I dropped my bag, all thoughts of food banished from my mind. Only thoughts of survival remained. I ran as fast and hard as I could, not worried now about running into anyone.

They were coming after me, I knew. I was probably the freshest meat they'd seen in quite some time. The bag of food would slow them down, but not by much. I just hoped I could put as much distance as possible between us before the bag ran out of tricks.

Said distance ended when I encountered another zombie. It was standing in front of a Wal-Mart, of all places. The doors were boarded up and barricaded. It looked like it had been abandoned for years.

A shot rang out in the silence. The zombie collapsed in front of me, a gaping hole in its head. The doors were forced open and a pale hand waved frantically for me to come inside. Quickly, I obeyed. Two others hurriedly rebarricaded the doors.

"Have you been bitten anywhere?" a girl asked me frantically, a 9mm Glock held loosely in her hand. Mutely, I shook my head. The others audibly sighed with relief.

"What's your name?" she asked me.

"A-Annika, I think," I replied shakily. "A-are those things…"

"Zombies?" one of the guys finished for me. He nodded. "Yep. As far as we could figure, we were the last survivors. 'Til we met you, anyway. I'm Tim, by the way."

The other guy, who looked to be roughly six feet, stepped forward. "You didn't sound sure about your name. Care to elaborate?"

The girl with the Glock chuckled. "Don't mind Rob. He's likes to think he's a bit of a hard-ass."

"Hey!" he protested.

"It's fine," I said, smiling a little. "I'm not really sure who I am. Problem is, I can't remember anything before an hour ago."

"Why?" the girl with the Glock, who I later learned was named Jaenelle, asked.

"Well, I woke up with a massive headache and no memory. My theory: someone conked me on the head, didn't make sure the job was done, and left me for dead in the middle of the street."

"That's a good theory," Tim said.

"Pretty much unfounded at the moment, however. So," I said, changing the subject, "why are you all holed up in a Wal-Mart?"

Jaenelle shrugged. "Why not? It's probably one of the safest places you could be, besides a military base in the event of a zombie attack. You have everything you need: guns, ammo, food, supplies, etc."

"And," Marti, the final member of the ragtag group, added, "we can communicate with any other survivors out there. We don't know if it's just our town, or if it's the whole world that's like this. So, with this little baby that I hooked up," she patted a mass of computer terminals from the electronics department lovingly, "I can know about any humans within a five-mile radius. How else do you think we rescued you?"

I smiled. I decided I liked this group.