"Um, are you gonna help me?" the petite blonde girl said, glaring over her flamethrower. Where and when she acquired a heavy-duty, illegal military weapon was beyond me. I raised my hands in surrender and grabbed a puny baseball bat, slugging it as hard as I could into the zombie's skull. I watched in horror as it fell, guts and blood spewing everywhere, and finally it lay dead.

She was throwing balls of fire left and right, igniting zombies into flames, which confused them long enough for Blayne to shoot them. He seemed like he was in his element, shooting zombies, as strange as it is. Well seeing as he's had an underground zombie bunker for the past four years is proof that he's been expecting this. Which is just odd.

During my musing the rest of my ragtag group of badass zombie killers had finished off the last of the group that attacked us. We were covered in blood and guts and nastiness. Was that a little bit of a brain on Hannah's shoulder? I am not going to be the one to point it out to her.

We climbed into Blayne's truck and quickly Cortney called shotgun. Dang her, she gets the air vents. Me and Hannah would be stuck in the back of the truck, in the truck bed, with no windows or air conditioning. We're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, the least God could do would be give a man some air conditioning. Or at least a seat. Hannah leaned up against the back window and grinned, though it wasn't a happy one. Her green eyes were halfway closed as she pulled out her phone.

"No service," she mumbled. I knew she was worried about her family. This whole zombie apocalypse thing was kind of sprung on us. I looked her in the eye and shrugged halfheartedly, hoping she got whatever message I was trying to convey. I didn't even know.

The reverie was broken when Cortney opened the small window and said, "There's a gas station coming up. We're going to raid it, okay? Get stuff that will last a long time."

"Oh God I'm craving some Pop Tarts," Hannah moaned. We all think she had a little sugar addiction problem. Well, more than a littleā€¦the girl practically lived off of sugar.

"I want some steak. Or chicken. Or meat," I said.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Ramen noodles," Cortney said in her usually snarky tone of voice. "Plus we're running out of gas. There's that."

Hannah sighed and slumped down in her seat, Blayne's baggy button-up stained with blood. Her jeans, the same ones she's been in for days now, were so covered in blood you couldn't tell they were denim. She probably wanted new clothes. "I need to know if my sister is okay," she said, her voice thick with emotion. If she started crying I think I might piss myself. I had no clue what to do with girls crying.

I also had no clue what to do during a zombie apocalypse. But look at me now.

Of course, there would be a hitch in our plan to go to the gas station. Because what else would be waiting for us there besides about twenty or thirty zombies?

Great. Fantastic. Absolutely serendipitous.