"But the street wasn't quiet? Why do you keep stopping in the middle of the story?"

"Because it was a rough time in my life. I'd never killed anyone. I'd never had to survive a zombie apocalypse. I mean come one, you had to do it to. Give me a break here, you know it was rough!"

"Ah… I actually… ahem, I actually never had to live through all of that. I was stationed with the American government in California."

"Oh.

You're one of those people. I knew there was a reason I didn't like you."

"You'll continue the interview, I hope?"

"…Yeah, alright. But only so that you have a chance to understand real people, rather than the guys that hid out and let us all die. Just as long as you know that I hate you."

FOUR

~In which I Find My First Group~

So no, the street was crazy loud, exactly like it was the night before. If anything, it was crazier. But I gotta tell you about the coffee that family had in their pantry. They may have had a zombie kid and thrift store clothes and dollar store furniture, but damn was their coffee fine. It wasn't one of those bags that you buy at Wal-Mart, see, it was the kind that you've gotta go to some kind of fancy-ass coffee aficionado shop to find. I mean like, this stuff was hand-picked in Peru and I even had to hand grind those beans right there in the kitchen. That coffee was the finest stuff I've ever had, and I've had some coffee in my time. I just wish I could find that family and thank them for buying those super fine beans.

But then I went outside, and my morning got worse in a hurry.

Apparently people didn't know how to survive a zombie attack, because there were a lot more zombies than there were the day before. I'm not sure exactly how I got off that street, 'cause I didn't have that much ammo in my shotgun. But I did manage to get through without being bit or scratched (so many people forget that being scratched is another way to be infected. It's actually more common, but everyone tends to focus on the bite). I wasn't dressed for zombie slaying, either, so I really should have died from that little excursion.

I only had on a hoodie and some jeans, like a normal guy. Which is unfortunate, because zombies grab at you and pull and like I said, I should have died.

And by 'make it off the street' I mean ran and hide in another house. I went out the back door and into the neighbor's yard, and kept going like that. One yard to the next, because the fences kinda sorta kept the zombies out. At least they did for a little while; they worked well enough while I needed them, but I'm not omniscient so I don't know how long they held.

Anyway, I finally made it out of the neighborhood. The plan was to make it out of town, but I think we all know that didn't happen right away. I found myself in the parking lot of one of those little grocery stores you find scattered throughout the cities. 'Sir Saves-a-lot' or something. I don't know, the name wasn't super important at the time. What was important was that there was a group running inside and then some muffled bangs and they quickly came running back out.

So, in an attempt to find somewhere relatively safe to catch my breath, I ran up to them and offered my services, such as they were. A few short hours later, we had the place boarded up and cleared of all dead and semi-dead people.

That in itself was a story worthy of ten interviews by itself. None of us died or almost died. But man, clearing out that grocery store was almost impossible. I killed more in there, you know. There was a lady in her work uniform, a guy that reminded me of Casey even though it wasn't him, and another guy that was maybe sixteen. I'll never forget them, but I have a hard time talking about it, so I won't.

My mind blocks out boring stuff, so I won't tell you how I stayed there with them for the next couple weeks. I will tell you about who I stayed with, though.

The leader was clearly Jamal. He was an alright guy, very grown up and adult and together. His brother or cousin or something, Terry, was the exact opposite. I guess Jamal felt like he had to take care of him? I don't know, but Terry was verbally and physically abusive, a natural drinker, and incredibly childish and aggressive. Imagine a particularly stupid, competitive, fifth grader that was in his twenties or thirties. After them, there was Alicia, Morgan, and Noah. Alicia was Terry's… girlfriend? Maybe? I don't know, Terry was confusing to me. Morgan worked with Jamal before everything went to shit, and I guess they had escaped together. She was around my age. Noah was a balding middle aged white guy that was probably a manager at some store or fast food place somewhere. I think he was Jamal and Morgan's boss before.

We mostly got along together. Obviously Terry and Alicia were the outliers in the group, but the rest of us got along fine.

And yes, before you ask, me and Morgan got along better than me and everyone else. But seriously, I wasn't even thinking about that. Those kinds of thoughts poof out of your head when there's a zombie apocalypse going on outside. And I guess it didn't help that I hadn't showered in several days, and still had some zombie insides on me from the ones I shot. I did find out that she was thinking that way, but not until later. It's funny, we actually eventually— no, wait, I'll tell that part when I get to it.

I do have some good memories of Morgan, one in particular. I mean it's not like, a good memory, but one that I remember well. I've actually got a voice recording of her, and you'll have to forgive the sobbing and sniffing and general crying. It, uh, was somebody else, I swear. I'm tough, I don't cry. I'm a man, I tell you!

The following is a transcript of Albert Hale's voice recording of a conversation between himself and a woman known only as 'Morgan'. All superfluous noises have been edited out.

[a door creaks open, then shuts quietly] "Albert? Are you alright? I heard some noises in here, and I thought maybe you… I thought you might need someone right now…"

"Huh? Oh, uh, y-yeah, c'mon in. Er, actually, gimme just one second, I—"

"Albert, no, really it's ok! I just wanted to, y'know, be around for you right now. You're obviously going through something, and I mean, I guess we all kind of are, but not, like… Look, Jamal's making some dinner, and Noah's re-organizing the shelves—again—and I don't really like hanging out with Terry and Alicia when they've been drinking, so it's not like you're taking me away from anything and God, I've been rambling like an old Englishman on a walk, and why won't you stop me?"

[a snort of laughter, coming from Albert] "You're thinking of 'ambling', not 'rambling'. And aren't Terry and/or Alicia always drinking at least one kind of booze? There's gonna be real trouble when they finally empty that aisle. What's for dinner tonight, has Jamal said?"

"Chicken teriyaki Ramen, but don't change the subject. What's up, Albert?"

"Ugh. Fine, since you won't go bother Jamal to make something other than Ramen. I was in college for a year before this started. Ramen's getting old.

I was just thinking about the day before I ran into you guys. It was a bad day."

"Really? The day that the world went to hell was a bad day for you?"

"I… I had to kill someone. I'd never done that before. And before that, I watched people get eaten, and I didn't do anything. I just drove past. And even more than that, I hit them with my fucking car! I had to swerve into a parking lot and I hit at least four people—living, screaming people—people that were pleading with me, begging me to save them! I made them die! It's my fault they're dead!"

"Albert! It is NOT your fault! God, Albert, you would have died too if you had stopped and tried to help them! It was their fault for being in the road; cars have the right of way! I refuse to allow you to blame yourself!"

[a door creaks open again] "Uh, hey, Jamal said to tell you that dinner was ready, so come out and get some… when you, uh, are ready, I mean."

"Thanks, Noah. We'll be out in a sec." [a door shuts quietly] "Albert, please, nobody blames you. Not even those people can hate you. And honestly, I bet the zombie lady was glad you shot her. I know it's what I'd want. Now come on. Let's go see if we can find some canned tuna or something to toss in that Ramen."

"Thanks, Morgan. Really, thank you. I don't feel awesome, just yet, but… yeah.

And really? Tuna, in chicken teriyaki Ramen? What is this, amateur hour? Lead me to the canned meats aisle, and I'll show you how to cook some low-budget, high-class Ramen."

End voice recording.

I've got some other voice recordings of her, but I think I'll keep some of those just for me. She had a habit of recording conversations or monologues (she was very fond of monologues; she considered them to be the highest form of art—her words, not mine). She sent me that one a few months after it was made, once the phones were back up. Morgan was a good girl. I miss her.