I remember walking home one night, alone, along a tree-lined path on the north edge of the park. Every 40 metres or so a lamp illuminated the cracked asphalt and dried leaves. I had been hearing sirens all night. I don't remember feeling too worried, it sounded like it was on the other side of town.
Then I met my first zombie.
It emerged in a crackle of leaves, staggering out from behind a tree. I'll never forget it. It was a guy, bit older than me maybe, probably a drunk or druggie I thought. I stopped walking. It came for me, slowly, moaning a little. I tried saying "you all right, mate?", but as soon as a lamp lit up the torn and blood-soaked clothing I knew he really was not all right. He was so far from all right that he was approaching "all right" from the other side of death. A strange metaphor, maybe, but that's what being in a 'zombie apocalypse' does to your vocabulary, I guess.
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