The dorky survivor steps out from behind the ice cream hut, stumbles on the trashcan and falls to the ground. He raises his unloaded pistol. "Step back!"

"Guess we're not the only ones looking for food." Aberzombie smiles, releasing my arm. He takes a step towards the kid.

"Step back, I'm serious!" the kid yells, pulling himself backwards, still on the floor, gun still pointed.

"You can drop the pistol, dude, I can see it's got no magazine."

The douche zombies close in around him. The boy points the gun like an idiot back and forth at them.

"He's fat, he'll last a couple of days."

"Not with you around, fat boy."

"Oh, me?  Was I the one who ate that lawyer all by myself when no one was watching last night? Was I the one who -"

"Silence!" Aberzombie yells. In front of him, the kid's looking all kinds of 'I'm-screwed'. "Hold him."

Aberzombie's two man entourage pins the boy to the floor. He struggles to set free, but the zombies are stronger.

"I'll try to make this painless," Aberzombie says, crouching towards the boy's neck. "But I can't promise any -"

BAM.

Aberzombie falls down over the boy, unconscious. I grab the trash can again and raise it. "Leave him alone!"

His sidekicks exchange looks. I step forward. "I'm serious."

The one on the left charges for my trashcan. I step back. He charges again. I step back again.

It's clumsy, being a zombie.

The other one joins in, and, before I can react, they both grab the can, pulling it away. I try to fight back, but they're stronger. The metal slips from my fingers. They drop the can to the ground.

"All right, let's be rational," I say, trying for a smile. "Why don't you wake your friend up and get him home? Leave the boy."

"You knocked Tommy out!"

"Really? His name's Tommy?"

"Yeah, why?"

"No reason."

The zombies limp towards me. I limp back until my back hits a wall.

"Maybe we can eat her too," one of them says, as they corner me.

"You think so?"

"Bad idea," I say. "Zombies don't eat zombies."

"Yeah, but why not? Maybe we could."

Behind them, I try not to call attention to the fact that the non-infected boy is up on his feet. He grabs a piece of half cinderblock from the floor just by the hut and takes small, silent steps towards the zombies.

"I don't know," I say, trying to keep their attention on me. "Don't you think zombie meat would be kind of gross?"

A feet away from me, the zombies pause, looking at each other.

"I mean, she does have a point."

"We stink too, can't taste good."

"Exactly!" I smile.

"All right, so let's just kill her."

"Sounds good."

"That wasn't really the point I was trying to -"

BAM.

(Zombie fact number four - 'BAM' is the only onomatopoeia I know.)

Zombie number one falls to the floor. The boy raises the cinderblock again. The other zombie's eyes go wide.

And then he's on the ground too.

"Excellent!" I say, clapping my hands together. "Thank you for -"

And then the boy turns the cinderblock my way.

"Ah, you dorky fuck."

I wake up with the mother of all headaches, blinking myself to sight.

Seriously, a tequila hangover has got nothing on this.

That dorky boy is gone. So are the zombie douches. Guess they decided not to eat me, after all. Who knows? Maybe the survivor kid scared them.

Rubbing my temples, I begin my walk back home.

Another morning with no food.

On my way, I'm thinking back on past Eve, the one from before the virus. I remember her saying she was 'starving' when dinner was half an hour late.

Starving.

That spoiled bitch.

This is starving. The first time in days I find something alive to eat and a pack of idiot zombies and a dorky survivor spoil my meal.

If I'm being honest, whenever I spot a survivor... I don't want to, but it's so hard to keep myself in line. Like the dorky kid. Would have made a nice meal.

Oh, man, that dorky kid with potatoes...

I get why most zombies don't give a fuck. I don't agree with it, but I get it.

After what feels like four months, feeling my head dizzy and my legs weak, I finally reach the alley, lying to myself that maybe Jeff and the others found some food for me while I was out.

The door's open when reach it.

Odd.

"Hello?" I say, stepping into the dark basement apartment that has been my home for the past six weeks.

"Anyone there?"

I reach the bottom of the stairs, looking left and right. Not a sound. No movement.

Then I see it, sprouting out from behind the ripped couch - a hand. A rotten hand.

Jeff's hand.

"Jeff?" I call, limping faster towards him. His body comes to my line of sight a bit at a time as I walk towards him.

"Jeff, what happened?"

He doesn't move a muscle, but his eyes raise to meet mine. "Eve..."

His voice is weak. And then I notice the orange-sized hole on his back.

"Jeff... who did this?"

"Eve... get out."

"What happened?" I ask, looking from the wound to his face, no clue what to do. "Where are the others?"

From behind me, I hear footsteps. I look back to stare at the door leading to Kathy's room.

Then voices. Muffled. Non-zombie voices.

Survivors. And not the dorky kind.

"Eve. Hide."

I barely have time to make it. With a loud squeaking sound, Kathy's door bursts open just as I throw myself under the stairs in three awkward limps.

The three men step out of the room - full beards, bloody undershirts, baseball bats and pistols.

They step past Jeff, and I catch a glimpse of Kathy and Toby's body inside Kathy's room - they both have bullet wounds to their heads.

I pull my head back into darkness, recoiling back against the wall as much as I can as the men scan the room carelessly.

"Looks like they lived here," the tallest one says, opening the fridge. "Oh, shit. That's gross."

He closes the pieces of arm and leg and head back inside, turning to look at the others.

"I think we can use this place as a shelter," his friend says. "Bring the girls here. Seems safe enough."

"Yeah. Yeah, I like that."

The tall man turns my way, eyes straight at me. For a second, I almost scream.

"It's a good place. Underground. Furniture. Doors."

I realize I can see him, but it's too dark under the stairs for him to see me. Unless he gets closer, that is.

He gets closer. "We'd have to board the window, though."

And closer, looking left and right, distracted. Any moment now, the darkness won't be enough to -

"And figure out some kind of security - huh."

I've got my back against the wall. Arms resting on my sides like I might have been knocked out by someone. I try to make my best 'I am dead' face as he crouches to my eye level.

"How many zombies did we kill?"

"Three, counting the hot zombie chick," one of his friends replies. He reaches him and crouches to face me too.

Don't blink, Eve. Don't blink.

My eyes immediately feel dry like the air around them is sandpaper.

Don't blink.

"Was this one here already? When we arrived?"

"Not sure. Well, just to be safe..."

The man raises a pistol to my forehead.

"No," tall man says, pulling his friend's wrist down. "Don't shoot her."

"Why not?"

He looks from me to his friend, then back at me.

"Bash her head in. So we don't waste the bullets."