Tell us about yourself. Who are you? What makes you tick?

Aye, well there's a loaded question right off the bat! I suppose a few people don't know me yet so I'll give a wee summary. I am an Irishman from just outside of Derry in Northern Ireland. I am a Catholic priest and had a parish in Scotland until the zombies started appearing on the day of Zenith. I was shot and nearly killed the day after Zenith. Ever since, I have been roaming all over Britain, trying to stay one step ahead of the living zombies, and I bury the dead ones that have been left behind. It's what makes this situation bearable.

Interviewer: Burying dead zombies makes this catastrophe bearable to you?

Colin: Aye.

Interviewer: Uh, I don't get it. Like, it's a way to pass the time? Isn't it depressing, scary, and downright disgusting dealing with half-decomposed, mutilated bodies of zombies who aren't even human beings anymore?

Colin: Aye, it is awful. The stench in particular. And the maggots. My stomach has gotten much stronger over time. But about what you said, that's exactly it. They may have died zombies, but they are all still human. You can't take humanity away from a person. And so to give them a burial fit for a human—that brings me comfort and peace in a world that so easily obliterates the dignity of being human. And aye, it does take time, and it gives me a goal for each day. I also converted my marshmallow figure to solid muscle, so it's good for both body and soul, or at least as good as it can be in such a dreadful situation. Of course I would be far happier if everyone were still alive and life were normal.

If you had to describe yourself in one word, what words wouldn't you use?

Patient! Well, I'm universally known to be stubborn, so if there's an opposite to that... laissez-faire? I think that's two words? I don't know. I'll let you find a thesaurus and look it up. Oh and also quitter. I am definitely not a quitter. Although that might be related to stubbornness also. And quiet. I'm not quiet. I have a big mouth that gets me into trouble all the time, though I am getting better at filtering what I say. Except in this question, apparently. What's the next question?

What was your nickname at school?

I don't recall ever having a nickname, at least, not one used to my face. Some eejit tried to make "Colleen" stick, though when I got wind of it I gave him a good bat in the mouth and he had to get his two front teeth replaced at the dentist's. He didn't sicken me happiness after that.

Headstones tell us an awful lot about who a person was. Is there anything in particular you'd like yours to say?

With the way things are right now, I'd be wile lucky to even have a headstone at all. So a headstone with my name, say, would be grand.

When you were a young padawan, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Well I started with football like all sensible Irish lads, and later decided I'd be a hurling prodigy since any game played with sticks that you could bash someone with was clearly superior to one without the sticks. Of course, my Canadian uncle thought I was nutters since the hurley was just a wee slip of a thing compared to a proper hockey stick, so I decided I wanted to be an NHL hockey player.

Interviewer: But does anyone actually play ice hockey in Ireland?

Colin: Aye, see, there was that wee detail. So I changed plans again and decided to become an astronaut, until I saw the astronaut biscuits they ate, and then decided to just be a rock star.

Interviewer: Can you sing?

Colin: Oh, aye! Well, at least so I reckon. Others have disagreed. But that sort of things doesn't matter for rock stars anyway. You just shout at the microphone and let the guitarists do their magic to make it sound like music.

Interviewer: Do you still play or sing?

Colin: Only a wee bit, if I sing to myself, like. Though I had a bodhran [drum] that I used after burials to commemorate the dead, until the zombie hunters stole it.

What is your favourite quote?

I'd like to say it's a deep biblical psalm of some sort, but I'd have to say: "if it can go wrong, it will." Good aul' Murphy has saved my life many times these last few months. Can never go wrong with an Irishman really... hey, why are you laughing?

Why did you choose your profession? If you did, indeed, choose it, of course.

Priesthood has an odd way of choosing you. Just like Jonah, I did what I reckon any sensible bloke would do: I blotted the notion from my mind and ran in the opposite direction as enthusiastically as possible, until my life bit me, chewed me up, and spit me out on my knees. Mostly of my own doing, I might add. Only when I reached rock bottom—and I mean I was literally face down in the gravel—did I reconsider what I was meant to do and cave into what I was meant to do all along.

As your crew cast your lifeless body into the core of the nearest star, list three pieces of music likely to be rattling the bulkheads.

Ha! I can't imagine how I would suddenly be in space after all this, when I can barely even find a tin of tuna to eat. But let's say I did... well, the obvious 2001: A Space Odyssey song – what's that one? Thus Spoke Zarathustra I think? Odd choice for a priest's funeral but astronauts are funny that way. And then some U2 maybe, like "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For." It sums up my life quite nicely. And finally, someone will likely whip out "How Great Thou Art" as the token religious hymn, which they will likely play because they don't know I can't stand that tune. Oh well. Two out of three isn't bad. I can't be picky these days anyway. Like I said earlier, if anyone even noticed I'd died, I'd already be ahead of the game. If they took my body to space, I'd only regret not having that opportunity while I could still enjoy it and gawk at a little blue marble beneath my feet, zombie-ridden or not.

If you were one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, which one would you be and why?

It's hard for me not to imagine that all four of them are already galloping around on this land and closing in on me. I could never join forces with them. If I ever do, just do me a favour and kill me. Please.

What was your first thought when you woke up this morning?

Am I actually still alive? It's truly the miracle of each day. I reckon I have a 50-50 chance of surviving any given day, so already I'm living on borrowed time. All I can say is I must still have a reason to be alive for today, so I'd better get out there and find out what it is.

Is there a particular moment in history that you would change if you could, regardless of the consequences?

Well, clearly Zenith would be one of them, since it has utterly destroyed human civilization across the entire globe, as far as I know. And also the time I abandoned my girlfriend so many years ago when she told me she had cancer. Much as Zenith haunts me, it's not nearly as much as my own cowardice. If there were one moment I could take back, it would be the moment I decided to leave her. No question.

What's next for you? Love? Life? Death? Retiring to a two-bed cottage on the shore of a picturesque loch in the Scottish Highlands?

[laughter] Weel, though I was in Scotland when this whole Zenith monstrosity began, and people here often mistake me for a Scot because of my similar accent, I'm Irish through and through. If I'm to retire in the Highlands, I might as well go for a wee swim across the North Channel and find a homestead thonder.

That said, I doubt that's what's next for me. Death is everywhere, and that's how I live life. Every shred of life is so much more beautiful when you're staring death in the face. Literally, in my case.

So love, life, and death are all tied together. Retirement is for sissies!

Should you have any descendants, how would you like them to remember you?

[Colin's expression changes—the levity disappears. He clasps his hands together and nods, thinking to himself. He then stares you straight in the eye.]

I want everyone to know this, which I didn't learn myself until life gave me a wile kickin'. People are not things. Things are disposable; people are not. And you can't take away personhood, even if they become zombies or whatever else might happen, or what you think of them or what you think they may become. So people are not rubbish to be used, or killed, disposed of, kicked off into a ditch or left to rot unceremoniously, no matter what your opinion of their status of humanity or personhood. I want to be remembered as one who will look into any person's eyes—even the dead glassy zombie ones—and see not just a hunk of flesh but someone's precious son or daughter, mother or father, husband or wife. I am not perfect, but I hope I get this right more often than not at least.

And I hope someone will be left to remember when this zombie plague has run its course. Hey, watch behind you—