The day dawned bright and clear. The sun was shining, the blue sky was dotted here and there with puffy white clouds. The air was warm, but not so warm as to be uncomfortable. In short, it was a perfect day to play some football, take a hike, go for a picnic, or go on a zombie killing spree with someone.

Because there were billions of howling undead covering the Earth. On second thought, screw the picnic. Don't want to give them any ideas.

It had been two days since Kris had died for the second time. Two days since Roger had been bitten.

Now he sat in one of the editorial offices, bathed in sweat despite the lack of any reasonable heat source. Caitlin Comeau, a cheery, bright-eyed, brunette sat next to him, doing her best to keep him comfortable, which roughly translated into hoping he wouldn't turn while she was alone with him. A baseball-sized rock set next to her, caked with the blood of many zombies. She started believing that it was her lucky charm. During one of the undead break-ins, she had grabbed it, and without thinking, she had crushed the skulls of seven in the span of a minute. Since then, she kept it with her at all times, preferring it over the larger weapons that she was offered.

Less than an hour after being bitten, Roger had begun to signs of being infected. His breathing became more labored and his skin took on a pale, pallid tone. When he slept, he had horrific nightmares, and by day he was delirious, talking to no one and remembering things that had never happened.

I walked into the room, holding my trademark table leg firmly in my hand. I had told the others to be armed at all times, just in case our friend turned.

"Hey, how's it going?" asked Roger in a weakened yet happy tone.

Seeing my friend like this was almost too much for me to handle, though I had seen it countless times before.

"Not too bad," was all I could think of to say. "How about you?"

Roger smiled as if he were on a vacation. I had kept a bottle of brandy in my office, and now generous amounts of it were being given to Roger. It seemed like the only way to keep him from screaming himself mute.

"Can't complain, brother," he said. "At least the nurses here are real pretty." He sent her a wink that barely seemed more than a twitch.

Caitlin could only muster a weak smile. Since the outbreak, the light in her eyes had dimmed, and not a day went by that she didn't cry herself to sleep. She looked to me and shook her head. Not that I needed any confirmation. Any fool could see Roger wasn't getting any better.

I hesitated before gently placing a hand on my friend's shoulder. "You just rest, okay? We're going to get you some help."

Roger just folded his hands behind his head, the same carefree smile on his face. "Don't gotta tell me twice, man."

Walking out of the room, I was confronted with the eyes of my friends. Eyes which begged me to do something, though we all really knew what had to be done. It had to be done with Kris, now it would have to be done with Roger.

James shook his head before I could say anything. "No. No, you can't," he said, pleading. "He saved my life."

"And if we don't do something, he'll kill you. Nice symmetry, don't you think?"

"I won't do it," stated Marcus, his eyes resolute. "I won't kill him, even if he turns."

"Relax, kid, I hadn't planned for you to actually do anything," I said, my eyes moving down to see Kris's corpse, covered with a curtain, a pool of blood two feet in diameter was leaking through around his head.

"Then that's our future," I said, pointing at the twice-killed photographer. "If we don't kill him, we'll all be modeling the latest style in body bags."

"It's not going to be enough if we kill him, is it?" asked Caitlin, closing and locking the door behind her, beyond which Roger could be heard singing 'California Girls', horrendously off-key. "We're just putting it off. If we stay here, we'll all be dead."

I nodded, looking toward the others. Staying here was great at first but now it was getting more dangerous. What with the lack of food and the increasing amounts of zombies. "She's right. We made the decision to stay when everyone else was running for the hills, and we've been paying for it little by little every day. If we want to survive now, we're going to have to do something about a change of scenery."

Once more the others eyes begged, but this time it was for me to do nothing.

"We have to leave."

Not even a few minutes later we were packing what meager possessions we had as the sun set, bathing the landscape in twilight.

People who lived in the rural areas of Maine and Vermont often commented on how dark it could get when you didn't have an endless landscape of buildings to light up the night. Now the remaining humans all knew exactly what that meant.

"This is crazy," said James as he stuffed a few bags of Skittles into a backpack. "Absolutely, off-our-rockers,-completely-screw-loose,-light's-on-but-nobody's-home crazy."

"What's the alternative," asked Sara, as she walked out of the bathroom, one last attempt made to clean herself up. "She's right. We stay here, we're all going to wind up like poor Roger and Kris."

James stopped what he was doing to look at Sara. "And who put her in charge, eh? Seems to me she was the one who told us to stay. Why do I get the feeling this plan is just a way of making up for past mistakes?"

I rolled my eyes, ready to retort that I was standing right near him when Greg spoke up.

"We all feel the same way," said Greg, the last of the survivors.

Greg had been a member of the ad department and now, he was slowly becoming another victim. A week ago, he had been scratched by a zombie that broke in. He had begun to show some of the signs of infection, but since he hadn't yet turned, we were trying to attribute his illness to the flu. Nevertheless, no one wanted to be in the same room with him, and it had been decided he be quarantined. Now, with the group about to attempt another escape, we needed every body we could find, even one that might jump ship midway through.

"Not me," said James, his voice brooking no argument.

Sara merely shrugged. "Fine, then you can stay behind and try your luck with the undead."

That seemed to take the wind out of James' sails. "Not me," he said, this time his hands noticeably shaking.

"Besides," said Greg. "Matt made it out in one piece. Maybe we can too."

The mention of that name brought all conversation to a halt. Matt Erickson had decided to leave a month ago, preferring his chances in the outside world to dying a slow death here. One night, the others were awakened to the sound of a car tearing down the road, hundreds of undead on its tail.

There had been no word since then. Matt had never returned, and most assumed him dead.

Just then the others emerged, bags packed and ready to go.

For a short time, no one said a word, nor did anyone move. No one wanted to leave the office, our safe zone. We all knew there was a solid chance we would die within minutes, and if we survived the night, it was only because the Reaper wasn't checking his list too closely.

As if eager to change the subject, Caitlin said, "What about Roger? What are we going to do with him?"

From the locked office, Roger's tone-deaf singing could still be heard, now punctuated with moans of pain. We all knew what it meant. The infection was taking over, and soon our old friend Roger, the same Roger who used to bring in doughnuts every Friday, would be nothing more than another shambling undead.

Without responding, I started to make my way downstairs, the others following behind me. I watched as Caitlin paused to glance one last time in Roger's direction, before quickly following.

We made our way to the back door, the soft moaning of the hundreds of undead echoing through the halls. Zombies were thin around the back of the building, most congregating towards where the others had run from. It was our plan to make it to our cars and pray that after two months they would still start.

No one was sure how the undead could tell the difference between their own decaying brethren and normal humans, but one thing was clear. They had to see or you to know you were there. So as long as we could remain hidden and silent, we would be safe.

Given the foolproof plan, it was no wonder my hands shook as I unfastened the latches and turned the knob, or that Marcus was hoping no one noticed he had just wet himself.

Luck seemed to be on our side for a change, for there were no undead nearby as we stepped into the night. Their moans, however, were ever-present, and more than once we all had to stifle screams.

We kept to the side of the building as we inched our way along, Sara and I in the lead and James and Greg bringing up the rear, watching for any zombies on our tail. Around the corner, we could see the parking lot, our cars catching the faint starlight. Nervously fingering my car keys, I activated the remote to unlock my doors. The sound echoed throughout the lot, and I jumped at what seemed to be a cannon shot in the night. The undead, however, took no notice to the shrill beeps.

With a nod, I urged the group forward. Our legs were tensed, as if Death itself were on our heels. Pretty apropos metaphor.

The moans of the undead were often indistinct, and it was impossible to tell one from another. And as I had that thought we heard a moan unmistakably unique.

It was less than a foot away.

Greg's scream cut the silence of the night a moment later, and we all darted away like fish fleeing a predator. With a sound of tearing meat, Greg ripped his hand from the zombie's mouth, saving his life but losing two of his fingers. As one, the undead turned to face the source of the sound, and as one, moved to consume us.

"Run!" I shouted, one the few commands the others didn't question.

We sprinted for the cars, but quickly found ourselves surrounded by the undead emerging from the trees and bushes. Snarling zombies, some with their entire faces torn off revealing jawbones and skulls, filled my vision, but none of us bothered to raise a weapon. There was no sense delaying the inevitable.

Suddenly, the heads of half a dozen undead exploded, and without a sound I fell to the cracked asphalt. As hard as it was to take my gaze from the walking corpses, none of us could help but notice the figure striding towards us, a figure who was clearly alive. Discarding a spent pistol, the man, wearing body armor from head to toe, drew a fireman's axe and calmly approached the horde of cannibals.

In an act of incredible courage -or just shrieking insanity- the figure attacked the undead, the swings of his axe denoting a unique skill when it came to dispatching zombies.

One by one, the undead fell, heads severed or cleaved in two. The remaining zombies turned to this new figure, as if recognizing he was the greater threat. Not to be outdone, I finally gathered the will to get up and help, others following with me and dropping one ghoul after another.

In minutes, it was all over. Covered in blood and gore, my friends and I looked like hardened veterans, the fear which froze our souls was invisible on the others faces.

The silent stranger calmly placed the axe into a holster on his back, brushing bits of bone off his black garb. Suddenly a lone undead, forgotten in the battle, reared up and bit the man on the neck. Though sporting a fresh head wound, the axe had not cut deep enough to destroy its brain.

Against anyone else, the bite would have spelled instant death. But against the stranger's armor, rotted teeth shattered, well, like rotted teeth.

A look of confusion crossed the zombie's face, as if it was aware its attack had failed. The stranger nodded, acknowledging the expression.

"Sorry to disappoint," he said, the voice sounding garbled and alien coming from behind the gas mask.

He swung his elbow in a wide arc, the impact shattering the creature's head, killing it instantly. In the faint light of the stars, I could see a steel elbow guard. Looking to us, the man gestured down the road, and left without a word.

We might have stayed to debate, but new moans filled the air. More zombies. And like our mysterious hero, our group of seven followed silently, the only sound coming from my car as I thumbed the button on the remote to lock the doors.