I have played surplus video games; so I know what is going on. Or at least I think I know what is going on. Ok, honestly ­­­­-- screw it -- I may have a vague idea of what is going on. I mean what do you expect, me to be some sort of zombie expert? No man, I'm just a kid.

But I do know that this is some kind of zombie apocalypse scenario. That means that somehow, someway humans are infected with a disease that causes them to morph into zombies. Now, there are many different scenarios depicted in games, but if I had to guess the zombies are probably contagious. They may be weak in sunlight but capable of withstanding the sun for at least short periods of time. Or who knows, maybe the sun doesn't bother them at all. But almost definitely, zombies have the mental capacity of a sea sponge, but infinite determination and pain tolerance.

The sun is still out, so I glance around for any sign of wandering zombie. Nothing. Well, this is West Virginia, so the hills block most of my field of vision, but still I don't see anything. They must either be scarce or prefer dark places.

And -- by the way -- I'm still hanging on this freaking flagpole. It's a pretty crappy place to strategize and take in the situation, but hey, sometimes we all make dumb choices.

My arms are starting to burn, so I tenderly slide down. My head throbs after smashing it, but this was no time to worry about minor injuries. If I can stay calm I will be able to survive this I think. No problem. I'm a 4:42 miler, why should I be scared of a couple zombies? Heck, I bet my Mom could... Wait, what if she is infected? I think. Then it hits me. My whole world is falling apart. My eyes fill with tears as I realize that I may never see my parents again. I break down, crying like a overgrown child, smashing my fist against the soft ground. Stupid soft ground. You shouldn't be able to absorb the blows. I want my hand to die in pain when I strike the ground. I want to pain of failure to course through my hand. What failure? When did I mess up? I'm not sure. Did I mess up? I dunno. Guess I did somewhere.

I weep for several moments until I am emotionless and sit on the ground in silence.

I don't know where to go or what to do. This is weird. I'm in a really weird situation. I wish my health teacher would have gone into zombie survival tactics I think as I wipe my tears. Would of been more practical. I knew it. Should of told him. I'll have to check that down on my list of life regrets.

"Health class" I grumble. "Always freakin' health class"

I realize that the sun is setting and I need to make a plan if I want to survive. I rack my brain for possible solutions. My house is about twenty miles from here. If I can somehow get a car or a bike then I could reach my house and look for my parents. Big Problem: I will have to go through the middle of the city to find my parents. Because more people results in more zombies, the city is bound to be a high danger area. Guess I can't see my parents for awhile.

What I need are weapons and shelter.

I search around to see if I can find any zombie-killing gear. On my right is a forest. I'm not going to simply uncover a double barrel shotgun out in the woods, but I guess I can get a big stick and a few rocks. I figure I can jam a few decent sized throwing rocks into my kaki's pockets. I cautiously approach the forest, trying to find a stick that can double as a club. Heh, I've always wanted to kill things with a club, like some crazed beast. Time for me to go caveman style.

As soon as I enter the trees I smell the familiar scent of musky bark and dead worms. Gosh, that smells so good. Why? It shouldn't. It's just the freakin' woods. But it does.

The trees are still sparse, this is shallow wood. With zombies about, the deep forest will be almost as dangerous as the city. I forage for rocks, and find a decent sized stick that looks sturdy. It's not a club, but oh well. Doesn't really matter I guess. To test the strength of the wood, I smash the branch against a nearby boulder. The stick resonates in my hands, but doesn't break or crack. After another twenty minutes I pick out ten decent sized rocks for throwing. That's about all I could jam in my pockets. Satisfied with my meager supply of weapons, I now need shelter.

I wish I could make something, but I had never made any hut or lean-to out of sticks. Come to think of it, I've never made a hut or lean-to out of anything. I'm going to blame health class again. We should cover that crap in health class too.

I think I could figure it out eventually, but I have about an hour until sundown and need to act fast. The best option would be to go Hunger Games style and sleep in a tree. If you haven't read Hunger Games, the protagonist, Katniss, sleeps in a tree for some part of the book. I forget why she does it really. Wait, wasn't that book fiction? Well, duh it was, it was post-apocalyptic or whatever. Then why would I try something from a fiction book? That's pretty dumb -- but also I don't have a choice. It's tree sleeping or ground sleeping. And ground sleeping will probably kill me.

I wonder through the woods, looking for a suitable climbing tree. From behind me, I heard a loud scream-moan. Heart racing, I grip my stick like a baseball bat, turn around, and swing at the sound with all my might.

I swipe into the air, throwing myself off balance. A zombie stands about ten feet in front of me. The creature advances on me while I try to gain my composure. Frantically I swipe at the zombie again, this time smashing the creature in the gut. Aim for the head you retard! I think. The zombie is bent over from the stomach blow, so I grip my stick with both hands and go in for a finishing smash. I sharply strike the zombie in the dome. Blood sprays everywhere as the zombie let out a final scream-moan. First zombie kill. Sweet.

I stare at the corpse of the creature. It's a boy, only about fifteen years old. Oh crap man, maybe that wasn't so sweet. That could have been me I think with a shiver. Sure he was pale green, with four teeth, bloodshot eyes, and too many gashes to count, but still feels wrong. I look at my bloody hands. Thoughtlessly, I tried to wipe the blood off on the gown I'm wearing. My hands smear all over my clothes, leaving a gruesome streak of blood on the front of my formerly white clothes.

If somebody saw me now, they would run away screaming. I look like a mass murderer. I'm not so sure if killing zombies this is the right thing to do. Could I cure them? I ponder. There has to be a way somehow... Health class... No we never went over that... What did we learn in health?... I'm not sure... After thinking for several minutes I conclude that maybe I would find a way someday, but for now, I had to focus on basic survival.

The sun is setting -- can I find a climbable tree already?! There it is! A happy tree with low hanging branches! I run up and grab the lowest branch, scampering up the tree. Once I get to the top I look around to get my bearings. In one direction is more and more woods. In the other direction is Charleston. Now I just have to figure out how to sleep in this thing.

Don't let anybody tell you otherwise, sleeping in a tree sucks. It takes me forever to find a position where I'm not going to fall off, and it's far from comfortable. I only fall asleep for short periods of time, just to wake up to my back screaming in pain. I try to stretch out and go back to sleep, but that only half- works. By the time the sun rises I'm hardly rested and dying for a real place to stay. My throat is completely dry and my stomach growls in hunger. I would rather be mauled by a zombie than starve to death, stuck up here in this stupid tree like a cowardly squirrel! I think in frustration. Wait, are squirrels really cowardly? I'm not sure. I kind of think of them that way... Maybe I'm being unfair... Hmm... Never mind! I got to get down from here! With that, I awkwardly slide down from my tree, hitting the ground with a thump, somewhat ready to take on the world.

I need some water. My throat is dead dry. I explore the woods, hoping to uncover a creek, river, or anything to wet my mouth. I stumble on a rock, nearly rolling my ankle. This would be a awful time for an injury. I force myself to be more careful, closely watching the treacherous forest floor with every step. I hear a faint sound of rippling water and head straight for it. I emerge from a dense cluster of trees and there it is, a stream! Thankfully it did not appear to be contaminated by submerged zombie corpses, so I gorge myself on the cool fluid. I'm pretty addicted to soda, so I usually don't drink much water, but this stream tastes amazing. I want to chill here forever, not worrying about zombies or my empty stomach, but unfortunately both of those problems exist, so I get up and started thinking about food.

I briefly consider consuming raw zombie flesh, but that was almost definitely going to infect me. Maybe I can hunt...

I pick up a decent sized rock. I never play baseball, but when I get bored, sometimes I work on my rock throwing skills. Realistically I knew that it was going to be impossibly difficult to hit a small woodland creature with a thrown rock, but I feel like I have to try. I need those effort points.

I wander the woods until I find my unsuspecting prey. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a squirrel perching on a log about thirty feet away. As deftly as possible, I launch my pebble at the small, cowardly beast. The little thing leaps out of the way with superhuman speed and my projectile misses by several feet. Yup, looks like there is no potential for killing any small prey with thrown pebbles. That squirrel was wimp. If it was brave, it would have taken that rock to the face. Or maybe that would be just stupid. Hard to tell a difference sometimes.

I sigh and try not to think about food. There we go again, I start thinking about food. The "try not to think strategy" is terrible. There has to be some building close by with decent food supply right? The hospital! It's probably stocked with supplies. It would also offer a nice place to sleep and offer protection from the zombies! Then I remember my green friend on the third floor and hesitate. He is still there and he is most likely not the lone zombie in the building. My stomach grumbles. I try to focus and think diligently about whether I should go back or not, but my head aches from the lack of food and sleep. Screw it, I'm going to the hospital I decide rashly. I march out of the forest.

It doesn't take me long to get to the hospital. The building itself is six stories high and built from white stone that is fading into a pale gray. Like the one in my room, most the windows had been shattered. The creepy building makes my skin crawl. I hate hospitals man. Even when they aren't infected by zombies. All those dying patients and angsty nurses. It's a terrible combo. Reminds me of death and mortality. I'm sure not all nurses are angsty by the way. Just the ones I meet.

Nervous, I tightly grip my stick as if it were a katana. For a moment, it's like I'm in Skyrim. I'm about to explore a dungeon and get some mean loot. All I need to do is hack and slash my way through a few zombies, that's it. No big. I do this in video games all the time. Just kill me some monsters.

My heart starts to race as I approach the door and realize that this is real life. I can't respawn if I die. For a moment, I'm frozen in fear at the hospital door. I then remember my mission and I kick open the door. The door swings open in a flash. This feels pretty sweet. I just kicked open a door, like a boss. Yeah.

I stare into the dark abyss of the hospital, expecting a hoard of zombies to rush out. Or at least two or three, which is probably more than I can handle anyways. I stand there in anticipation, my shaking hands clenching on the wooden stick. Several moments pass and nothing happens. I lower the weapon in relief. Sweet, maybe I got lucky and the hospital is somehow zombie-free. I walk inside, gaining confidence.

The reception room is trashed. Tables are knocked over and the floor is covered with blood. The normal hospital smell is tainted with the putrid stench of rotten meat. On both sides of me are sets of stairs leading to the higher levels of the hospital. I hardly have time to process the room when an obese zombie in an extra-large jean jacket comes tumbling down the stairs.

My brain screams at me to run, but my legs just freeze. No big deal. I took down that zombie in the woods, I can handle this I tell myself, trying to stay calm. I decide to wait for him to come into striking range, and then go for the kill.

The chubby zombie is turtle-speed, so it takes him awhile to reach me. Once he enters striking distance, I swing for the head. There is a resounding crack as the stick smashes into the skull of the creature. The massive zombie growls in pain and blood sprays everywhere but the blow is not powerful enough to kill. The zombie glares at me with bloodshot eyes and swipes a large paw at my torso, but I back step and swing again. This time, my stick sinks into the head, instantly killing the monster. The large zombie collapses on the floor, motionless.

Pleased, I bend down to retrieve my stick from the corpse of the beast. The veins in my arms strain as I attempt to wrench the makeshift weapon from the skull. The stick is jammed pretty tightly. I struggle to free the piece of wood in vain. The stick finally comes out with a nasty crunch. I stumble backward with a breath of relief.

My sigh of relief morphs into a panicked gasp as I see three muscular zombies pelt down the stairs. White froth spills over their rotten yellow teeth as they scream-moan in unison. Fierce crimson eyes filled with hatred and blind hunger are pointed right at me. Crap.

I scamper towards the exit. There is no way I can take down three at once with just a bloody stick. I head for the woods. I hear footsteps and moans over my shoulder. I'm not sure how far the zombies want to chase me, but don't want to take any chances. I'm going to run away and climb the first tree I see. Can zombies climb? I sure hope not.

These are quick zombies, it doesn't seem like I'm gaining any distance on them. My foot nicks a stray root, and I ungracefully slip on the moist ground, dropping my stick and sprawling onto my face. Panicking, I crawl on the ground like an awkward teenage chimpanzee before reestablishing a running position. The tree-line is about two hundred feet away, once I get there I will be safe.

A horde of zombies crawls out of the woods. Oh Darn.

This is bad. My plan just failed.

There are at least twenty of them, moaning and baring teeth at me with bloody, wicked grins. I'm in the middle of a zombie sandwich and have no way out.

I change direction and run towards the least amount of zombies, but the monsters soon surround me. Brain whirling, I try think of possible solutions, but I have nothing. There is no escape.

I run until I have nowhere to go. Terrified, I fumble in my pockets for rocks. I pelt my first rock in hysteria. The missile flies well above the heads of the crowd of zombies. I throw a second rock that smashes into the thigh of one of the monsters. It falls, but another zombie takes its place. There are too many. This is pointless.

I sit down, my whole body shaking with hopelessness. Taking down this many zombies with eight rocks was like trying to fly across the grand canyon on a paper airplane. Zombie Apocalypse came and I only lasted one day. Man I really do suck... I stare at the sky, unwilling to look into the eyes of the zombies. There is a sparrow quickly darting through the air. The birds sharp movements are graceful and powerful. I wish I could be a bird. Just for two or three minutes. That is all I need to escape. I just need wings man. And hollow bones. I need that bird game. Sparrow. I want to be a Sparrow. I want to fly away. I close my eyes.

Roar! The groan of a car engine deafens the ruckus of the zombie hoard. I stand up, and in the corner of my eye I see a cherry red Ford F-150 smash through a wall of zombies. Blood and zombies guts fly everywhere as the vehicle comes towards me. I'm sprayed by a film of zombie juice. I cough, blinded, but my heart throbs with an injection of hope.

The truck comes closer to me, and a familiar voice yells "IN THE TRUCK! NOW!" Dodging a rush of zombies, I dash into the bed of the Ford. I thump down on the hard plastic bed of the truck. The truck shoots out of the crowd in reverse. I watch the zombie hoard shrink as I sit down and clench the sides of the truck. The driver pulls a 180 degree spin and heads towards the road. We hit the pavement. Relief sweeps through my entire body.

Wow. I'm alive.

Did that just happen? Isn't that really improbable that a truck randomly comes right at that moment and saves my sorry butt? Did I just almost die? Or did I just imagine that?

I'm not sure. I think it happened.

I look at my hands. They are covered in zombie blood. I'm not sure what that proves.

While we drive away from the city, I get a grip on my surroundings. The roads are filled with fallen trees, smashed cars, and potholes. Darn, road crews are lazy. Or, they don't exist anymore in zombie apocalypse. Yeah, I feel like they don't exist anymore. Why am I thinking about road crews? I just almost died. But whatever. Guess life goes on. And, I'm still not sure if that was real or not.

After about twenty minutes of driving, the driver hits the brakes. Not expecting it, I smack my head into the car. Slightly dizzy, I see the door open, and Lenny jumps out of the car.

"Lenny!" I yell in excitement. Lenny's face breaks into his friendly crooked grin. If there was one person that I could choose to take down a bunch of zombies, it would be Lenny. I stumble off the bed of the truck and Lenny gives me a bone-crushing hug, smearing us both in zombie blood.

"Bout got yourself killed, retard" Lenny says sarcastically, but his voice is filled with relief. He is wearing a beat up leather jacket and jeans that are badly stained with blood. A pale yellow construction helmet covers his wild red hair. Strapped to his back is an aluminum baseball bat crisscrossed with a hunting rifle. On his left hip is a holster for a pistol. A machete is sheathed to his right hip. He looks like a mixture between a police man and a vampire hunter.

"How long was I in the hospital dude? I don't remember anything since the day before my race..." I ask Lenny, desperate for details. Lenny gives me a blank stare.

"Bout a month, you went into a darn nasty coma after your two mile. We was all real worried bout ya. Them zombies came two days later. Nobody knows what caused it, but it's crapped up just bout everythin'. They are infectious, mean, but pretty darn stupid. It's almost like the movies, cept a couple things. First off, you aint gotta take out the head. If it can kill you, then it will darn well kill a zombie. Them dirtheads will die if you stab em in the heart or rip out their insides. Second, there aint no coming back from the dead. If yer dead, yer dead, aint no comin back. But if your livin' and you get scratched or bit, then you sure as heck gonna turn. And for some reason, the blood ain't the infectous part. So it don't matter that we is both coated in that shit."

It takes me a few moments to digest the information. A coma? I stare at the veins on the back of my hand. My blood is still pumping. I shiver as I realize that I had been so close to death. I don't really want to die. Not yet anyways. As for the information, it makes sense, I guess. A zombie is more or less a human with an emotionally void brain programmed for violence.

"This stuff only happens in movies." I say in a shaky voice.

"But this ain't no movie Erick. This is life." Lenny flatly responds

"Oh yeah, it also happens in video games." I add

Lenny just shrugs.

"Where have you been staying man? Are there any other survivors?" I say, scared at any response.

Lenny looks grim and takes a moment to respond. "I came back from work one night and my family had gone and turned. They was one of the first victims." he mutters in a chocked voice. For a brief moment, there is great sadness in his light green eyes. The sadness is quickly replaced with a stormy anger. "Then people starting going all crazy like and it all went to shit. Lots of people got up an' left for the country. Others shelled up in their houses. I've just been living in my truck, but I'm just bout out of food and gas, and I figured the hospital might be a source for supplies. It is a miracle that I found ya." Lenny says as he patted me on the head. "You've always been pretty scrawny. If you want to survive, you are going to need to put some meat on that skinny frame. Don't worry about it, I can train you." Then Lenny says with a happy chuckle "I guess you've got cardio, that is always good for running away from them zombies."

There is a scream-moaning sound behind me. I flip around, emotionally drained but still terrified. Lenny snatches a baseball from his pocket, and deftly pitches the ball at the creature's head with amazing speed and accuracy. The baseball slams into zombie-skull, smashing bone and effectively killing it. My jaw drops in surprise. "You can kill these things with a freaking baseball? Why didn't you just shoot it" I say, glancing at the gun on Lenny's hip.

"Well, first off, your lookin' at an old man zombie. Youngster zombies usually take more than a baseball to kill. Guns will make a loud boom that attracts 'em, so I only use this bad boy in dire situations." He said as he whips out his pistol.

"How did you know that was on old man zombie," I ask incredulously.

"Just look at what he's wearin'. A sweater vest and converse tennis shoes? Come on Eric, only an old guy would wear those." I check the corpse of the zombie. The zombie's sweater vest is mostly intact, and he is rocking white converse shoes. Lenny is a bit more clever than I ever gave him credit for. Lenny walks over and retrieves his baseball, washing it off with a canteen of water and shoving it back into his pocket.

"Where too now?" I ask Lenny, hoping that he did not have some crazy, Lenny-death-plan.

"There is a Texaco bout twenty five miles from here. Its far enough away from the city so we should be safe, and them stations are always stocked with food. I'm talking bout all the jerky and candy bars you can imagine." Lenny says as he licks his lips. "I want to make a base so we can retake the city. Kill all of these freakin' zombies and take Charleston back. That's my city. I want it back. Eric, there are people holed up in their houses, slowing starving to death. We could save them and return Charleston to what it once was." Lenny says with a fierce look in his eyes.

Sounds like a Lenny-death-plan to me. "Can't we like, call the army or something?" I ask, hoping for an easier solution, but Lenny shakes his head and sighs.

"The army is way too distracted by larger cities. This zombie crap is everywhere. New York, D.C., Chicago, all across America. Heck, them zombies probably made it all the way to China. Imagine a whole mob of short yella' china zombies. Gives me the shivers. Anyways, the army just got too many problems to be concerned with Charleston, WV. So we got to deal with this shit ourselves."

I look at Lenny. To be honest, I don't want to be hero. Heck, I straight up don't want to help anybody. If I had the choice, I would secure the gas station, and hang out there until we were completely out of food. But there Lenny is, with some wild idea to retake Charleston from a massive zombie infestation. I know by the look in his eyes that there is no changing his mind. It always was hard to say no to Lenny. "Alright man, let's go to Texaco. I kind of feel like a Mr. Goodbar anyways." I'm joking, but I realize that I had not eaten anything in a long time. "Actually, do you have any food in that truck?" I ask.

"Yeah I got enough for a couple more days," Lenny says as he pulls a bag of Jack Links beef jerky out of his truck. He throws me the bag and I stuff my face. Amazing. I had never been a huge fan of any type of jerky, but this dried beef is one of the most satisfying things ever. That said, a strange aftertaste fills my mouth after I finished chewing my first piece. "Yeah I know it's Peppered, I ate all the better flavors," Lenny adds with a sly grin.

"I don't care man, at this point I would eat school beef nuggets," I mumble through a mouthful of beef. I quickly tear my way through the bag of jerky, jaw tired from chewing the tough meat. Lenny watches me eat, probably content to finally have a human companion. It must have been tough to survive a month on your own with just those green freaks as friends. There was no way I could have done it. Like I reflected earlier, I lasted like a day. Save the miracle of course.

"Alright Eric, hop in," Lenny said as he jumps in the driver's seat. I climb in the passenger's side, for the first time feeling a little more confident about this whole zombie thing. There have to be some benefits to the catastrophe. I mean, I would never have to step through the doors of TJ again. Just thinking that made me excited. No more cafeteria. Just me and Lenny in a truck, kicking some zombie tail and eating beef jerky. Sounds pretty darn manly. Sure my expected lifespan just dropped about thirty years and I may never see a girl again that isn't bright green and trying to kill me (I previously had that effect on girls anyways), but those are only minor problems as far as I'm concerned.