The Survivor Kind

“You wanna search the rest of the house first, or do you want to start butchering?”

I looked down at Laurie’s corpse. Soon she and Robert would be hanging from hooks in the back of our truck, just more meat to get us through the winter. We had almost forty mouths to feed, and like I’d said, I had a little one on the way.

They hadn’t been bad people. Sure, Robert had tried to feed me to his undead girlfriend, but Laurie was just a crazy grandmother. I stood in momentary wonder at the kind of person I’d become. But, I reminded myself, in the end there were only two kinds of people left in the world: those that do what they must to survive, and zombies. I guess I’m the survivor kind.

“Let’s get the butchering out of the way. I’ll take this one, and you can get the skinny guy in the basement.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Oh, and you’ll want to wash him off before you get started. He smelled like ass before…”





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