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asked.
    â€œYou guys are the ones that heard her call. Didn’t she tell you anything else? Not that it’s really going to be all that hard to find her.”
    â€œHow can you say that?” Ron asked. BT got it right away.
    â€œThe zombies, it’s going to be hard to miss them,” he said.
    â€œRight.”
    â€œYou all right, Ron? You look a little green.” I laughed.
    We made it through the entire state of Maine without seeing a soul. I’ve heard of ghost towns, never a whole fucking state though. As we passed Portland, the only things we saw moving were small groups of zombies out on patrol. They turned and followed for a bit before they realized we were a meal out of their grasp, and then went back foraging for whatever was left. There had to be holdouts there, or why would the zombies bother? And what could we do about it? I watched the wasteland pass by. It was stranger than I could have ever imagined to be traveling through the end of times. I’d read tons of science fiction and apocalyptic horror when I was younger, always fantasized about a world with little to no people in it. Sounded glorious back then. What a fool I was. As much as people could suck, it was so much better than this.
    Some people were good, some were bad, but most of us had varying degrees of both elements. Did I believe the earth itself would be better without us? Of course, we were a destructive parasite as far as the Great Mother was concerned. Most animals would also celebrate our passing. The lone holdouts being dogs and rats. Cats didn’t give a shit about us when we were here; no reason to believe they would care now that we were gone. I don’t want to wax poetic because I very rarely live in the past, and I’m definitely not a poet. The thought of no more music, no more movies, no more books, none of the marvels of man’s imagination coming to fruition was damn depressing. Of course, that also meant no more weapons of mass or even minor destruction, no murder, no crimes against humanity, no greed and all the other less-than-fine qualities of our kind. Was the trade-off worth it?
    We’d effectively taken ourselves out of the loop. We talked about super-volcanoes and meteor strikes being our undoing, but it really was a foregone conclusion that we were going to pull the trigger that would blow us away. We’d been trying for so long (and man wasn’t predisposed to taking “no” for an answer) that he’d finally gotten his wish. I don’t know what the tipping balance was that made a recovery for human population a possibility, but I had to figure we’d long ago crossed over to the other side. As far as I knew, zombies could survive for years without food, going into their stasis mode to preserve resources. Even if we started to repopulate, we would just activate the zombies again to repeat the cycle of devastation. We’d scratched a rut into the record, and it was just going to keep playing the same shitty little part of the tune before repeating. Yeah, that was my mindset as we traveled down the road. Then the truck began to slow.
    â€œSomething wrong?” I asked, first looking over to the instrument panel to see if the truck was breaking down. When I realized that wasn’t the case, I checked the magazine on my rifle, pulled the charging handle back, and got ready.
    â€œRelax, just some people on the other side of the road. Looks like they had car trouble,” Ron said as he put the hazards on, came to a full stop, and put us in park.
    â€œAre you fucking insane?” I asked. I rolled down my window, ready to get my rifle up and target someone. I noticed that the driver had already gotten behind his car to use as a shield. “This isn’t the morning commute anymore. They’ll just as soon kill us and take our ride as say ‘hello.’”
    â€œI think you’re being a little dramatic.”
    Dramatic had not even got