see any dead or undead kids anytime soon. I did not get my wish. I found the remains of Roland’s family in a back bedroom. The pathetic barricade Roland had erected hadn’t been enough to keep the zombies away from the kids. Their little bodies must have been too badly mangled to reanimate or maybe they’d been immune. I was prepared this time with vapor rub under my nose, heavy duty rubber gloves, tools and landscaping tarp. Thus began my new career as an unofficial mortician. I eyeballed the amount of tarp I thought would be the right size and cut it with a box cutter. I laid it out and moved the two little bodies onto it as gingerly as possible. It was all very disgusting but still there was no mistaking the bodies had belonged to children. I’m sure it was because they were the first children I’d ever seen dead but that remains one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I kept the bodies wrapped in the tarp, I wasn’t sure if that would hinder their removal but I didn’t want to see them again. The rest of the house was empty which wasn’t a surprise, I’d seen what happened to Roland first hand. The house had a lot of guns in it. I remembered Roland and his rifle and thought perhaps he may have been a little bit off. In any case, the guns and a decent amount of food and water went into my house to join my growing cache of supplies. Three more house were cleared by the end of that day. My pile of bodies grew to seven. Four of them had been zombies which I dispatched with ease. A surprising amount of ease. When I encountered them they would either ignore me altogether or just turn and look at me. I almost felt bad smashing their brains in. Almost. Maybe they only attacked in numbers or maybe they were in some kind of dormancy cycle. I had no idea but wasn’t about to curse my good fortune and risk some kind of cosmic lesson in gratitude. At the time there had been no reason to believe it had anything to do with me so I didn’t even consider it. My immediate worries were centered around the pile of bodies on my front yard, now gift wrapped in landscaping tarp and waiting for whomever to come take them away. My other concern was how much stuff I now had in my house. I always knew America had been the land of plenty but it was never more evident than seeing the amazing storehouse of goods I had acquired from just four middle-class homes. I decided to shut it down for the evening, locked my house up tight and hit the rack after a delicious can of beef stew. I drifted off to sleep wrapped in a newly acquired heavy-duty sleeping bag that smelled vaguely of cedar wood. As I had on a few previous evenings, I thought I heard the rhythmic thumping of a bass drum. Before I chalked it off to my diminishing sanity, now it made me wonder. My head was pounding when I woke with the dawn. Shaking the rust out of my bones and dreaming once again of hot coffee, I made my way over to my lookout spot in the living room and peeked through. I was surprised to see the bodies still there. I found it both frustrating and scary. Why were the original stack of bodies taken? Was I being watched or screwed with by some loony tune with a weird sense of humor? Paranoid thoughts tumbled through my overtaxed mind like winter boots in a dryer. I decided it would be a good day to stay locked inside and organize my house. For the most part that is what I did, though I had to haul some of my now pointless furniture out to the backyard where I