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more minutes after our arrival and we discussed the traffic situation that wasn't reported as more than "an accident" on the police scanner, Melissa looked concerned.

"This is exactly what they talk about in the Zombie Survival Guide. Lots of police action that isn't reported. It's going down tonight. Where did you say the police were going?"

"My mom said something about a fire at Castle Point Hospital," I answer.

"That's exactly how it would start. The dead would start to rise in hospitals and start attacking, just like in the Dawn of the Dead remake."

Melissa gets the aforementioned book from her room and then bemoans the fact that Stevehen won't let her keep a gun in the apartment. "I've been shooting since I was three, I think I know what I'm doing."

"You are exactly the person I'd want on my team in the event of a zombie holocaust," I assure her.

Melissa thinks for a moment more. "We should go to my parents' house. My father has been planning for the revolution for years. He's got thousands of rounds of ammunition and the capability of making more. He's also got tons of bomb shelter food."

"Do you have any zombie killing weapons here?" I ask.

She goes back into her room and comes out with a machete in a green canvas sheath. "I sleep with in next to my bed every night. If I can't have a gun, I can still have something."

Melanie takes the machete out of the sheath and feels the edge, agreeing that it could undoubtedly split some rots heads open. I flip through the book and notice it specifies the usefulness of such weapons because blades don't need to be reloaded, but I silently note that they also require the user to get within an arm's length of the walking damned. I would prefer to shoot from a distance, ideally from a roof with a good view of the surrounding area.

The sirens continue and both Melissa and I call our mothers for an update as to what is going on. As we are both met with promises that nothing is coming over the scanners, our hypothetical game takes on the edge of paranoia. Not admitting that we are entertaining the thought, we run through our assets and liabilities. We are on the ground floor and Melissa has a glass door. If the zombies come now, we are only going to get out by fighting. We only have a machete and a bat, which means one of us would have to go unarmed. Melanie and I aren't particularly good fighters, though she assures us she'd make a good diplomat (to which we remind her that you cannot reason with zombies). Our assets are that we have ready access to two vehicles that will get us out of immediate danger (though traditional automobiles can quickly turn to problems and should be ditched as soon as one can make it on foot). Melissa is trained on a variety of firearms. We are within a few minutes drive of more secure and defensible locations. Melissa and I know enough about zombie survival that we would avoid common pitfalls. I have taught a survival skills class, so I could keep us alive once we make it north (cold stops zombies from moving). Once we are in Canada, Melanie's French would immediately become useful as she could speak with the surviving Quebecois. I adapt well to situations and feel I could figure out how to thrive during a zombie infestation. All the same, I am willing to keep this in the realm of the theoretical.

We eventually are forced to leave to pick up Stevehen from work. There are firetrucks just outside the apartment complex entrance, which would explain the prevalence of sirens. This almost reassures us, but we pass four police cars by the side of the road on our way. Then we see a road cordoned off by the police and I can't help wondering who they are protecting.

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