My Cats Ruled the Apocalypse
Three zombies stumbled into view.
I dragged my cats under the bed and curled up beside them, holding my breath, not daring to make a sound.
On the first floor, a resident was so reckless that he lit a candle while showering. I knew he'd be the first to become zombie chow.
The zombie had once been a beggar, mangy hair, yellowed, rusted teeth. Starving, it tore into that resident's belly with sharpened nails, feasting with savage delight.
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