Turns Out Cats Are Endgame
***
"Bubba. Missy. Let's move."
I backed up fast, pulled the three cats into the security booth, and slammed the door.
While they were busy yelling, a few zombies drifted up behind them.
Before the apocalypse, they called me soft for keeping "useless" cats.
Not anymore.
They think they're so capable? Let them handle it.
These zombies were different. They bit with intent—no stopping to feed.
Before the lion or the crocodiles could react, over half the crowd was infected.
Blood flooded the air, thick and metallic, pulling in more zombies.