After the military was given the “vaccination,” they all died. Also dead were the sons and daughters and friends of politicians and all the other greedy assholes that paid off someone to get the “cure” that was actually the “poison.” We laughed at the irony of it all, then two weeks later the recently dead began to rise.

Everyone cliqued up as they are want to do. There were low-riders, clowns, wrestlers and thieves. There were bikers and gays and more than a few trucker gangs. It was the gangs of the world versus the undead and, on occasion, each other. Each group clung onto their identity because there simply wasn’t much else left. A world with zombies is so surreal that you don’t question it when you see someone in full clown makeup beating one to death (again) with a baseball bat.

I was with the “Welders.” I don’t know how to weld, but I was good at finding the material. As a group we were accepted because all of the others needed our services to modify their transportation and even weapons. We could take a regular car, add a couple fins to the side, a couple other mods and all of a sudden you were slicing zombies in half like mowing the lawn. Sure, it doesn’t kill them, but it’s easier to deal with a half a corpse chasing you than a full one. It also helps when you’ve got to get through a horde. You wouldn’t believe how much damage a couple of corpses can do to a transmission if it hasn’t been covered properly. Your day is going fine, you think you’re safe, then your calls stalls out all gooped up with zombie parts and you’re lunch. That’s pretty much how we got by, no matter who you were beefing with, nobody messes with the welders; everybody just needed us too much.

We could have just coasted through jobs and let the others keep the undead at bay, but something inside drove us to fight the fight to reclaim the world for the living. Now my “shopping list” includes a chain drive capable of spinning a ten foot circular blade. After that, I’ll join the others in the “cage” and we’re going for a drive.