Home. It's someplace that I have longed to be for these past eight years. It's a place that I know I will never see again. I was ten years old when the Zeds came onto the scene. Of course, they were just mentioned briefly in the nightly news, usually after some schmaltzy piece about a squirrel that could waterski. All of the attacks were happening in remote locations, nowhere near civilisation. Since the rotters weren't in their front yards, nobody paid the reports any attention. I wish I had, all those years ago. I wish that Tio Marcos was wrong about them coming to my hometown. I wish I wish I wish.
None of that's relevant now, I suppose. My city is a wasteland, my home in ruins. I can never go back. Not with the Zeds in the streets.