- Be creative—your brain’s your weapon… and also their favorite meal.

  - Most zombies are dumb. Most. Keep an eye out for the ones who aren’t.

  -Always have an outline. Then a backup. Then a backup for your backup. Trust me.

  ---

  It started simple enough.

  There was this pharmacy in the middle of town—caged windows, metal shutters, half-looted from the outside but untouched on the second floor. I’d spotted it days ago but couldn’t risk going in without drawing attention.

  Then came the RC car.

  Rest in peace, Lil’ Turbo.

  I’d salvaged a few more batteries and gave the toy one last spin. I rigged up a string-and-pulley system across the street, using a busted utility pole and some heavy-duty fishing line. Duct-taped a chunk of raw pork jerky to the top, because hey—flavor bait.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Zombies saw it. They followed. Slow, clumsy, hungry. Just like last time.

  Perfect.

  I dropped down from the rooftop across the pharmacy, used a plank to slide through a busted window. Inside was gold: painkillers, gauze, alcohol wipes, some antibiotics that hadn’t expired yet. Jackpot.

  I was halfway through stuffing them into my bag when I felt it.

  That gut-deep pause.

  No sound. No moaning. No shuffling footsteps or fingers dragging along walls. Just… too quiet.

  I froze.

  That’s when I saw him.

  He was inside the building.

  I don’t know how—maybe he’d looped around, maybe he hadn’t gone for the RC car at all. Maybe he was already in there, waiting, like some horrible flesh-and-bone trap.

  But this one? He didn’t lunge.

  He watched me.

  Eyes clouded over, yes—but locked on mine. His head tilted. Slowly. Like he was thinking.

  I moved. So did he. Fast.

  I ducked behind the counter, threw a rack of toothbrushes at him, and bolted out the back emergency exit. He followed—but not blindly. He went around obstacles. Didn’t trip. Didn’t smash into things. He even ducked once, like he remembered how doors worked.

  That wasn’t a zombie.

  Not a normal one.

  I lost him near a gas station, thanks to some firecrackers I’d been saving and a well-placed cat that wanted no part of this drama. Spent the night inside a flipped school bus, heart racing, hand on my crowbar the entire time.

  Lil’ Turbo was gone. So were half my nerves.

  I still got the meds. But I learned something that day.

  Zombies are mostly dumb.

  But not all.

  So yeah—have a plan. Have several. But don’t trust any of them too much.

  Because sometimes, the thing you’re up against isn’t playing by the same rules anymore.