- A couple AA batteries and a noisy kid’s toy can give you five minutes of laughter… or a perfect distraction.

  - Zombies love noise. RC cars are their kryptonite.

  - Just make sure your hiding spot isn’t in the middle of a damn food court.

  ---

  I left them at dawn.

  Didn’t make a speech. Didn’t ask for hugs. Just packed my stuff, left a note on an old pizza box, and scrawled some tips on the whiteboard behind the cash register. They could take them or not.

  "Trust your gut."

  "Don’t stay where you’re not safe."

  "Don’t rely on people who talk big and shoot worse."

  "Keep moving."

  "And laugh, when you can."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  That last one matters more than most people think.

  Laughter’s a survival tool. Maybe not as sharp as a crowbar or as loud as a shotgun, but it cuts through the dark in ways nothing else can.

  Later that day, I found a RadioShack that’d been looted to hell. Not much left—just a display shelf flipped over and a box of half-melted batteries. And one toy RC car shaped like a neon green monster truck. The kind with the ridiculous sound effects.

  I pocketed it. Didn’t know why. Just… impulse.

  That night, I camped on the roof of a strip mall. Nothing fancy. Just tarp, rope, and some crushed soda cans for noise traps. Below me was the food court—big open floor, glass skylights, and about fifteen zombies milling around like confused retirees.

  I couldn’t sleep.

  So I put in the batteries.

  The RC car buzzed to life in my hands, squealed, and played this horrible digitized engine rev. I lowered it down on a string from the roof and let it rip across the tiles.

  Every single zombie turned.

  They chased it like toddlers after an ice cream truck. Stumbling, bumping into tables, arms flailing like they were trying to hug it to death.

  I laughed so hard I nearly rolled off the roof.

  They didn’t catch it, of course. Thing was fast. I drove it in circles, under benches, over spilled smoothie cups, dodging grasping fingers. And for ten glorious minutes, I forgot everything.

  I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t tired or scared or thinking about Erin or how quiet Benji had gotten the night before.

  I was just a guy, holding a remote, watching dead things chase a toy.

  Eventually, the batteries died. The toy wheezed and spun out. The zombies tore it apart like kids on Christmas morning. I backed away, smiled, and finally went to sleep.

  It’s not much. A joke in the middle of a nightmare. But those jokes? They keep you human.

  And if you’re lucky, they buy you time, too.