I am a teacher. At least, I was before it all happened, before I was forced to survive. I taught social studies at the high school. I was also the coach of the school’s successful debate team. It was a cold Saturday in January when I heard the first rumor of trouble… You know, pop culture had defined the zombie apocalypse time and time again, all coming from the minds of horror writers, film producers, and video game designers. Who knew that when it really happened, it wouldn’t be anything like they all predicted. Oh sure, the dead reanimated, and they were certainly hungry for living flesh… but what were the mysterious red-eyes, zombies that moved faster than their stumbling counterparts and seemed to not only communicate, but to exert some kind of control over the others. More than that, though, strange things were beginning to happen to me. My body was changing, and I hadn’t been infected - at least, one of those creatures hadn’t bitten or scratched me. A high school social studies teacher might be the least likely survivor of the end of the world, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that if I was going to save my girlfriend and myself, I was going to have a fight on my hands. It seemed that at the end of civilization, the living could be just as dangerous as the dead…