Zombies are apocalyptic in nature. They belong to a class of monster that doesn't just hunt humans, but seeks to obliterate that entire human race.

They were viewed very much like castles, I suppose: as crumbling, obsolete relics, with no real modern function other than as tourist attractions. But when the skies darkened and the nation called, both reawoke to the meaning of their existence. One shielded our bodies, the other, our souls.

Generation Z, they cleaned up their own mess.

But there were alternative media outlets. Oh sure, and you know who listens to them? Pansy, overeducated know-it-alls, and you know who listens to them? Nobody! Who's going to care about some PBS-NPR fringe minority that's out of touch with the mainstream? The more those elitist eggheads shouted "The Dead Are Walking," the more most real Americans tuned them out.

After all we'd been through, we still couldn't take our heads from out of our asses or our hands from around each other's throats.

My coping mechanism with my dyslexia is to use wit and humor.

With so much protection, wouldn't one be able to wander among the undead ranks, taunting them at will with no danger of repercussion?