I never realized that a goth wardrobe could be considered survival gear, but you have to admit, my standard outfit of black clothing and combat boots is pretty handy in the event of a sudden zombie uprising. Sure, my black lace veil will never be the same, but I'm alive, dammit.
Helpful Hint: In the event of a zombie apocalypse, a tube of black lipstick makes a dandy improvised camouflage facepaint.
I'm not really sure what happened. The NOAA radio had been screaming all afternoon, but this is Florida in June; we're constantly getting weather alerts about small craft advisories in the Atlantic. I didn't know anything was out of the ordinary until the Civil Defense sirens started wailing.
Most people fled along hurricane evacuation routes, but by then infection had reached epidemic levels; zombies were swarming cars along I-95, I-4, and A1A. All it took was one pileup and the highways became miles-long buffets for the undead.
Helpful Hint: In the event of a zombie apocalypse, do not flee along traditional routes.
The moment I realized what was happening, I immediately made for the nearest swamp. The rough terrain seemed to slow them down, and zombies don't float very well on account of not breathing any more. They're also not very smart, possessing only basic predator instincts: chase and eat what moves, sniff around for what doesn't. I don't know how well these things can smell, but the high sulfur content in Florida groundwater masked whatever scent I had.
Helpful Hint: In the event of a zombie apocalypse, wearing perfume is counterproductive to survival.
The federal government seems to think we're past the point of containing the situation and has gone straight to cauterization. What started with Apache helicopters doing strafing runs has become full-fledged napalm strikes delivered by A-10 Warthogs. I fully expect that by tomorrow they'll have SAC bombers carpetbombing every county from the Keys to the Georgia border.
Helpful Hint: In the event of a zombie apocalypse, being a war nerd is a survival skill.
For the past few hours, I've been slowly making my way to the Intracoastal Waterway. From there, I hope I can find a boat with enough fuel, food, and water for me to make it to the open ocean. After that, I'm headed north. My wishful thinking here is that even if I'm spotted by the military, they'll realize that zombies can't pilot a boat and therefore won't immediately gun me down. If I'm extremely lucky, I'll be picked up by a Coast Guard Cutter.
Helpful Hint: In the event of a zombie apocalypse, problem-solving skills developed from role-playing games will mean the difference between having a shot at survival and becoming tomorrow's zombie shit.
My name is Erin Palette, and I may be the last living soul left in Florida. As a goth, I find the irony staggering.
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