13A — Josh Covington

At 8:41 on a Tuesday morning, Gerald sets out to steal his neighbor's newspaper. He ends up becoming caught in the strangest day of his life. Could zombies really be lurking just outside his apartment door? Or are they the delusions of a crazy old woman?

PREVIEW

At 8:41 on a cloudy Tuesday morning, Gerald Dozier awoke to a piercing headache. It was a pain as harsh and wicked as a Montana winter. No more of that cheap Bowman's vodka, he thought as he lay there wrapped in pain. At least not for a while. He winced and grabbed the dirty robe that hung from his bedpost to stumble into the kitchen, a trail of stale vodka following him.

He didn't bother to shower. No reason to, really. He wasn't going anywhere, hadn't in the four months since the divorce papers had been signed. Most days he didn't even change out of his pajamas. His shopping was done on a sluggish laptop, his groceries delivered by the Asian boy in 13F, his trash dropped right down the incinerator shoot at the end of the hall. It was a cumbersome and lonely way to live but for Gerald is was easier than facing a world that seemed to have rejected him. It wasn't that he hadn't tried. He had, and failed. Two wives, three jobs, and one foreclosure. Yes, he had tried.

At least now he was well, or at the very least, back home where he belonged. The dark days were past, or at least, he prayed that they were.