How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Zombie Bomb

    My family had always lived in a modest house in a small town until the three children grew up and went our separate ways.  But now things were different; we all lived together in this gorgeous high-rise apartment in one of the bigger cities.  You see, no one lived on the first floor of anything anymore, or even the second floor.  Fire escapes still caused problems though; they were a necessary evil, if you will.  The following happened not long ago, but the outbreak itself started about a year ago.  Of course there was widespread panic.  Everyone thought it was the end of the world because, I mean, movies.  Sure a vast amount of people became zombies and would run rampant until they're killed, but they're more like a mild predator.  The CDC found a preventative vaccine pretty quickly so the only thing you needed to worry about was being eaten.  Eventually the zombies will disappear, well, that was the theory at least.  The vaccine wasn't one hundred percent effective.  But I digress.
    We were all having a nice lunch in the kitchen until we heard some rattling outside.  I, being closest to the window with the fire escape, popped my head out.  And of course there was a zombie version of Sam, my brother's girlfriend, and she did not look happy.  But zombies pretty much never do unless they're eating brains or swinging on swings.  Seriously, but can you blame them?  So Sam was one of the fast zombies, meaning there's no assimilation for her.  I quickly briefed the family and my brother decided he should be the one to take care of the situation.  My brother went into another room while the rest of us gathered together in front of the refrigerator.  Rather quickly Sam's hands come through the window and she is not in good shape; she looked like some dogs had been attracted to her "dead thing" scent.  She clawed her way inside and saw us, but that was the idea.  While we distracted her with our likely looking heads full of brains my brother came up from behind her and cut off her head.  We try to not get too attached to people anymore. So we cleaned up the zombie Sam mess and moved on.

"Why, yes, we love swings, thanks for asking!  And braaaaiiins."

    I mentioned assimilation before and you're probably wondering what that's all about.  For quite a few zombies the virus only made the person crave human flesh; so they didn't have as much of the rotting bag of flesh symptom and they pretty much hung on to all of their faculties.  They just uncontrollably wanted to eat you.  We called these zombies "Sentients" (although they considered that to be derogatory and preferred "Reanimated Americans").  There are good Sentients and there are bad Sentients.  The good ones really just wanted to assimilate back into society, there's therapy for that now; the bad ones just wanted to trick people into a false sense of security so they could be eaten.  Because of the bad ones there was a lot of segregation going on; Sentients had their own sections for everything from workplaces to subway cars.
    Because you could usually tell when a regular zombie was coming, since they make so much noise, people weren't too concerned about not having a weapon handy.  But there are a few weapons that were created just to get rid of a pesky crowd of zombies or, specifically, when a bad Sentient had caught you off guard.  They're basically hand grenades but with lots of spikes on the outside; they're very popular and called, you guessed it, the Zombie Bomb.  When you throw one at a zombie it sinks into the rotting flesh really easily, so it gets in pretty deep and then explodes.
    There was one time where there was a knock at our door and there were two dapper men in business suits with briefcases.  I opened the door only to find out they were trying to sell me something.  Trying to sell me death by salesman.  There were subtle ways you could tell they were bad Sentients, like excessive cologne or perfume, and especially the pancake makeup, not to mention the knife that was coming at me that day.  When you noticed that you'd just look at their hands and see a grey pallor.  There was a bowl where we used to put our keys right next to the door, now it's a bowl where we place zombie bombs.  So I grabbed one and threw it hard and slammed the door shut.  A second or so later and we had another clean up job to do.

A Sentient before he's done his exfoliating and make-up.

    My last story is most recent.  The good Sentients had been really doing their best to make assimilation happen.  Lately they had been throwing train parties that were very popular among us twenty-somethings.  They're exactly what they sound like.  Awesome.  I hopped onto one of those one night and the train took off.  There were a lot of Sentients that night and even more humans; it was packed.  Then the screams started.  That's when I realized the bad Sentients were using the good Sentients' efforts to get an easy human fix.
    And that's when I woke up.

    I feel this is pretty self explanatory.