[i]What a god-awful bandage,[/i] was all Mattie could think, other than that she was so so [i]so[/i] thankful that she hadn't broken a bone or snapped a tendon. It had just been a scrape, albeit a deep and nasty one. The apartment building had been almost completely overrun, and, well, there was just no other way. She'd made a rope out of her bedsheets, briefly considered hanging herself, and then used it to climb out of her window. Unfortunately it wasn't quite long enough and she'd fallen the rest of the way, inflicting a horribly-painful gash on her upper left leg. 

After that, having attracted the zombies' attention with the sound of her muttered but very emotionally-charged swearing, she'd run, difficult as it was, and taken shelter in a house with a surprising amount of food left in the fridge. But instead of rationing it like a wise human being, she, in her miserable state, guzzled and devoured every edible thing she could find that hadn't spoiled, and then she'd lain on the couch, stolen one of the shirts that she assumed belonged to the previous house owner, tore it up and wrapped it around her oozing wound. 

She was half asleep when a voice drifted through the door. Mattie bolted into an upright position and yelped, "Butter my ass and call me a pancake!"