To be quite honest, the "Zombie Apocalypse" was just another crock of bullshit that Mattie had to dedicate the majority of her life to. First it had been keeping her little shit of a drug-addict little brother out of trouble, then it had been work, then it had been trying to tell herself everything was okay as her mother started to show signs of early-onset Alzheimer's, and now, it was the [i]fucking zombie apocalypse.[/i] Same shit, different day. 

Mattie didn't even know how she'd survived this long. Out of everyone she knew, she considered herself least likely to survive a week. Yet it was the first week of social collapse that had killed her humble group of eight people. It hadn't even taken whatever infectious biological agent that turned people into zombified shells of themselves to rapidly destroy, one by one, the members of––what even was it? A team? That was a joke. These assholes could hardly agree on whose turn it was to put an iodine tablet in that day's water. 

That probably explained the epidemic of Montezuma's Revenge that had killed off half of them. As for the other half, two were batshit enough to get so hung up on arguing as to what had [i]caused[/i] the sudden rising of the dead that they couldn't even be assed to help burn the pile of dead bodies which had resulted from the previous implied wave of waterborne illness. Nope, that had been up to Mattie. The last person had been a tolerable woman. She'd tried her best to stick each day through, even though Mattie could see in her face that with every passing week she became less stable. More tired. More desperate. 

Ever since that woman had hanged herself and left a note begging Mattie to forgive her, she'd been alone. She'd been wandering through quiet suburbs and avoiding people as much as possible, whether they were living or not. 

At this point, the major reason she had for living was when she raided the pantries of abandoned houses and found twinkies. 

Today was one of those blessed days. Mattie was just leaning back in a bloodstained bed of a very structurally-unsound house and just looking at it, admiring the twinkie through the wrapper. It was a little squished. It was okay. It was beautiful. She was just about to rip the wrapping open and scarf the thing down when a loud, male voice interrupted her and utterly ruined the moment. 

Swiftly, she jumped to her feet and hid the processed treat behind her back. 

"What." 

"The." 

"Fuck?!"