Well, we made it through the night.
Slept in shifts, not that anyone’s going to really shamble their way up our street. Thing is, we’re on an ambulance route, so every time one went screaming by, we waited. Because you know how it goes in movies. “Oh, look Sally! We’re saved!” Then there’s a crash, and Johnny and Sally have to outrun the monsters after all.
Didn’t happen here, thank whatever cosmic deity’s listening (though if one is? What the hell? Zombies?) Still, every sound that we couldn’t place had us trembling.
I hear the ferries are still running. This might make us candidates for the Darwin Award, but we’re going to give it a try. Martha’s Vineyard ought to be fairly isolated, and who better than a workshop full of spec-fic writers to know how to fight these things?
So. Good booze packed. And swords. Now we just need to avoid, y’know, the walking dead between here and Woods Hole.
Luck to you all.