I wasn’t the only one hungry on the road, it seemed; a single bite—even a minor scratch—from one of the infected, and we were as good as dead. (And so the cycle repeats.)

There’s always hope. And oceans. Hope and oceans.

This jeweled coast does not shine for its gems are coated with grit.

There is no afterlife for wilted flowers like me.

Some people were simply created with the right genes and the proper social skills, I figured. They ended up at a lunch table with a group of good-looking individuals, like them, who did what all...

Sleep is the only thing I stay awake for.

The weekends are too short for sleep!

No. Monsters aren’t real. This is real. I’m scared of what could happen when the lights go out.

We’re not a people worth saving, plain and simple. We’re completely beyond that—both the undead and the few still living. Yeah, ‘living.’ Some life, huh? But it’s the only life we could ever possibly live...

Pretty average headlines for a worldwide catastrophe,” Jane remarked as she read from Hollywood’s Highest. “Some man in Africa claimed to have found the cure for AIDS, yet another politician said something about the president...

Not all beaches are fun and sunscreen.