Roadkill & Life Lessons

Chapter 7: Roadkill & Life Lessons

You ever played that game where you try not to hit pedestrians?

Yeah, this wasn't that game.

I had two tons of steel, a gas pedal, and a street full of walking meatbags.

So naturally, I floored it.

CRUNCH. THUMP. SPLAT.

Each bump was either a zombie getting turned into paste or an already-dead one getting a second funeral courtesy of my tires.

I'd say I felt bad, but let's be real—this was free therapy.

I mean, do you know how satisfying it is to watch a zombie's head pop like an overripe fruit in the rearview mirror? If this apocalypse ever got boring, I could probably start zombie bowling as a sport.

The town, as expected, was a complete shitstorm.

Burning cars, crashed buses, people screaming, zombies having their all-you-can-eat buffet—honestly, it was like Black Friday, but with more biting and less discount TVs.

Then, I saw him.

A big guy. And not "big" in the "gym rat" way—big in the "I ate three cheeseburgers for breakfast and drank a soda the size of my head" way.

He was on the ground, arms flailing, five zombies gnawing on him like he was the last pizza slice at a frat party.

And let me tell you—it was NOT a pretty sight.

For a moment, I just… stared. Not out of horror. Not out of sympathy. But because damn, that was a lot of meat.

Then, inspiration hit me.

I reached into my glove compartment, grabbed a notebook (yes, I keep one, don't judge), and jotted down my very first survival rule.

Harley's Official Zombie Apocalypse Notes™#1: Don't get fat. It's ugly.

Listen, before you start calling me an asshole, let's be honest—zombies don't give a shit about body positivity. They don't care if you're a "big guy" or a "thick queen." They see extra meat, they eat extra meat.

And that poor bastard? He was a full-course meal with free refills.

Lesson learned.

With a sigh, I tossed the notebook aside, jerked the wheel, and plowed through another group of undead.

Y'know, just another normal day in the apocalypse.