"The world ended on a Tuesday. Carl had pancakes."
---
Day 1.
Carl didn't wake up to screams, gunshots, or explosions.
He woke up because his daughter poked him in the forehead with a plastic dinosaur.
"Dad," she said, deadpan. "You promised pancakes."
Carl blinked at her. One eye opened, then the other. "I said 'maybe.'"
"You said 'sure, whatever, just remind me.' This is the reminder. Pancakes. Now."
He groaned and rolled over, face-first into the pillow. "Is there a snooze button on you?"
"Only if you feed me."
She was already halfway out the door when she added, "Also, I think zombies are real now. Twitter's losing it."
Carl sat up, rubbed his face, and reached for his phone. Four missed alerts. One emergency notification. Two memes in the group chat.
> EMERGENCY BROADCAST ALERT
"Stay indoors. Avoid contact with infected individuals. Authorities are mobilizing."
Below that, a meme of a zombie holding a cup of coffee that said:
"Me before my morning brew."
He blinked.
"Zombies? On a Tuesday?"
He checked the time. 10:07 AM. Too early for the end of the world. Also too early for his back to be aching this much, but here they were.
---
The kitchen was out of syrup, out of butter, and had exactly two eggs left.
Carl made pancakes anyway.
He handed one to Ellie, who squinted at it suspiciously.
"It looks like a shoe."
"It's abstract."
"It's burnt."
He pointed at the smoke curling up from the skillet. "That's flavor."
Ellie took a bite. "Tastes like global collapse."
Outside, a siren wailed distantly, but neither of them moved. They were used to sirens.
Carl was more concerned about the power flickering for the second time in five minutes.
"Should we be worried?" Ellie asked, pouring orange juice into a mug that said "World's Okayest Dad."
Carl sipped his coffee. "I'm only worried if we run out of coffee."
---
By noon, it was undeniable: something was happening.
They lost Wi-Fi. Cell service became spotty. The cable went out halfway through Ellie's cartoon rerun.
Not that she cared—she'd already switched to binoculars and was watching their apartment complex's courtyard like it was a nature documentary.
"There's a guy downstairs biting someone," she announced casually.
Carl looked up from his book. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. He's just—oh wow, okay, that's a whole arm."
"Ew. Don't watch that."
"I'm documenting history."
She took notes in a Lisa Frank notebook.
---
They made a list:
3 bottles of water (half drunk)
2 rolls of toilet paper
1 flashlight with dying batteries
4 cans of tuna
1/2 loaf of bread (slightly stale)
Zero actual plans
Carl stared at the list. "We're like one bad sitcom from death."
"Or one good montage away from survival."
She added glitter stickers beside the tuna entry.
---
Their apartment building held a "community emergency meeting" that afternoon. It consisted of seven adults arguing about whether to call the police, two teenagers livestreaming the chaos, and an old lady who kept insisting it was a government experiment.
Carl brought chips and lemonade. He offered Ellie five bucks to keep quiet and not correct anyone. She made ten.
One guy suggested barricading the doors.
Another guy yelled about "freedom of movement."
Someone cried.
Carl left early.
---
By evening, the building had officially gone into "light lockdown," which meant someone moved a vending machine in front of the lobby entrance and taped a printed paper that said "ZOMBIES = BAD" on the elevator.
Ellie taped googly eyes on it.
They spent the night watching downloaded movies and eating leftover spaghetti.
The power blinked again around 9:30 PM but held long enough for Carl to microwave popcorn.
Outside, someone screamed for help.
They turned up the volume on Shrek 2.
---
DAY 2
The power went out for real sometime after midnight.
Carl woke up to the sound of silence—no fridge hum, no AC, no distant traffic.
Just birds. Real ones. Singing.
And something else.
A thud. A dragging sound.
He got up, peeked through the peephole.
A guy was dragging a broken chair down the hallway. He looked like someone who'd been in a bar fight with a dumpster.
Carl watched him shuffle away and closed the door.
"Apocalypse's weird," he muttered.
---
Ellie woke up ten minutes later and asked for cereal. She poured it into a bowl before realizing the milk was warm.
They ate it anyway.
"Dad," she said between spoonfuls, "if we get bitten, do we become fast zombies or slow ones?"
"Hopefully slow. That way we have time to complain."
---
They made a plan.
Well, kind of.
Nana lived about six miles away, on the edge of the suburbs, up a hill, near a forest, in a house that she once bragged was "zombie-proof before zombie-proof was cool."
She also had a garden, solar panels, canned goods, and an aggressive attitude toward salesmen—survivalist gold.
So: walk to Nana's.
Ellie added "Mission: Nana" to the top of her Lisa Frank notebook.
They packed:
Peanut butter
Flashlight
First aid kit
Fresh socks
A toy lightsaber
Binoculars
Snacks
Dino plushie (non-negotiable)
---
As Carl packed, he paused at the fridge.
There wasn't much left, but he figured moldy string cheese and half a juice box were better than nothing.
He wrapped them in plastic, added them to the bag, then grabbed the last useful thing he could find: the emergency mop.
Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Really? A mop?"
Carl twirled it like a lightsaber. "Improvised melee weapon."
"It smells like old feet."
"Exactly. No one wants to fight that."
They left a sticky note on their front door:
> "Gone to grandma's. Try not to eat each other. Peace."
– Carl & Ellie
---
They headed for the elevator because the stairs were dark and creepy.
The elevator creaked as it opened, revealing Mr. Delgado from 6C—shirtless, holding a fishbowl.
"Oh, hey Carl. Heading out?"
Carl nodded. "Gonna try Nana's."
Delgado gestured at the fishbowl. "This is Peppino. He's a beta fish. Not a fighter, ironically."
The elevator jerked as it descended.
"You seen any actual zombies?" Carl asked.
"One. Bit the mailman. Then tripped over a scooter. Real anticlimactic."
The doors opened to the lobby.
Peppino stared at them through the glass.
"Good luck," Carl said.
"You too. Tell your Nana I said hi—unless she shoots first."
---
They passed by the lobby barricade. Someone had added cardboard armor to the vending machine, drawn eyes on it, and named it "Sir Snacksalot." Carl nodded respectfully as they walked past.
Outside, the air felt cleaner than it had in days.
Ellie pointed at the mailbox.
"Dad. Look."
A zombie was there. Or at least, it used to be Mrs. Lockhart, their ninety-year-old neighbor.
She was chewing on envelopes and bumping into the wall.
Carl sighed. "Okay. Operation Mop begins."
He handed his bag to Ellie, crept forward, raised the mop… and promptly stepped on a skateboard someone had left out.
He slipped, flailed, and landed with a loud thud. Mrs. Lockhart turned and moaned weakly.
Carl rolled to his feet, mop swinging. "Back! I have cleaning supplies!"
She took one look, groaned disapprovingly, and shuffled away like a disappointed teacher.
Ellie slow-clapped. "You showed her."
"Goosebumps. Literal goosebumps."
---
They passed the corner store on their way out of the neighborhood. The windows had been smashed, but inside sat Omar, the owner, calmly eating chips behind the counter.
"You looting?" Carl asked.
"Nope," Omar said. "Just finally eating my own inventory."
He tossed them a bag of trail mix. "Apocalypse discount."
Carl caught it. "One day, you're gonna be in a museum exhibit titled: Guy Who Didn't Care."
"I'll charge admission."
---
They walked a little faster after that. The sun was starting to dip behind the clouds, and the city was quieter now. No cars. No dogs. Just the occasional thump or moan in the distance.
At one point, they passed an overturned ice cream cart. Carl stared at it longingly.
"Do you think zombie rules apply to soft serve?"
"Yes," Ellie said flatly. "Let it go."
"I just feel like it's a waste."
---
The walk was… surprisingly peaceful.
There were cars abandoned at intersections. A few broken windows. Some overturned trash cans.
But no screaming. No hordes. No explosions.
Mostly birds. And squirrels.
At one point, they passed a woman selling hotdogs from a charcoal grill next to a shuttered gas station.
"Zombie dogs?" Carl asked.
She shrugged. "Still better than McDonald's."
They bought two.
---
Around the third mile, they saw their first actual zombie.
It was a guy in a business suit, limping in lazy circles in front of a frozen yogurt place. His tie was caught on a parking sign.
He moaned once, then fell flat on his face.
"Do we help him?" Ellie asked.
Carl shook his head. "If he's undead, he's union now. Let him take his break."
They took a detour through a park.
---
Around mile four, they rested by a duck pond.
Ellie fed crackers to the birds. Carl stretched his legs.
"So far, this apocalypse is a lot more chill than expected," she said.
"Don't jinx it."
A goose tried to steal Carl's water bottle.
He stared it down. It honked.
"I take it back," Ellie said. "Goosepocalypse is worse."
---
By the time Nana's house came into view, Ellie's feet were dragging. Her backpack was heavier than expected, mostly due to the toy lightsaber and snacks she insisted on packing "for morale."
A scarecrow in a trench coat guarded the garden
When they reached the porch. Nana was there, as before, with her sandwich and crossword.
"I see you brought the mop," she said dryly.
"It's a lifestyle," Carl replied.
Ellie ran up and hugged her. Nana tolerated it for three seconds, then poked Ellie's forehead with a thermometer.
"Temperature's fine. Now, bite test."
"What's that?"
"I'm going to show you a picture of Ryan Reynolds. If you drool, you're infected."
Carl blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Standard protocol."
She held up a laminated photo from a magazine. Ellie stared.
"No drool."
"Good. Come in. Shoes off, apocalypse or not."
---
Inside, the house was immaculate. Solar panels powered basic lights. The fridge hummed. On the counter sat jars of pickles, jam, preserved peaches, and a shotgun named Mabel.
Nana poured them both lemonade. "Dinner's grilled cheese. You can help with dishes, Carl."
Carl saluted.
"You still don't believe in the zombie thing, do you?" he asked.
"I believe in dumb people," Nana replied. "And dumb people make good monsters."
---
That night, they slept in the guest room.
Carl stared at the ceiling, listening to crickets.
Ellie curled up under the blanket beside him.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Do we have to go back?"
Carl thought about the apartment. The vending machine barricade. The guy with the chair. The cereal milk.
"No," he said. "Not for a while."
Ellie leaned on his shoulder.
"I like it here. Zombies are scary, but school was worse."
Carl laughed. "Amen."
"Dad?" She had another question.
"Yeah?"
"Do we… have to save the world?"
Carl thought about it. Thought about the mop. The zombie chewing mail. Sir Snacksalot.
"Nah. Let someone else do it."
She smiled.
"Okay. Cool."
---
End of Chapter 1 – The Outbreak Was Mid
> "The world didn't end in fire or screaming. It ended in warm milk, sticky notes, and a surprisingly well-defended grandma."
---