The Gracy Farms Horror

It was a mess the next morning. Muriel and I watched some of it from our balcony, behind the safety of some bamboo shades that her parents had bought us for Christmas. At first it was just the odd apartment dweller out for a morning amble, walking like a half-drunk college student. They seemed to wander aimlessly around the complex, going up stairs and back down or walking the sidewalks to the garages. Some of them even approached cars and tried to open the doors, though it was apparent that they lacked the coordination to drive. It was almost tranquil, in a way, those first few hours of Z-Day.

Then everyone who hadn't turned decided it would be best to leave The Oaks at Gracy Farms and make a mad dash for safety at some unknown utopia. The first guy to try his luck was a grad student we had met only once in passing. He seemed unaware of the change in the air and when a woman in a nightgown approached him, he did what any good-natured person would have. Muriel gasped when the woman bit into the man's arm and I laughed when he punched her in response. The woman went down like an Aggie bonfire and the guy just stood there looking at her and holding his arm.