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“Doesn't add up. That would put the super zombie at stage 3, which is 7-9 months. How about hair and teeth and eyes? Was it missing an eye?”
    “No.” I swallowed at the memory of the creature in the cul-de-sac. It had been anything but eyeless or toothless. Its teeth were razor sharp and its eyes... they had been a gleaming yellow. “No,” I said again, as if affirming to myself this mental image. “It definitely had eyes and tons of teeth. Like a piranha.”
    Mitch  shook his head, exasperated. “ Like a piranha . That's just jolly fuckin great. Sooner or later they will be piranhas, out there swimmin' in this shit.” He got up off the couch and tossed the goggles aside.
    “Hey be careful with those!” Sam said.
    Mitch was pacing back and forth. “So we got the infrared, but how do we kill 'em? We've still solved nothing.”
    He turned to me. “Where the hell are the cops anyway?”
    “Probably downtown,” I said.
    “Probly inside, like everybody else,” Sam remarked. “I'm telling you, it's the smart thing to do. With these winds the zombies can smell us from over a mile away.”
    Mitch jerked. “What the fuck are you talking about dude? Two minutes ago you were sayin' how they were gonna corner us in your house on the hill, now you wanna stay here? Which one is it?”
    “There have to be others that know about this.” I said it out-loud, though I had meant to think it.
    “Not necessarily,” said Sam, avoiding my brother's eyes. “This storm presents the perfect cover for a takeover...”
    I thought about the cop car still sitting at the cul-de-sac, and the police car that had been attacked. Surely somebody had come across them...
    Who was I kidding? Sam was right, there was probably nobody on the streets around here. The people on my road were likely all nestled up in their homes. It wasn't like they could see anything by looking out their windows anyway.
    This was truly a storm of the ages.
    But the questions remained. How many more were infected? Were zombies just breaking into homes all around us seeking humans? Were they smart or dumb? Coordinated or random? And what, oh what, was their weakness?
    “There's only one thing we can do,” Sam said at last. He closed his computer and my brother's head shot up from his hands. He eyed his portly friend with momentary discretion, and then his eyes glistened and the cold realization took hold.
    “We've gotta seek them out, and kill them,” my brother said flatly. “We have to find every last one, and kill it.”
    I wanted to tell my brother that this had been my idea, and the only sensible idea, all along. Instead, I nodded my head as resolutely as possible. “We'll make it work,” I added, not knowing at all if we could. “We can do it.”
    There was a sudden smirk on my brother's face as he and Sam shared a look. “Time to go Zombies Ate My Neighbors on these muthafuckas.”
    ***

“Only One Thing to Do”
     
    There we stood, guardians of the neighborhood. Armed with AEGs, infrared goggles and waterproof GORE-TEX raincoats. We had the gear and we had a plan—or so we thought.
    In reality, we had little.
    A minute later, as we sat inside Sam's BMW in his garage, I withdrew the schematic and began plotting. “Here's Mr. Clark's residence,” I said, circling the home on the map. “This is the epicenter. This is where it began.” I wasn't sure of that statement either, but I did know one thing—it's where I first saw it. “And here's our cul-de-sac at Landbourne, Miss. Lenner's house, about 3.7 miles away, straight shot.” I drew an asterisk.
    “Wait, Miss Lenner's?” Sam said.
    “Yea our neighbor...” I imagined that fit, small woman trying desperately to fight off the creatures.
    Sam hesitated. “Do you think she's one of them now?”
    “I dunno, I didn't see.”
    “She used to call my mom all the time,” said Sam, “she would call in the middle of the day a lot.”
    “She called everybody's mom,” said my brother. “She