Some kind of instinct. Memory, of what they used to do. This was an important place in their lives.

New York City, New York: March 3, 2010

I had arrived in New York several days earlier, to spend money on all the things NYC had to offer: booze and music. It was nearly dusk when my friends and I wandered into an open-air mall in Manhattan. There had been rumblings in the fringe news networks and online blogs of strange activities and violence east of the city. We disregarded reports of a large group of violent people as merely sensationalism. We wanted to shop and drink. We weren’t concerned with what wasn’t happening in our immediate vicinity.

The pink-stoned terrace the mall was flanked on either side with a row of store fronts. Behind the stores in the south row was another pedestrian walkway, with another collection of stores, then leading to the street with benches and hot dog vendors. A construction crew across the street was busy building what looked like a swanky apartment structure. A sign on the ongoing gentrification of the city.

Walking through the mall, I was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of fear. Almost simultaneously, my phone began to beep and buzz with updates from my RSS feeds and Twitter. My heart skipped a beat and I gingerly took my phone out of my front pocket to see the one word I had hoped never to see coming from a CNN breaking news report: Zombies.

It is as if my mind shut down all unnecessary processes and could now only focus on the task at hand: survival. We needed to get somewhere safe immediately. Almost instinctively, I instructed my friends to follow me into the store directly adjacent to us at the moment we discovered the unbelievable news. It just so happened that what we entered was a jewelery store. This was a stroke of good luck. We were encased in a room of shatterproof glass and direct connections to security services.

The panic had already started to manifest itself within minutes. The screams of horror and the galloping sounds of feet running in every direction permeated our ear drums. I knew that this was not a time to panic. By the time we had the sense to close the door, there were about twenty people in the jewelry store with us. Fortunately, the store was big enough to accommodate all these bodies. I knew that someone had to take charge of the situation. We needed weapons. We needed a way to keep whatever it was that was outside from getting in.

In times when death must confronted with a machete in hand, there is no room for democracy. By the look of everyone’s faces, they knew what was coming. Someone needed to take charge. Every second that passed was one second less that we had to defend ourselves. I began instructing various people to gather materials for weapons and for constructing a barricade. The goal was to put as many walls between us and them. In system where things are very likely to go wrong, having multiple points of failure is extremely advantageous. There were three structures between us and the outside; the store, the small indoor terrace, and the stores on the other side which had one of their two entrances on the street. We needed someone the benches from outside to use as an obstacle for any intruders. We could also the wood to wedge doors and windows shut, as well as reinforce them.

After delegating some more tasks, such as amassing a food and water supply, I began to look for the keys to the store. In the confusion, the store manager had fled out of the mall and, in my opinion, certain death. What I discovered was a complex system of pressure sensitive tiles that opened up a secret compartment containing the set of master keys. I also discovered what looked like a vent leading to an underground room. Perhaps this could function as the stronghold for a final stand.

Without warning, I began to hear a low-frequency rumbling coming from the south. As the sound moved closer, individual footsteps were audible. Armed with makeshift weapons we readied ourselves for the inevitable. What we were confronted with was not the horde, but rather the group of construction workers that had abandoned their work site. They pounded at the glass begging to be let inside the mall. In situations such as this it would be irresponsible to let more people in that you can support, but I noticed that many of them still had their work belts on with electric drills, nail guns, and other useful items. This would increase our chances of survival immensely.

Hours passed and we continued to construct our fortress. Then, blood curdling screams from the outside. They were near. They were would be here soon. We would be ready.

Then my fucking neighbours woke me up with their irritating laughs and I was *this* close to zombie-destroying glory.