My name is Roan Sterling.
I am seventeen years old.
I am not infected.
Three months ago my world went to hell and never looked back. I knew long before the others that we were all officially screwed. Growing up as an army brat had taught me a few things. Like when the military enacted martial law and forced you to leave your home, a normal day would be anything but.
Life in the Safe Zone sucked. The soldiers could poke us like lab rats, load us up on buses bound for school and pretend like everything was normal, but I knew fear when I saw it and the soldiers manning the gates were gripping their guns just a little too hard for comfort. This place used to be a typical “last place on earth anything would ever happen” slice of suburbia. Until they happened.
Dead Heads. Stiffs. Lame Brains. We had a lot of names for them to replace dad, sister or son. Something flipped a switch in their brains and the lights went out, but I suspected that the blackout was only temporary. I’d seen things I wasn’t supposed to. The Dead Heads were starting to notice us for the first time.
Life at Zombie High was about to get a lot bloodier.