“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life…”

Ernest Young scowled as he finished reading the faded bronze plaque.

Which ‘happy detail’ of my day would you like me to focus on, oh wise quote-ster of yore? Ernest thought as he hopped back into his rusted pickup truck. The abandoned cars blocking every road? The trash piling high? The hordes of undead?

It’d been weeks since the zombie outbreak and he’d been driving west for all of it, desperately trying to reach his sister Maureen’s house. Unable to contact her by phone, she’d become his chief concern.

As their half-German grandmother used to say, Maureen was… a bit of a schnicklefritz. Not dumb by any means. Maureen just… floated through life, assuming things would work out for her.

And they had, mostly. But Ernest worried that mindset would be a death sentence amid a zombie uprising.

Winding his way past undead hordes and gridlocked streets for several more hours, Ernest finally reached Maureen’s suburban home, only to find it… completely intact?

He stared in disbelief as he exited his truck. Zombies shambled aimlessly in the distance, and her neighbor’s homes were trashed, but Maureen’s was undamaged.

He opened the unlocked front door and stepped inside, into another world. His sister sat calmly on the couch, reading a book.

“Hey, Ernie!” She stood and hugged him. “Good to see you! How’s everything?”

“Bad… like, really bad, Maureen. Are you not—”

“Want some popcorn?” Maureen interjected, plopping back on the couch.

Ernest did, actually. He was ravenous, but there were more immediate concerns.

“Pack some essentials,” Ernest said, tossing her a duffle bag.

“What?”

“We gotta get outta here before—”

He was cut short by the sound of shattering glass. A zombie wearing a mechanic’s uniform clambered through the front window.

“Oh, shit!” Ernest screamed.

“Calm down. I’ll handle it.” Maureen approached the zombie with her arms folded angrily. “Zammy! I thought we had an agreement, no breaking my windows."

“Urglurrrrrghhhhhhh…I—” the zombie groaned feebly before placing his hand beneath his dangling jaw, moving it as he spoke. “Sorry. My boss is really riding me. I’ve got a new quota to infect five humans a day.”

“Aw. That sounds like a lot of pressure, Zammy.”

“It really is.”

“But…?”

“But… that's no reason to take it out on you. Sorry.”

Maureen smiled graciously. “Okay. Good.”

‘Zammy’ shambled out the way he came, past a still shaking Ernest.

“What the hell was that?” Ernest finally said.

“Hmm?” Maureen asked, cheerfully returning to her popcorn.

“The zombies can– can talk? And kinda… reason?”

“Yup!” She shrugged. “Guess nobody else thought to try it.”

“Wow…”

“Ernest? Just because I’m handling things differently than you, doesn’t mean I’m not taking them seriously.”

“Touché.” He flopped on the couch beside her. “Any more advice for surviving the apocalypse?”

“Yeah.” She shoved the popcorn bowl toward him. “Make time to enjoy the little things.”