[ WP ] The apocalypse has begun , the world riddled with zombies . As a zombie meanders through a decrepit grocery store , the barely working speakers tell of the sale in deli . He recognized his voice on the recording and remembers everything off his life before .

`` Fuck.'' Or at least the word's equivalent filtered through the sludge of undead brain. 
 
 Ted, the zombie formerly known as Ted the bag boy, stopped in his tracks. He remembers the moment. The manager, in an almost paternal impulse, had let him announce the sales. `` You're a good boy, Ted,'' the manager said, clapping a hand against his back. `` They do n't make enough of you anymore.'' 
 
 `` Clean up in aisle three. Clean up in aisle three.'' Ahh. Youth. The need to impress, the desire for adult praise. Ted told Yvette, the prune-faced but sweet cashier who always smelled of baby powder, that he'd handle it. He dashed off, retrieved the mop and bucket, and skidded around corners until he reached aisle three. Ahh. Youth. `` Sir? Are you all right?'' These were Ted's last words. 
 
 It was an apocalypse of ketchup bottles. The glass ones had shattered and the plastic bottles were... torn to shreds. The figure in the center of it was drenched in tomato gore. He reached out, as if beseeching. Ted gripped the mop with white knuckles. 
 
 ``... Sliced turkey at the deep discount of --'' The speakers fizzled into silence. Ted blinked, the ghosts of memory receding as rapidly as they'd appeared. He shambled forward in the gloom, mindlessly clutching the mop handle, the wheeled bucket clunking at every step he made. 
 

