Mikey wasn’t too pleased at the timing of the zombie apocalypse - at six o’clock in the morning and not even a school day. Otherwise, he was pretty much okay with it.

He didn’t wake when the sirens started up, because that was a normal part of his day. He just rolled over when the drug-den’s door exploded off its hinges, followed by the rattle and rumble of a dozen policemen thundering up the stairs on the other side of his paper wall, because that was normal too. The gunshots got him to his feet in the end, because we’re in the UK here and we know guns just aren’t on.

Mikey stood by his rumpled covers for a while, crouched and ready to leap like a gazelle away from the commotion thudding through to his own bedroom. It was a good job nothing came through the wall then; Mikey was more into pork pies than athletics.

The animal snarling and screams started then. Mikey watched with interest as a bit of plaster that had been hanging on to the corner of his ceiling for some time decided all the fuss was a good opportunity to get some rest on the carpet. He listened carefully as the policemen were torn limb from limb. Either the crackheads had got hold of some really good shit or it was the start of the long-promised end of the world. He turned on his TV and saw that it was the latter.

He sat for exactly three minutes and eighteen seconds as the babbled reports of plague, panic and devastation rolled in. He probably could have seen some of it himself if he’d waddled over to the window and raised the blinds, but the real world was dull. He’d played enough games to know that what he needed was information, and fast.

He hadn’t heard his mum coming up the stairs. He turned from the flickering horrors of the screen as she opened his bedroom door. She wasn’t very well.

He switched off the TV. Next door had fallen silent too, apart from the odd muffled whimpering from somewhere down by the skirting-board on the right. It was quiet enough to hear the last life trickling out of Mum’s ragged ankles where her feet had been every other time he’d seen her. It was only to be expected in the middle of a zombie outbreak, but it was still a bit of a shock all the same.

“Why can’t you ever knock?” he said.

Mum said nothing. She let go of the bloodied lower panels of the door and slithered towards him.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

For now, Mikey ignored her, and started gathering his things. Mum and Dad had always told him that video games were ruining his attention span, but that just wasn’t true. All those flashing stats in every corner of the screen had simply trained him to take everything in at once. He didn’t need to gawp at a gormless programme for forty-five minutes (plus breaks) to learn something like them. He only needed three minutes.

The facts that mattered were as follows: that the local council hadn’t had the brains or budget to adequately prepare for zombies (typical); that statistically all of his family and friends were already infected; that there was no cure; and that he was fucked. The government had helpfully told him to stay where he was, but given the current visitor to his room, Mikey wasn’t particularly sure if that was sound advice.

On the bright side, Mum’s unplanned amputations made it hard for her to persuade him to be like her. It was amazing just how normal this day was turning out, Mike reflected, as he shovelled a pack of batteries into his backpack and shimmied past the corpse’s flailing arms.

He hesitated by the door, then he shut it. Locked it from the outside. It was her turn to be grounded.

As he pulled out the ladder and climbed, he saw a graph in his head. A line of euphoria, curving infinitely upwards with altitude. Exponentially. Now that it didn’t matter, he was finally beginning to grasp that maths homework for Monday.

He already had supplies up here. Secret supplies. Dad only gave him half a plate when he got a B or below, and he was a growing lad, in more dimensions than one. When his parents were passed out next door (their own secret, or so they thought), he’d come up here and bask in the glory of all his guilt-laced pocket money had bought. The straining bookcases of sweets here could sustain his impressive girth for some time to come.

There was an immense crash downstairs, followed by a slow and wet flapping sound on the stairs that Mikey didn’t want to think about. Dad clearly wasn’t happy that his tyranny was coming to an end. Mikey took one last look out the hatch, at the stained naked boards of the landing, and hoisted up the ladder. He sealed himself in the cobwebbed cocoon of darkness, breathed in the comfort of warm must, and turned on the light. He’d learned never to show too much emotion, and now he stuck to it, even up here with everyone dead or dying and civilisation as he’d known it gone forever. But he couldn’t help a little excitement bubbling over at the thought.

Civilisation as he’d known it wasn’t too great.

There were plenty of plugs up here. An old CRT monitor in a dusty corner. It didn’t take him long to hook everything up. Just as he settled into his old armchair to finally get stuck into that last DLC, he took in the embarrassment of the long, mindless moan from somewhere below. He allowed himself a smile.

They’d told him he was nothing but a zombie. Look who was talking.