the ZombiesEight months into the Apocalypse and we were all transformed: the living kept dying and the dead got no rest. The America of sitcoms and white-collar cubicles and Happy Meals had burned up like Los Angeles when the wildfires tore down from the hills. It burned up like my momma’s brain after she caught the fever. It burned like the clove cigarettes we found in the pockets of the biker death cultists who tried to murder us in Reno.Being good was the same as being dead. We were all gonna burn, either in this life or the next. But Tura? She knew how to live on fire.Just a year ago, she was a researcher at UCLA, doing capital-ess Science by day and running triathlons on the weekends, casually busting down barriers just by living her life. I never had a chance to meet her there—I went to the university on a judo scholarship and meant to get a degree in nutrition. But I dropped out after two semesters when a guy at my gym recruited me for MMA. I couldn’t turn down what seemed like an easy way to make some cash and get myself on TV.
