Day 4.
The fourth morning at Nana's house started with an argument over socks.
"They're not just socks," Ellie insisted. "They're apocalypse socks."
Carl raised an eyebrow. "They're mismatched and have cats on them."
"Cats are survivors," she countered. "And I need them. For morale."
Nana walked past carrying a jug of pickle juice and muttered, "Wear your morale and be done with it. We've got a mission."
Carl blinked. "Wait. A mission?"
She slammed the jug on the table. "We're going to Costco."
Carl dropped his spoon. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Field trip!" Ellie cheered.
---
As it turned out, Nana had an actual list. Laminated. Color-coded. Titled in large, glittery marker:
Operation: Stock-Up-a-Pocalypse
Objectives:
1. Replenish canned goods
2. Acquire pet food ("In case we rescue a dog. Or eat one. Not ideal, but versatile.")
3. Recharge the battery banks (solar-compatible inverter on display aisle)
4. Procure one (1) new shovel.
5. Sample every available free snack.
Carl read the list aloud and frowned. "That last one's just you wanting lunch."
"Sample-based recon," Nana corrected. "Also, morale."
Ellie added, "I take snacks seriously."
Carl sighed. "I guess this is better than fixing the shed."
"Everything is better than fixing the shed," Nana muttered.
---
The journey began in Nana's car: a boxy, ancient station wagon named "Brutus," equipped with reinforced bumpers, a CB radio, a cup holder that doubled as a pepper spray holster, and a Hawaiian hula girl on the dash with sunglasses glued to her face.
There was also, inexplicably, a bag of emergency socks in the back labeled "In case of cold feet or bad fashion."
"Brutus gets us there. You keep us alive," Nana said, handing Carl a shovel and Ellie a Nerf crossbow.
"This seems illegal," Carl muttered.
"So is the zombie apocalypse," she replied. "Also, I removed the license plates."
"Wait, what?"
"Less chance of government tracking."
Ellie whispered, "Nana might be a spy."
Carl grumbled, "She's definitely something."
---
The drive into town was eerily calm. Trees rustled. Roads were cracked. Billboards advertised things that no longer mattered.
A gas station they passed had a sign scrawled with duct tape: "Closed due to Undeath."
"Do you think zombies get bored?" Ellie asked, munching on a granola bar she'd packed in a unicorn pouch.
Carl sipped from a thermos. "Probably. It's why they scream all the time. They're like toddlers without goals."
They passed a flipped ice cream truck. Its side read: "Scream for Ice Cream!" Someone had crossed out the "Ice."
Nana turned up the radio.
"...no new government updates... widespread outages continue... citizens urged to remain indoors unless absolutely necessary..."
"We count as absolutely necessary," Nana said. "We're out of mustard and I refuse to survive without condiments."
Carl sighed. "God help the undead if we can't make sandwiches."
---
Costco loomed like a post-apocalyptic cathedral.
Its giant parking lot was nearly empty, save for a few abandoned carts, a half-crushed scooter, a skeleton dressed in a Hawaiian shirt slumped over a grill, and a sign duct-taped to a lamppost that read: "Limit 1 brain per customer."
"This feels like a trap," Carl said, stepping out with his shovel.
"Everything's a trap if you think about it long enough," Nana replied with experience, loading a shopping bag with zip ties, a multitool, and a flare gun.
Ellie donned her goggles. "Let's go shopping."
Nana led the way with a walkie-talkie, barking instructions as if they were storming a base.
"Stay alert. Stay together. Remember the buddy system. If you see something moan, stab it."
"That's very comforting," Carl muttered.
"You're welcome," Nana grinned.
---
Inside, the Costco was dim but powered. Emergency lights blinked, and some aisles buzzed like anxious bees.
A radio crackled from the customer service booth. No one was there.
"It's like a zombie-themed escape room," Carl whispered.
"Except we don't escape until we have beans," Nana replied.
They rolled a cart down the first aisle. Carl grabbed canned chili, Ellie threw in seven packs of pudding, and Nana stacked batteries like poker chips.
"Did you bring cash?" Carl asked.
"I brought a crowbar. That's better."
Ellie added two jugs of chocolate milk to the cart. "For trade. Or for dessert. Depends on mood."
---
They weren't alone.
Halfway through aisle 12, they spotted another cart. Behind it: a dad with three kids, all wielding tennis rackets like swords.
"Fellow survivors," Nana said. "Non-hostile."
Ellie waved. One of the kids pointed at her dino plush and yelled, "Dibs if you die!"
"Wow," Carl muttered. "Post-civility age begins."
Nana approached them and offered a can of beans. The other dad exchanged it for hand sanitizer and beef jerky. It was the new barter economy.
"See? Society is rebuilding," Nana said, smirking.
Carl snorted. "We just traded legumes for disinfectant. Civilization is saved."
---
But the freezer section had other plans.
They heard it first—a distant scraping, like a shopping cart being pushed through gravel.
Then came the growl. Guttural. Low.
"Company," Nana said calmly, lowering her cart like a barricade.
From behind a stack of frozen waffles, a zombie stumbled out, arms flailing, face half-covered in syrup.
Carl instinctively grabbed the nearest object. Not a weapon. A frozen turkey.
"Back! I have poultry!"
He launched it with both hands. It hit the zombie square in the chest.
The impact knocked it backward into a stack of frozen peas, which promptly collapsed onto it like the world's worst beanbag.
Ellie clapped. "Dad, you just won Thanksgiving."
Carl panted. "I can't believe that worked."
"Turkey-fu," Nana nodded approvingly. "Add it to the rulebook."
She blew her whistle. "Retreat! Aisle 5! Tactical snack retreat!"
---
They bolted down the aisle, cart rattling, adrenaline high.
Aisle 5 was safer. Popcorn, nuts, and protein bars. Also, Carl's dignity, somewhere between chips and trail mix.
They crouched behind a shelf.
"Rule #16," Nana said, panting slightly. "Never fight zombies where food can become slippery."
"There are sixteen rules now?"
"There are as many as I need."
Carl handed Ellie a bag of jerky. "In case things get chewy."
She looked delighted. "Nice pun, Dad."
He smiled. For once, his apocalypse dad joke landed.
---
They made it to checkout.
No cashiers, but the self-scan kiosks still beeped like oblivious robots.
Nana scanned everything. Carl bagged. Ellie pretended to be a barcode ninja.
"We good?" Carl asked.
"One more stop," Nana said. "Garden section. We need the inverter."
---
The garden area was outdoors, sunlit and overgrown. Rows of unwatered plants leaned with existential dread.
"That one looks like me before coffee," Carl said, pointing at a droopy fern.
Ellie wandered ahead, Nerf crossbow slung like a bandolier. "I feel like this is where the boss battle happens."
"Don't jinx it," Nana warned.
Too late.
From the garden shed came a burst of movement. Three figures—zombies in gardening aprons. One had pruning shears stuck in its side.
"Why are they dressed like that?" Carl yelped.
"Former employees," Nana said grimly. "Workplace loyalty."
Ellie fired a Nerf dart. It bounced off a forehead.
"Tactical distraction deployed!"
Carl grabbed a rake and squared up. "Alright, undead landscapers. Let's mulch."
---
It was chaos.
Carl used the rake to trip one, Nana body-checked another into a rose bush, and Ellie just yelled instructions like she was livestreaming a boss raid.
"Watch out! That one has shoes!"
"Get the inverter, Carl!"
He dove into the shed, found the box, and emerged victorious, covered in dirt and minor regret.
The last zombie slipped on a bag of potting soil and fell headfirst into a gnome display.
"Gnome mercy," Carl whispered.
Nana wiped her forehead. "Mission success. Let's bounce."
---
The drive home was quieter.
Ellie munched pudding, Nana drove, Carl stared out the window, rake still in hand.
"Hey Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"You were kinda cool back there."
Carl blinked. "I was?"
"You raked a zombie. That's like, peak dad energy."
He chuckled. "Thanks, kiddo."
Nana added, "You still owe me a shed door."
"Noted."
---
Back home, they unloaded Brutus, restocked the pantry, and debriefed with lemonade.
Toby showed up, wearing tinfoil and claiming the zombie syrup incident proved his "sweetener theory."
Ellie handed him pudding. "Good work, agent."
Nana laminated a new rule:
Rule #17: Always carry a frozen turkey.
They taped it to the fridge.
That night, under solar-powered lights, they ate grilled cheese, watched a pre-downloaded episode of 'Is it Cake?' And listened to the crickets outside.
Carl yawned. "We didn't save the world. Just got groceries."
Nana nodded. "One pudding cup at a time."
---
End of Chapter 3 – The Field Trip from Hell (and Also Costco)
> "The end of the world didn't come with fire. It came with pudding, gnomes, and the smell of expired mulch."
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