I was living in a huge house that was set up in a hotel fashion where each floor consisted of a long hallway full of rooms with stairs on each end that lead all the way downstairs. I was living with a few other people who had survived the zombie attacks and by now we were all pros at protecting ourselves.

The house lay on a few hundred acres of land with a run down set of carnival rides at the bottom of the hill that the previous owners had built and never took down.

At one point we had placed an ad for a handyman and since the entire town knew about our zombie issue it wasn't long before we had a line of people outside of our door all looking to become the newest member of the freak show house. I had to address them all and explain that we were looking for someone who not only could protect themselves against the zombies bit who actually had maintenance experience.

I explained that they would begin with a test: they had to go up one set of stairs and come down the other without being bitten by the zombies and only then would they be considered for the job.

Outside me and another kid (an effeminate teenager with blonde hair named Clint) had discovered an old Greek plaque that showed two slaves at the ends of two ropes that were attached to a cart, and this gave Clint the idea that we could chain both of the zombies up in the yard and use them to do something for us, but I woke up before he told me what it was they would do.