On Christmas morning, Dustin knocked on my door. “Miss Winters,” he said cheerfully. “Breakfast.”
I didn’t move. My parents were dead. My boyfriend was dead. My grandfather had a mysterious hidden room that had books about the walking dead—which is what I knew I would feel like if I attempted to stand up.
“I don’t feel well,” I said meekly, and rolled over.

Author: Yvonne Woon