The end of the world really sucks.
I knew it wasn’t going to be fun—no one ever associates the endtimes with good times—but I figured I’d at least be somewhere safe when the meteors hit. Or dead. Not trapped in my office building with a gun nut, a former Boy Scout, and a golden retriever. Yeah, yeah, spare me your chuckles; I can’t help that we’re a perfect little post-apocalyptic family unit. But seriously, how are we supposed to deal with Armageddon if we can’t deal with each other?
We’re stuck, you see. The meteors wiped out a heck of a lot of infrastructure, and rescue is slow in coming. And did I mention the dead are waking up and shuffling around?
Oh, yeah. The dead. They keep coming after us, and there’s more every day. I think they’re hungry.
Very hungry...

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Approximately 36,000 words.

My name’s Vibeke, and I’m here to tell you that the end of the world still sucks. It’s been a few weeks since a meteor shower pummeled the planet and turned my life into a bad zombie movie, and let me tell you, it’s been all downhill since then.
People used to say nothing was certain except death and taxes, which is still true, if you replace "taxes" with "angry biker gangs." Actually, come to think of it, death isn’t all that certain anymore, either, what with the dead people of the world getting back up with a definite appetite for the flesh of the living. And the angry biker gangs…well, they sabotaged our refugee camp, letting the shambling undead masses in to prey on unsuspecting survivors. Real charmers, huh?
Three of us got away. And now I—along with my favorite bickering companions and one decidedly over-excited golden retriever—have to fight our way through a zombie horde and the aforementioned biker gangs to reach what might be the last human stronghold in the country...without coffee.
It’s almost enough to make me miss taxes.

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Approximately 65,000 words.