“Welcome to Point Squared, the news debate show where the points are pointed. I’m your host, Samantha Stellen.” She paused, flashing a too-bright grin. “Tonight’s topic, the imminent destruction of Earth by the Kordrathi warfleet… Or is it imminent?”

Samantha turned to a distinguished white haired gentleman seated at the table beside her. “We’re honored to have NASA’s Dr. Morris Exemplarre with us tonight.”

He nodded curtly.

"And once again joining us remotely, is Will Fükkus of the ‘Kordrathi Are Kewl Alliance’, a disgraced former pig farmer from—”

“It was never proven that I was sellin’ monkey meat!” Will interjected.

“Right… Mr. Fükkus, what is the K.A.K.A. view on this alleged imminent 'destruction'?”

“Ain’t happenin’! The Kordrathi are super chill, just here on vacation.”

“Well, smaller attacks already have wiped out 20% of Earth’s population, but… a fascinating take! And doctor, your team was the first to communicate with the Kordrathi two years ago. Your counterpoint?”

“As always, K.A.K.A. is bullshit,” Morris said simply, too exhausted for intonation. “The Kordrathi are not inherently violent, but humanity squandered every chance at diplomacy, and now... we’re screwed.”

Samantha was a well-seasoned host, adept at guiding wayward guests back onto the rails, but even she was taken aback. “Pardon me?”

“In our first communications, the Kordrathi offered a non-aggression pact, so we asked the public—begged them!—to remain peaceful.” Morris stared into the camera. “And what’d you morons do? You shot at the first Kordrathi diplomatic craft to enter our atmosphere. With… guns, nailguns, fireworks—”

“As was their constitutional right!” Will interjected.

“In what section of the constitution is the right to 'shoot fireworks at aliens' written?”

“Uhhhhrmmm, Exodus? Probably?”

“Great. Brilliant stuff as always.” Morris sighed. “The world chose to believe K.A.K.A., and now, we’re going to suffer the consequences.”

Samantha fidgeted nervously. “Doctor, you’ve always evoked a hopeful tone, are you saying—”

“Who cares what he says! Look, I’m goin’ out to meet the Kordrathi Party Fleet when it arrives, and everyone else should—”

“Oh, shut up, Mr. Fükkus!” Samantha yelled.

Unused to pushback, Will fell silent.

“Doctor, there may be a viewer out there willing to listen, so, understanding there are no good options at this point, what pragmatic steps could you advise?”

Morris smiled wanly. “If you've constructed a bunker, as advised, get yourself and your loved ones inside now. If you didn’t, shelter in a basement, cave, or any underground location you can. If you survive the initial bombardment and encounter Kordrathi soldiers in the weeks to come, shout ‘Kavlak’, it translates roughly to asking for forgiveness.”

Samantha nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Doctor. Now, Will—”

“Hooooooold up,” Will said, “got a knock at my door.”

Will stood, opened his door, and vaporized as rippling waves of green energy passed through his body. A little gray alien holding a raygun strode into his room and peered curiously into the camera.

“Well, then,” Samantha muttered, “I’d call this debate settled.”

Gonna try to fix up or improve a couple of the bits you mentioned. Thanks for the quality feedback, Fye.

“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life…”

Ernest Young scowled as he finished reading the faded bronze plaque.

Which ‘happy detail’ of my day would you like me to focus on, oh wise quote-ster of yore? Ernest thought as he hopped back into his rusted pickup truck. The abandoned cars blocking every road? The trash piling high? The hordes of undead?

It’d been weeks since the zombie outbreak and he’d been driving west for all of it, desperately trying to reach his sister Maureen’s house. Unable to contact her by phone, she’d become his chief concern.

As their half-German grandmother used to say, Maureen was… a bit of a schnicklefritz. Not dumb by any means. Maureen just… floated through life, assuming things would work out for her.

And they had, mostly. But Ernest worried that mindset would be a death sentence amid a zombie uprising.

Winding his way past undead hordes and gridlocked streets for several more hours, Ernest finally reached Maureen’s suburban home, only to find it… completely intact?

He stared in disbelief as he exited his truck. Zombies shambled aimlessly in the distance, and her neighbor’s homes were trashed, but Maureen’s was undamaged.

He opened the unlocked front door and stepped inside, into another world. His sister sat calmly on the couch, reading a book.

“Hey, Ernie!” She stood and hugged him. “Good to see you! How’s everything?”

“Bad… like, really bad, Maureen. Are you not—”

“Want some popcorn?” Maureen interjected, plopping back on the couch.

Ernest did, actually. He was ravenous, but there were more immediate concerns.

“Pack some essentials,” Ernest said, tossing her a duffle bag.

“What?”

“We gotta get outta here before—”

He was cut short by the sound of shattering glass. A zombie wearing a mechanic’s uniform clambered through the front window.

“Oh, shit!” Ernest screamed.

“Calm down. I’ll handle it.” Maureen approached the zombie with her arms folded angrily. “Zammy! I thought we had an agreement, no breaking my windows."

“Urglurrrrrghhhhhhh…I—” the zombie groaned feebly before placing his hand beneath his dangling jaw, moving it as he spoke. “Sorry. My boss is really riding me. I’ve got a new quota to infect five humans a day.”

“Aw. That sounds like a lot of pressure, Zammy.”

“It really is.”

“But…?”

“But… that's no reason to take it out on you. Sorry.”

Maureen smiled graciously. “Okay. Good.”

‘Zammy’ shambled out the way he came, past a still shaking Ernest.

“What the hell was that?” Ernest finally said.

“Hmm?” Maureen asked, cheerfully returning to her popcorn.

“The zombies can– can talk? And kinda… reason?”

“Yup!” She shrugged. “Guess nobody else thought to try it.”

“Wow…”

“Ernest? Just because I’m handling things differently than you, doesn’t mean I’m not taking them seriously.”

“Touché.” He flopped on the couch beside her. “Any more advice for surviving the apocalypse?”

“Yeah.” She shoved the popcorn bowl toward him. “Make time to enjoy the little things.”

Atop a rolling hill overlooking the town of Westfordshire, resided a residence of great renown: Mrs. Kensington’s Home for Children of Uncertain Parentage.

The manor home surrounded by wrought iron fencing was perhaps the most politely named orphanage in the whole of Britain.

Inside, ten-year-old Ollie Alsworth sat at the edge of his bed, fidgeting nervously. Though it was past midnight, he was fully dressed in pants, a tweed jacket and flat cap, waiting to spring into action.

The gentle knock at his door didn’t rouse his slumbering roomates, but Ollie hurried out into the hallway.

There, his best friend Maggie awaited him. At twelve, she stood half a head taller than Ollie, and was similarly dressed for their serious task.

“Ready to go?” she whispered.

“Um. Yes…?”

Sensing his unease, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Courage, Ollie.”

With a shared nod, they were off, tiptoeing through the winding hallways.

They were an unlikely pair of escapists. Ollie and Maggie had always been rule followers, but fate forced their hand. They’d overheard they were to be separated, Maggie moved to the new all girl’s orphanage several towns over. And that, they’d decided, simply would not do.

Quiet as mice, they moved past Mrs. Kensington, slumbering in a chair in the front lounge, and out into the front yard.

There, in the circular driveway, sat their target. A pristine 1933 Bentley, only a few years old.

Door flung open, they were inside in a flash. Maggie pulled a pair of wooden blocks from her bag and began tying them beneath Ollie’s feet.

“Can’t you drive?” Ollie asked. “You might see over the dash.”

“You’re our wheelman. You’ve got the expertise!”

Ollie frowned. He’d ‘driven’ a car once as a boy, on his uncle's lap before his passing. That hardly made little Oliver feel an expert.

“Besides the driving, though… What’ll we do for food? Or money? Or—”

“We’ll figure it out,” Maggie replied as she finished the last knot. “Together.”

“But…”

“I promise you it’ll be alright, little brother.”

Ollie nodded, stiffening his upper lip. A promise from Maggie was not a trifling thing. She was his sister in all but name and shared DNA. She’d never lead him astray.

With a turn of the key, the engine roared to life.

Awoken by the racket, lights turned on all over the manor, and Mrs. Kensington burst out the front door.

“Go!” Maggie shouted.

Ollie began rolling forward, but quickly spotted a problem. “The gate’s shut!”

“Oh, sod it. Give it the beans, Ollie!”

Closing his eyes, Ollie stomped hard on the gas and they burst through the gate with a tremendous, clattering crash of metal on metal.

Maggie glanced back. Finding no pursuers on their tail, she stuck her head out the passenger and let loose a Whooooooooop! of joyful freedom. Ollie mirrored her.

The car sped down the narrow country lane, a head poking out of each window, shouting and laughing all the way.

Zypheria walked beside her much larger mother, their tails swaying in unison. Just two purple dragons striding through an emerald green meadow crisscrossed by babbling brooks.

“This meadow is our sacred sanctum,” Teradrax told her daughter. “Warded by powerful magics of the elder dragons, no mortal foe may pass through the barrier.”

Zypheria cocked her head in confusion. “Then how’d that child get in?”

There, emerging from the treeline was a boy no older than twelve.

“Prepare for battle!” Teradrax boomed.

“Mother! That boy is no dragon hunter!”

“A human has never ridden upon my back... why?”

Zypheria sighed. “You follow the golden rule: assume all humans desire to subjugate us.”

“Correct.”

“But clearly this child is not our ‘foe’, the barrier let him pass.”

“Keep watch on him,” Teradrax said. “I must check the wards.”

With a mighty flap of her wings, Teradrax was gone, leaving Zypheria and the boy to eye each other warily.

“What’s your name?” Zypheria asked as the boy neared.

“Jacob,” he whispered.

Cold rain began to fall, leaving Jacob soaked and shivering. Zypheria raised her wing high and looked to him expectantly. The lure of shelter overpowered his fear and he scampered beneath.

She gently lowered her wing until it loosely enveloped him, then craned her neck to tuck her own head underneath beside him.

“I’m going to warm you up,” Zypheria said. “Don’t be scared.”

Zypheria summoned the barest flicker of flame from her throat and let it tumble around her mouth.

After a moment’s wariness, Jacob shuffled forward, warming his hands in front of the makeshift furnace. It soothed him for several blissful minutes until a rush of wind, the force of a dragon landing, extinguished it.

“Zypheria!” Teradrax shouted as she tucked her own head beneath her daughter’s wing. “I told you to watch him!”

“I am! Very, very closely.”

Teradrax sighed. “Where are your parents, boy?”

“A-alone,” Jacob whimpered. “I’m all alone.”

Zypheria looked to her mother, eyes pleading.

“Well… erhm,” Teradrax said finally, “not so alone. We are here with you.”

Tentatively, Jacob placed a hand on Teradrax’s snout. “You’re warm too,” he murmured.

“Indeed!” she chuckled. “You’re safe here, child. From the cold, and from the fouler things in this world.”

“Jacob,” Zypheria said. “Do you see those orbs, dancing through the treeline?”

“Uhuh!” Jacob said, transfixed by the glowing light show.

“Those are the spirits of our ancestors, lighting the darkness. Protecting us.”

“Wowwwwww!” On his tiptoes, Jacob peered into the distance. “I wish I could see moreeee!”

After a moment’s silence, Teradrax said, “Tomorrow I'll give you a ride, show you the entire sanctum from above. Would you like that… Jacob?”

“Yes!”

“But only if you’re a good boy and get some sleep! You require rest, child.”

“Okayyyy.”

As Jacob curled up on the grass between two dragon heads, Zypheria couldn’t help grinning at her mother.

“What happened to the golden rule, mother?” she whispered.

Teradrax chuckled. “I suppose all rules must have exceptions.”