Dear Planet Earth,
I received a visit from the head honcho today, General Talpa. He came into my tent this morning and offered me a seat on my own cot. He stood the entire time, which felt awkward, intimidating, and fatherly all at the same time.
His face was creased and sunburned, suggesting either some Hispanic ancestry or a lifetime of hard work. He had to be in his late 40s or early 50s, and he showed no sign of shame in his protruding gut. Like all movie template military leaders, General Talpa had an exaggeratedly thick mustache under a porous nose.
“Mr. Panus,” he said cooly, almost uninterested. “I have a few questions for you.”
I nodded my head.
“First, we need to know how you came to have that military grade Humvee stocked with weapons.”
I thought over my answer for a moment. These people only seemed like the US military to me because of their camouflage clothing and American accents. For all I know, they could be responsible for the recent global catastrophes and in cahoots with my last captors. They’ve even treated me about the same, feeding me three meals a day and suspiciously letting me use my netbook. Then again, showing up bloody and armed for a zombie apocalypse does warrant some kind of explanation, and if I knew anything useful, I’d probably be dead already.
“I was kidnapped by a group of homeless people in an abandoned motel off the I-15 for three days. They had the Humvee and weapons. I knocked one of them out with a TV and stole the car.”
Talpa puckered his lips out slightly and exhaled over his trademarkable mustache.
“Okay,” he said.
He lifted the cover of my tent and whispered something to a guard outside before leaving. I haven’t seen him since.