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I’m not your average writer. I was just a mechanic inking days down to win a bet. Turned out I started writing same time as a global plague began pile driving New Zealanders into their graves. People died driving and walking and working. Bodies and wrecks messed streets faster than clean-up crews could work. All the deaths hammered electronic banking and supply chains. Dudes and skirts took up looting to survive the hard. Crims upped the death toll so nowhere is safe. Dog packs hunt survivors and scavenge meat rot from corpses. I’ve done months of hard watching New Zealand die. Traveled roads littered with death and through cities fallen into horror movie sets and battle zones. I’ve seen my people fall to plague and bullets. I’ve adopted orphans and dug their graves. All the grief and horror is hammering me deep into bourbon and beer. Can’t hide from my gravestone though. It’s coming.