When Alice alerts Bill to news flashes showing cities crumbling as metal melts away, he huffs, "Photoshopped."

Seconds later their apartment starts to fall away beneath them.

Bill and Alice scramble, slide, and bounce out, escaping with nothing but their lives and a gray plaster coating of gypsum dust cemented by bursting water pipes. They join the pitifully meager exodus of survivors struggling from the ruins. On the outskirts of town they trudge down streets lined with cars and trucks reduced to giant roller skates. The inhabitants gulp down the last of the hash and beanie-weenie before cans and can openers pass on to glory. Starved city-dwellers wave credit cards at natives who wave half-melted and distinctly un-phallic guns back. It's the thought that counts.

Oh yeah, and then there's the … werewolf? Hard to be sure. Whatever, it's got Alice moaning, "Why can't we have a plain old zombie apocalypse, like normal people?"

You should be so lucky.

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