Last Cable Summer

The zombie apocalypse started three hours after my best friend Sarah moved away. Or at least, that's how it felt—like I was walking around half-dead, going through the motions of summer without the one person who made everything actually worth doing.

I was sprawled on the couch, doom-scrolling through my phone, when the power flickered. Outside, lightning cracked the sky purple, illuminating my living room like a camera flash. My dad yelled from the kitchen, "The cable's out! Something hit the line!"

Great. Now I couldn't even escape into Netflix.

My phone buzzed. Sarah's face popped up on FaceTime, looking pixelated and way too happy for someone who'd abandoned me for Ohio.

"Dude, you look like a zombie," she said. "Have you even moved since I left?"

"I'm in mourning," I deadpanned. "Also, our cable died. Lightning strike. I'm basically living in the Stone Age over here."

"Perfect," she said, like this was actually good news. "Remember that zombie apocalypse plan we made in sixth grade?"

I groaned. "The one where we raided your basement and survived on Pop-Tarts?"

"We're doing it. Virtually." She held up her phone to show her room—posters everywhere, her guitar in the corner, everything exactly how she'd left it. "I found our old notebooks. We spent HOURS planning this stuff. It's basically the best time capsule ever."

And just like that, we were back. No awkward goodbyes, no trying too hard to be normal. Just Sarah and me, making up ridiculous zombie scenarios like nothing had changed. We spent hours that way, the storm raging outside while we planned our imaginary apocalypse and complained about how we'd definitely survive longer than any of our friends.

"You know," I said, sometime after midnight, "this is actually better than cable."

"Way better," she agreed. "Zombie apocalypse: officially our thing. Always."

The power came back eventually. But we kept talking anyway, like the distance between us wasn't even real. Some friendships are just lightning—they strike hard, they're intense, and they don't fade just because things change. They adapt.