Population: 35-ish non-zombies (except after a big night on the booze)
It seems a man named Harold Camping had predicted the end of the world to occur last night. I bet you all thought I was crazy when I moved to a desert island in one of the most remote places on the planet. You would all have been laughing on the other side of your zombie faces when I was safe and sound and surrounded by shark infested waters to protect me from the apocalypse. It’s a well known fact that sharks love to feast on left-behind zombies.
Maybe I took the whole thing too literally. Or maybe I mis-heard. I thought we were meant to go “camping” for the Rapture. So I grabbed the boys (I thought I might need minions later) and we took my new tent and went camping about 100 meters up the beach from the homestead. We had the camp fire going and I threw a few cheesy potatoes in foil onto the fire. The boys’ grandmother was visiting and came to join us with a bottle of red wine. One of the woofers brought us a big plate of fresh caught, fried calamari for dinner from the homestead kitchen. We had a gorgeous sunset at exactly 6 o'clock and the world kept turning. It was a lovely evening.
Not that we would have noticed the Apocalypse out here even if it had happened.
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