It's really simple: on the day of Zombie Apocalypse, perhaps because of viral TVs, perhaps not, but perhaps, I plan to have myself cyrogenically frozen. This will be in the first days of infestation, of course, because everyone knows the power goes off eventually. Workers stop working. Zombie workers never run power stations. They just shamble around eating and decaying. So, in an effort to defeat this, within the first twenty-four hours of infestation, I will have myself killed, and then cryogenically frozen. It'll just be my head, I suppose, but I won't terribly miss my body. I figure any period of futre that can cure my decapitation can give me a new body. Stage two of the plan, however, is to ensure that a rocket is readied.
Stage two has already taken place, actually. It was the preparation stage. A large rocket. In it is a nice freezer for my head. I will be placed into this rocket and, before the first twenty-four hours of infestation is up, I will be shot into space, where I will either find an orbiting pattern over Earth, or plow through the galaxy, looking for a super advanced society to glue my head onto a body and bring me back to life.
The rest of you?
Well, who gives a fuck about the rest of you.
I imagine, as the rocket that takes my frozen mind out of the atmosphere takes off, and there's that rush of fuel and fire and that explosion, I imagine, I just do, I imagine hundreds of shambling corpses igniting in its wake, a burning farewell of which not even the dreaded hint of cliche will be able to diminish.
(This is part of the Ask Me A Question, Get An Answer thing I'm doing on this blog. Anything goes.)