Fyodor Volkov had everything in the world he had ever wanted, and it meant absolutely nothing. It was worth nothing, too. Mostly, anyway. He had spent twenty years climbing to the top of his . field . and now that success was rendered moot. He was busy surviving from day to day just like everyone else, foraging for food and water, avoiding military patrols and killing zombies. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling in the darkness of the bedroom. Fyodor had no idea what time it was, the clocks on the various pieces of electronics had stopped.
