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Empty supermarket shelves and the rest of the shortages resulting from no deliveries are only the Act 1 in a disaterous scenario.

Act 2 opens when the zombies start leaving the central cities heading for the suburbs and the rural areas beyond.

(Think of Hurricaner Katrina and New Orleans only no one is coming to bring food and water to the unprepared.)

Act 3 is when they get to our neighborhoods. First a trickle - just a few dozen. But in no tme at all there will be hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands.

They will be like a plague of primate locusts, devouring and stripping everything they encounter. When they move on there will be nothing but remaining but devastation, bodies and bones.

Excerpt from "Foreign Enemies And Traitors" by Matt Bracken:

Click for Author's Web Site and more excerpts

"It was terrifying every minute. You couldn't sleep a wink, even after three days. We were hoping and praying that the people outside would just go away and leave us alone! It was raining hard, and the people outside kept yelling and demanding that we let them in. They were banging on the front door and kicking on it, getting madder and madder because we wouldn't let them in. My father yelled back that he had a shotgun and he would shoot if they came in, but it was just a bluff. He didn't believe in guns, remember? Not until he really needed one--and then he only had a make-believe gun. It was quiet for a little while after he said he had a shotgun.
We thought his bluff had worked, but then big rocks came crashing through some of our windows, paving stones from our walkway and our garden. Right after that, our front door was smashed in with a metal pole, I think from a street sign. They demolished the door and pushed right over the table we had against it. My father was standing there with his ax raised, and that was the last I saw of him. He never had a chance. A whole gang of men rushed in at once, and they were climbing through the smashed windows too. They all had knives and spears and clubs. I ran for the cellar, praying that nobody saw me. I think they were all focused on my father because he had an ax.
"I ran down the steps and crawled backwards into my spot behind the old oil furnace. The furnace was cold because we didn't use it anymore since we switched to gas heat, and of course the gas stopped during the earthquake. So we had two different furnaces that didn't work. Anyway, I'd found some plywood scraps to cover my little hiding place behind the furnace, like a false wall. I was sitting on the floor in a little ball, not moving an inch. All I could do was pray. Hold onto my carving knife, and pray.
"The worst part of it was I could hear my mother upstairs screaming. The sound came down through the air ducts to the old furnace right next to me. She screamed and cried for at least an hour, until her cries grew weaker and then they stopped. I felt like such a coward, hiding in the cellar. I could hear them stomping around upstairs, knocking things over and raising hell, looking for food. They must have found the liquor cabinet, because when they finally came down to the cellar, they were drunk. I don't think they even realized there was a cellar in the house; they were probably just checking closet doors and found it by accident."