fucken zombies…

DAY 2 of the apocalypse. Journal by Daniel F., one of the last survivors.

Zombie bodies lying everywhere, the defense of the bunker last night was tough, and not without casualties. We lost three good guys. Noticed that the zombies are smaller this time, carrying buckets, containing, well I can only assume they’re carrying entrails, or bones, or both. Hundreds of small, grotesque, twisted creatures, they howl and scream, sometimes hitting one another with their buckets and running away. I see nothing holy in them, no shred of what might be considered humanity. They’re getting more intelligent too, muttering basic syllables and phrases, some giggling insanely, some of them muttering something that sounded like “trihkorrrtrreeet” although I couldn’t make it out through the gunfire.

Supplies are running low, but with less people to spread out the supplies to, we should last out a little longer. The undead roam the streets unopposed, although strangely enough they seem less interested in my brains and more interested in population centers that contain alcohol.

Many of the adult zombies, especially the females, look as though they were attacked and became infected when they were in the process of getting dressed, as many appear to only be wearing their underwear. I know the undead have little use for clothes, but it seems that a lot of them are in various stages of disrobement, or just barely wearing anything at all. These are sorry times when even the dignity of the dead is not observed. I shot several of them to make myself feel better. May they rest in peace.

Or pieces.



Morale is low. Many times I’m asked “how do you know they’re dead?” but then I remind my confused and teary eyed companions that the victim had a pointy hat, a warty nose and a broom, showing that visible disfigurement, not to mention derangement in wearing ridiculous outfits, merit the belief that they are no longer with us, at least not as human. These changes in basic morality are going to be difficult to swallow, but if mankind is to survive, we must struggle on together.

I can hear another group approaching, their guttural moans giving way to what almost sounds like… singing. Maybe they are learning, evolving. This development heralds dark things for us if such is true.

Oh what foul abominations approach now! What grisly visage have these fallen adopted! One, I can see it now, appears to be wearing a trash bag over his entire body and has fangs, horrible fangs… that keep falling out. I see him stoop to retrieve them. I fire a shot over their heads, maybe I can scare them away, I hear them moan sounds, like ‘whatthehellwasthat’, and ‘holyfuckenasscrackers’, and seem genuinely aware of me shooting at them.

Another, dressed in a costume that looks strikingly like an overweight and ailing Boba Fett, accompanied by a particularly dreadful looking Princess Leia, stumble into view, she being well into the final stages of decomposition. I’m not sure whether the infection caused her to swell, preventing her from adequately fitting inside the outfit, or whether she was like that to begin with, but she instills such fear and repulsion in me that I feel my guts turn to water.

I may not last the night, but I mutter a quick prayer at the heavens to any gods that may still grace this damned planet with their attention, load a few more shells into the shotgun, and prepare for another day of death.

If you are reading this, I wish you well, and hope to see you on the other side.

Here they come again! Desperta ferro!




(happy Halloween everyone!)

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