Dear Diary,

Helloooo old friend, it's been a while. Mom was too "disturbed" by my entries so she stopped forcing me to write. Sorry. But OH MY GOD, guess the fuck what?

Okay, so this morning, I hear a noise. It woke me up, right? And it's like "garble garble garble" like some kind of demented turkey or something, right? It's coming from the hallway, and so I open my door to see because I figure it's just Cody being a jackass again, and I was going to shove my foot up his ass, but NOPE.

It was Mom. And she was chowing the fuck down on Dad's face. Like literally, on her hands and knees like an animal, eating his nose. And I was like, "Mom?" And she was like, "ehhhh." And I was like, "Jesus Christ!!!!!"

So, I slammed my door, and I was like, "what the fu-----?" And then mom starts making that weird "ehhhh" sound, you know, and trying to scratch her way in.

Diary, I have been waiting for this day since I was like five years old. Not just Mom killing Dad, but it's A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE.

Seriously! I'm totally serious.

So anyway, I was like, "this is AMAZEBALLS, but what the hell am I going to do?" And then I thought, 'okay, I will trap her in the bathroom and go to the attic.' But it didn't really work, so I hit her over the head with my softball bat. I grabbed it just in case. It wasn't THAT hard, but I had to hit her like five times before she fell down. She was like, reaching in the air like an infant like, "ooooghhh," and I just rammed it into her forehead. It was so funny.

And dad was totes dead, but pretty sure he'd come back to life, so I bashed his head in, too. To be safe.

Cody, man. That little fucker started it. I bet it was the vaccines he got yesterday or maybe he caught it at daycare or something, I dunno. But mom had left him in his crib, and there was blood EVERYWHERE, like all over the rocking chair cushions and the side of his crib and all over his face. He must have gnawed the crap out of Mom's boob. I totally told her it was weird as shit to be breastfeeding a three-year-old, but she didn't listen.

He was just in there like, "argghhh, ehhh, garble." It was HILARIOUS, dude. Just stuck in there like an idiot. I went ahead and smashed him up, too, to be careful, because he started climbing out last week and I couldn't chance it.

So anyway, we have all this furniture and shit up here in the attic. I grabbed some Cheetos and you and I figured I would write about this as it goes along, because this is going to make an awesome novel, and when this crap is over, I'm gonna be famous for living through it.

I mean, I don't know if there are more, but I assume there are. I hear sirens and stuff like that. I've got the door locked, when it quiets down I'll go grab some more food, but OH MY GOD! Yes!!!

I think I'm going to find a motorcycle or something cool as balls like that. I will look so f'in hot on a bike! Ahhh! I'm so excited!!

Okay, I'm gonna go now. Think Dad keeps his old bow up here and some fishing stuff and shit, so I better gear up. I will be a BAD ASS MUTHA. Yeah. So f'n PUMPED!!

K, see ya later!! Toodaloodelies!!!!

Love Always,

Kaycie

If you’re reading this, you might consider yourself somewhat fortunate. Of the 3000 houses in the immediate suburb, you have broken into my house, you’ve found a bunker full of food and water. That’s not the fortunate part. The fortunate part is that you’re reading my diary, and it might just save your life.

I have limited time. I can’t include everything, so here are the essentials.

They call them ‘Night Lights’.

The sky erupts in colour, spurred on with the lightning and thunder. The light bursts through cloud cover as if clawing through it. Like it has a life of its own. It’s a terrible, unnatural beauty.

The lights are commonly believed to be caused by seismic activity. The truth seekers have many theories. Tests have been conducted sporadically for over a century, normally during earthquakes (hence the connection). The idea is that coverage for the earthquake will wash out the few raving spectators. To aid the government, sceptics have even been planted in the scientific community to dispute victims claiming they’ve seen the phenomenon. They provide the reasonable doubt necessary for the governments to do their job.

Yes, you read correctly.

Though these lights can appear during earthquakes, the earthquakes do not cause them. The government does. The Night Lights we’re seeing tonight act as a warning system. Technology co-created by the government induces these lights. They have extraterrestrial origins, but much more than that, I don’t know. That’s above my security clearance. What I do know is that they have a vested interest in this experiment, and they’ll be watching closely.

The colour of the lights signal clearance agents. Tonight is Status BLUE. Day Zero. Call to action. 24 hours to be underground. There are deep tunnels with train systems that run on magnetic fields. I can be in Europe from New York in under an hour and that’s base of operations for the foreseeable future.

Status YELLOW, you should stay inside and away from open areas. Z Force will begin eradicating the infected. YELLOW acts as a pheromone lure. They will centralise within extermination fields – large blocks of land outside of major cities.

Status GREEN is all clear. The termination quota has been met. When you see that, you’ve made it.

Pray to whatever you believe in you don’t see Status RED. Trust me on this. If you see RED Night Lights, bright flaming crimson - kill yourself.

At the time of writing, you will need to survive at least 12 months before Status GREEN. Those are the present estimates. 12 months to remove more than half of the world’s population via controlled infection.

Stranger, whoever you are, know that at the very highest level, this was planned. This was a highly strategic, systematic cull. There’s nothing more you can do but look to the sky. I wish you the best of luck.

I know - this unusual for me.  Keep a diary?  I don't keep a diary, but I feel I need to write to keep some semblance of sanity.  

What is happening?  How could this happen?  Everything that I knew, is no more and nothing that I had planned, will come to be.  I don't even want to think about it, but I need to... I need to figure out a way to get my wife and kids to safety.  How do we get out of this? Maybe we can make it to the old hunting cabin, but I don't even know if it's safe there.  Is this the end? STOP IT!  I can't think that way.  I need to be smart and BE STRONG for the kids.  Oh Lord, help me through this!  I'm praying for strength, mental clarity and protection. Tomorrow is a new day, but I know it won't be any easier.

Dear whoever finds this diary,

I am writing this as a way to let the future people know what happened to us.

We all joked about this day coming. This day has been in a countless number of movies, TV shows, and video games. Some even said they hoped that this day would come. Well guess what? It did.

It started as random attacks in different cities across the United States. A mysterious illness would strike a person which would cause them to become violent and attack another person. Anyone who came into contact with the infected person's fluid (blood, spit, etc.) would also become infected. At first, people weren't too concerned with the attacks. They thought that everything would be okay. But then the hospitals quickly became overrun and cities became quarantined in just a matter of days. I live in the rural mountains far from any city, so we've been pretty safe so far. But yesterday my cousins went out to hunt for food, and they came running back saying there were infected in the woods. We've gathered up all the food and weapons we could find, secured every door and every window, and are hiding out in the house.

No one is coming to save us.

This is the letter that you'll never read. 

Why? 

Because it's in my diary, and this is a fucking zombie apocalypse. The culprit? 

Why, you, of course. 

You are a great zombie. No seriously, I mean that. You have accomplished some great things, including the job title "President-elect" on your resume. And here's my hopeless attempt to unzombify you, despite that this is my diary and that we are in your zombie apocalypse. (Sorry; I saw Dr. Strange last week and it reminded me anything is possible so...magic.) And here goes my unzombification spell, that has or could have the power to transform this apocalypse into cornucopia or utopia or not-this-opia. 

You desire more than your most recent, said resume asset? But of course you do. Greatest U.S. President ever? No, you want something bigger than that. I can feel your tanha. The media has made you powerful and the Freudian id has taught thee well. But you want to go down as the greatest leader and quite possibly greatest person who ever lived. Sad fact is, you are, or at least seem to be, a perverted version of that because of your damn ego. 

You want people everywhere, for generations to come, to love and respect you as much as any of the truly greatest characters in history? Then put aside the Magnate, rid yourself of your Gollum, your Sauron, your Ring, and become who you could (to an infinitely superior degree of spontaneity and surprise than your latest achievement) be born to be. Right now you are a fool, a zombie, or again at least seem, in the global public eye, to be. That's holding you back from being the truly greatest. 

How to lose your ego?  Remember that you aren't so small and petty.

Remember that you are God, as there is only God, or any infinitely-positively-connoted signifier you wish to summon, and that you have everything. You are everything. Meditate every day. Minimize the ripples in your mindpool; you'll find it results in exponentially greater cognitive efficiency and firepower. Shift down a level from your headspace to your heart. Feel your heart, physically and energetically. Be in this space more often. Do some yoga. Love your body a little more, you will in turn love everybody and everybody will love you a lot more. One level lower in this enervator, if you will, and we're in the gut. Hara. You are very, very great in this floor of Soul Tower, Mr. Zombie President-elect. I don't need to give you any diary advice when it comes to gutspace. 

Anyway, that's all folks, if you're reading this letter, then the apocalypse isn't as bad as I'd thought. Donald, if you're reading this, that is great, very great, but there is such a tiny chance the unzombification spell shall justify its intent that I won't even mention it.

I’m turning. It’s been going on for a few hours now. Three fingers on my left hand have turned black and I’m having a hard time breathing. It’s like I’m underwater or someone is sitting on my chest. But really it’s death creeping up on me slow. Not that different than a normal death I guess except that I know what’s coming.

Really, today is the first day that I can officially call it a Zombie Apocalypse. Before today we had it under control. Or at least we thought we did. But today all hell broke loose. Lana, that dope, set the perimeter too close to the hospital. We are well past the “I told you so” stage, but damn if I didn’t tell her so. Anyway, we were burning folks that started to creep, but the work was piling up and supplies were scarce. The decision was made to build closer in and just keep a tighter reign on the sick. So, because Lana didn’t build us enough standoff distance, some asshole actually catapulted over the Q fence and hit tent city at 6am.

To be fair to Lana, I’m not sure how you could predict the catapult. I mean, it’s a goddamned catapult for christsake! But the hospital has (or had I guess is more accurate) a library. And in that library was a book on Roman warfare and sure enough this Dudley guy scrapped together a freaking catapult from a swivel chair, a bookshelf, two mattresses and a shit-ton of plastic tubing. Incredible really. But devastating. So he overcalculated his arc and smacked into Mess Hall B like a human missile.

It should have killed him and I would still be going about my day in relative safety. But alas, Dudley do-wrong had the audacity to smack his grape sideways in such a way as to die and resurrect himself lickety split because his brain stem was still mostly intact. He stood up and went creep-running all zigzag nutso biting at random through a wave of staff that were almost zombies themselves before their first coffee of the day.

He took out six nurses and four doctors before someone (maybe Rose?) smashed him with a fire extinguisher, evening up the other side of his head. But once he was down for the count, we had a problem. Gina Rodriguez, the head nurse, was overly fond of Dr. Sawyer (aren’t we all) and didn’t want to put him down even though he was missing a hand (currently in Dudley’s gullet) and was turning fast.

So, she stood there patching him up and arguing with the rest of us long enough for Sawyer to take out an additional three nurses. During this shit storm, we lost track of one of the original nurses, who’s ear Dudley had also ingested. That nurse (Chase I think his name was) went and chowed down half of our night shift who were hotbunking adjacent to the mess. You can probably guess the rest.

I got sideswiped as I was running for “de hills” as it were. I was halfway to the outer lot and had avoided most of the melee by using my trusted Louisville Slugger on two of my Wednesday night poker crew and then slipping north, cutting through the supply tents. But Murphy’s Law being what it is, I didn’t see that the original commando nurse Chase had slipped free from the main event and was creeping outside of the breezeway when I came running through. He got one glancing rip before I kicked him off.

It barely broke the surface, but it was enough. So now I’m dying and watching tent city get literally ripped to shreds from the hardpack on the mesa above the fence. The cat is out of the proverbial bag. It is the first day of the end of the world. I’m hoping to make it long enough so that I can see the ocean again. Why? No idea. I just want to die with my eyes facing the water and the waves crashing over my feet. I probably won’t make it though. Because of a catapult.

Just call me ZombBomb! You’ve probably heard about my company, Zombie Bombers by now because there is such a need for what I do! I’m a luscious babe and have been training for this mission for most of my life. When you see me in my red leather miniskirt and black knee boots, you would never know that I am a zombie killer for hire. What I lack in upper body strength, I have in devious and dastardly ways to kill a zombie. There is not an ounce of fat on my body, due to my intense training for the zombie invasion that I knew was coming. People laughed when I told them I was preparing for the apocalypse but now that dark day is finally upon us.

I wanted to shove “I told you so’s” in their faces but instead I decided to rake in the big bucks when I heard the desperate poundings on my door of hapless people begging for my help. “I charge ten thousand dollars per zombie killed,” I told them, smirking as I realized I would be able to put my skills to good use.

“How do we know you can do it?” the hordes questioned.

“You’ll just have to take a chance on me,” I answered, “but if I’m not successful, I will be the first person to go!” I really wasn’t too worried. I had no emotional responses to killing. It gave me a sense of power and, believe it or not, sexual arousal. You might call me a narcissistic psychopath or you might just think I was just shortsighted and unfeeling. Take your pick. I am what I am!

I gathered up my supplies in a large net bag and headed out the door to my destiny. What was in the bag, you ask? Well, I carried a chain saw, a machete, a small caliber gun (I would have to get close to shoot a zombie so a small caliber gun would work best at close range), a sledgehammer, an ax, shovels, rakes and had access to a riding lawn mower in the shed behind my house, if necessary. Why did I need a riding lawn mower? Well, if push came to shove, I could ride over the zombies, shredding their heads to use as fertilizer for my lawn.

I knew that zombies were the undead who roamed the streets in a catatonic state, looking for live human brains to feed on after being infected. The surefire way to kill a zombie was to lop off the cranium with a sharp implement. If I could either include the temple on the right side of the forehead, the top or back of the skull, the sides of the head, eyes or ears or the crux of the neck, I would be more successful.

I was absolutely thrilled at the anticipation of ridding my world of zombies and could hardly wait to get started. Where did I get the experience, you wonder? Well, I had already killed my entire human family, my neighbors and all the proprietors on Main Street. No, they weren’t zombies but where else would I get the experience I needed? And I killed them over time so no one would suspect that I was responsible.

I smiled as I strode down the street with my bag slung over my shoulder, eager and willing to do what I must. How else could I make a living? What is a poor girl, alone in the world with no family, to do? Sing my refrain along with me:

Zombie Bombers

Who you wanna call?

If you’re all by yourself

Pick up your cell

and call Zombie Bombers.

Can’t believe this shit.

I was the center of media’s attention ’til these illiterate piss moaning blood-drunk flesh bags showed up. What makes them so special anyway? What are they doing that hasn't been done before? They're sloppy, careless. No real effort or drive other than brute instinct.

I'm an artist. I deserve the spotlight. I've saved so many people from turning into those tasteless creatures, transformed them into masterpieces instead. If they were still alive, they'd thank me. The way I sliced the skin around their scalps, the precision, the steadiness of my hand. Slowly, gently, like a lover's caress. Can a zombie appreciate its prey, the way they rip, shred and devour? I doubt it. No… this is my art. I am an artist.

I'm a fucking God.

I'm about to create something masterful tonight. Maybe it'll get their attention. The Zombie Killer strikes again! The victim? Officer Ortiz. Stupid pig… thought she had me. Thought she had it all figured out. Poking around, asking her questions, tracing her steps back and forth, back and forth. I still don't know what gave me away and at this point, I don't care. It's not like she could do anything now. Idiot went out and got herself bit. I can hear her screaming as I write, gurgling, gagging on her own rot and spit. She won't stop clawing on the basement door. Gonna have to get it replaced soon. Something more sturdy than wood; I'm thinking steel.

Claw that, bitch.

She's turned now, I'm sure of it. This will be my first taste of ‘undead’ brain. Kind of ironic, considering the name I made for myself when the world was still… well, human. The Zombie Killer: 22 missing, 13 found. Blood drained, victims scalped, brains removed, believed to be consumed. They never even found my best works. What a shame. I’m no longer the scariest monster, but that's gonna change tonight. It's time to create the most monumental masterpiece this shit-stain of a world has ever seen. Number 23. People will bow to it. Bow to me.

Zombies... what a joke.

I'll give them an apocalypse they'll really fear.

Today, we crossed a field of grass bordered by the black-and-yellow bark of Ponderosa pine, and we stopped and took it in. The sun-through-the-clouds coated us in a bluefire, and when I looked at my friends, at Jo and his plate-mail, at Lobard and his mad beard, and they at me, in my deep cloak with a celtic braid, holding a longbow, we had to laugh. It seemed exactly like we were a fellowship for some quest, maybe to steal from a gluttonous dragon, or to stop a cult from resurrecting their dead god, not a couple of Ren Rats surveying the clump of trees behind the parking lot.

"I don't see any signs," said Lobard, plucking some fern. "Don't smell them, either."

I remember taking a sweet breath, feeling the wetness in the air and the aged-wood and butterscotch of pine. Relishing in the thought: the dead aren't here yet.

Luckily, they avoid the mountains, or maybe the crevices and roots tear off their feet, slow their advance. In any case, we barely encounter them, only hear the reports on the radio (neither WIFI or TV work anymore) or from the dirty, scared families that claw at our gates, screaming, "let us in, let us in," despite the fields behind them devoid of monsters. We do, too, after a few jests. It's the cruelest thing we do. I often participate.

I know I'm supposed to be depressed, or scrounging for survival, or finding life's little moments denied by overwhelming misery and chaos. But the plague has been a blessing in disguise for the Renaissance Faire. Without the glazed donuts of American capitalism, without weekends selling ourselves to abused parents and abusive children high on kennel popcorn and soda, without weeks spent in workshops painting wooden shields and hammering metal roses, without eye-rolls and mean laughs at monks pushing cheesecake carts and knights reciting poetry, without the most common, most stupid questions, like "Do people really buy this shit?" and "Why is this shit so expensive?"

Without the normal, we are free to be weird. And it is free to be weird. All our concerns have taken on the technical difficulties once held by a fifteenth-century European village. Food production, justice, border security, tradition. The exact concerns most of my people dreamed about in the first place, and had put aside to sell dragon-egg earrings to Game of Thrones fans.

Naturally, we don't toss our poop in the streets. But we don't use the restrooms, either. Things have become economical in a tightened, smart kind of way, and beyond economy, we are an extended version of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It's lovely.

We came back through the gates, and after Roderick (not his birth name) checked us for bites and wrote down our report, Jo gave Lombard a kiss on the cheek, they're cute like that, and we went our separate ways. Would it be bad if I told you that as I headed for the shop I started to have depressing thoughts? I know how unoriginal this sounds but: Winter is Coming. In what, less than half a year? What will we do then? Jo seems to think the dead will follow the fur-scent of coyotes and deer, and find it easier to climb the deep, compact snow. And I keep having this pitiful image of a bear who was sleeping peacefully in her cave waking up to a rotten human feeding on her leg. Maybe happening a few times, until the bear rolls her eyes and dies.

Until then, we will salt our meat and play pretend and laugh at the small-mindedness of the dead. We won't let them in until they come crawling over the walls.

June the sixth was a cold eerie morning and my freezing body and shattering teeth propelled me at an enlightened speed towards the bathroom. Inspecting my sleepy face in that extra-large mirror that Lisa insisted on having, I quietly roared John O Connor you are the greatest, as I smiled and hugged myself. Being wide awake I made a strong coffee and plonked my tired ass down beside the heater, after a previous hard day’s work, switching on CNN world news.

Instantly a news flash rang out and my ears strained wondering what the hell could be that important at such an early hour. It felt like there was something up but at this point and time there was no solid information. Minutes later we were informed of an impending presidential speech and the intensity of my feelings wavered. Later again they announced that the government had commandeered all broadcasting stations and controlled the news. Shocked beyond belief I quickly decided to go up and wake Lisa my wife from her well-earned sleep.

But before I initiated that action, I decided to ‘ink’ my new leather diary, a birthday present, documenting the string of events and strange activities that were happening this bright new day. As I was editing my entries there was yet another warning to all house-holds, to lock all doors, shutter up windows and secure basements. Now I was scared shitless and promptly dropped the pen and slapped the diary on the table. I tore up the stairs to the bedroom and tried to wake Lisa as gently as I could without causing too much fuss. But being so spooked I overdid it and she woke, screaming loudly waking the children Daniel and Jane in the processes. Calmly I tried to explain the situation about the radio broadcast as she put on her night gown and trundled down the stairs to the kitchen. She knew by my distressed state that something unusual was up and figured I was too traumatised to explain it clearly. As she listened to the radio she realised that the real information had not yet been broadcast, except that we were to board up our houses and stay inside. So she directed the stunned me to the shed for tools and wood, as she would ring her family and close friends to see what was up. Phone lines were engaged not a single person was contactable, so in a state of panic she stashed the ‘cell phone’ in her pocket should anyone ring and she rushed up to the children. Daniel and Jane six and eight years of age were already crying and wondering what all the fuss was about. Lisa with her motherly instinct began to talk softly and comfort them as I brought in a bunch of tools and wood and began hammering and sawing securing the sitting room and kitchen as that was my initial objective. By now the children were totally on edge and Lisa calmed them by saying the Government instructed us to make the house safer but that was not enough to keep them calm. So she searched for some of their favourite DVD’s and asked Jane to put them on pretending that she could not use the machine and that occupied their time for another bit.

Then the cell phone rang and Lisa’s dad talked about the president’s speech, but because we were so busy securing the house we missed that broadcast. She called me into the kitchen and repeated the news that there was a horrific epidemic, a zombie epidemic. My initial reaction was a loud ‘what’ but I didn’t want to disrupt the flow of news so I listened. She repeated, the virus was first spotted in New York, down in the village near a vegetable stand. A down and out ‘wino’ started to follow people around and then suddenly he began to attack and bite their arms and legs as if he was starving. The symptoms did not develop in the affected people until days later and the hospitals were not equipped with knowledge to deal with such an unusual situation. Zombie’ism was not on the priority list of the medical fraternity as they actually knew nothing about this virus and its effects. So with no control procedures in place it spread like wild fire and there was no way of knowing who was affected. Being the first ever zombie infestation known to mankind, the World Health Organisation was not informed until it was too late and as a result did not respond quickly enough to stop the spread. So the fastest way to communicate to the public was to allow the government take control and get the President to inform the public of immediate measures as staying put, securing home, resist contact with strangers and report any unusual behaviour. The whole country was at risk and that included our home place the city of Philadelphia.

We stared at each other for minutes in disbelief wondering if it was for real. We then resumed the job of securing the house and making preparations for at least a two week period. I investigated all entry points to the house and began to secure every vulnerable opening including all windows, with strong boarding that I had stacked away for extreme weather events that presently happened all too frequently. I found metal grids in the basement that helped reinforce the windows further. There was also an old metal gate that I was able to fixe to the front door to reinforce it, so that we could get in and out if necessary without weakening the entrance. The physical house now being safely secure led us to our next task of ensuring enough food and water to last a siege. Fortunately we had a bunch of large barrels in the basement, a beer project that I put on ‘the long finger’ so luckily we filled them while the water supply was still on. We had some food but not enough to last the two weeks or longer that we expected to be there so we toyed with the idea of going out to buy more supplies. We realised it had to be done immediately as by now, most people were in panic. I fetched some petrol cans from the basement and heading to the door I warned Lisa to slam shut the door behind me. I said under no circumstances, talk or allow anyone, absolutely no one, no matter what happens, even if it was your dad or sister, to come in. That reality of that statement made it blindingly clear to Lisa that things had changed, a totally other world the ‘new old world’ was in and as I drove away I knew that I could be locked out too. I immediately stocked up on gasoline at the local gas station down the road, just before the big rush started and I did not speak to anyone, not even people I recognised. Time was of essence as everyone needed food and by now most people would have realised that. Shortly afterword’s I arrived at the supermarket and wasting no time I charged down the aisle picking up what was left on the nearly empty shelves. It was mostly cans of vegetables and bits and pieces until I spotted the still plentiful fresh veg section. I filled my trolley with everything that was available especially potatoes right up to the brim and proceeded towards the till. Scrutinising everywhere I realised the que was getting longer and people were behaving more erratically. So after one last tour and coming across another stash of tinned beans I headed straight for the till, twitching nervously and impatiently until it was my turn. My whole ‘being’ was on red alert for strange movements or weird behaviour around the store as was everyone else. Literally no one talked or made eye contact and you could feel acute tension in the air. Then I saw a man staggering forward and backward making strange noises near the drinks department and literally everybody in pure panic looked over at him in shock, ready to exit rapidly if needed. But after a few minutes we realised he was drunk and calm settled once more over the whole supermarket. I wondered why the till lady was still working and not at home taking precautions, she obviously was not so worried or was misinformed or, or, or as my mind wandered and I thought ethically if I should let her know. But alas my turn came as I thought about my own family so I unloaded and reloaded my trolley and paid up, in just under five minutes, that was quick. I grabbed everything and rapidly moved to the car shouting to the till lady that there was an epidemic and did she know? I did not wait for a response as my anxiety was growing by the minute and looking from left to right I opened the boot of the car and flung everything in within seconds, all ready to go. As I got to the driver’s door I saw a distinct zombie like creature with dirty red platted hair, disgustingly covered all over in yellow pussy bile and murky reddish blood. It was crawling towards me leaving a trail of thick slime behind him from the far end of the carpark. In utter shock I closed my gaping mouth and forced myself to stop looking as I hopped in to the car, twisted the ignition key and luckily was able to make my get-away. I navigated home slowly but safely through chaotic traffic as fast as I could, never having to stop.

As pre-arranged I drove up to the house, in full view of the peephole in the reinforced front door and biped the horn three times very softly not to raise attention. Then I walked in a straight line tapping my head every time my right foot touched the ground as agreed, right up to the peephole and spoke quietly to Lisa, deciding to tell her about the incident later. She was happy to see me as she inspected and questioned me and then proceeded to open the door. Checking that nobody was about or ready to attack us, she opened the door to the hall which was a second line of defence in case we were attacked. Then we both unloaded the food and gasoline into the hall as quick as we could and after slamming the door shut again I parked the car in the garage out of sight. All the time we were very worried, highly alert and did not take any chances. I had to go through the processes of entering the house once again and it worked beautifully! We had decided before I left that no one would be allowed in until the epidemic was declared over not even close relatives and that was comforting as we already had made our choices, just us the immediate family. It was only when the door was bolted that I realised how utterly stressful it had become and I relaxed a bit and took a deep breath. We sat at the kitchen table me filling in the diary as we made a cup of tea and then we realised what a mess the world and humanity were in. It suddenly dawned on us that the world would be a different place after these events and we could not imagine the destruction or damage on a catastrophic scale that might be upon us!

Six months later a military battalion came upon the house still intact and in order to enter they had to batter down the front door with force to get it open. They broke through the second defence system in the hall and found a very ugly site. A family of four people, two adults and two children slaughtered, covered in blood, half eaten and badly mutilated all huddled together in a pile in the corner of the sitting room. It was a disturbing, sad and surreal discovery and the Lieutenant Officer could not stop the tears welling up in his eyes. The mutilated family were taken first to the special hospital for autopsy and then the incinerator, to be destroyed in case of live re-infection. In the house after a second and last inspection of every room before they left, they found a diary on the kitchen table and took it as future evidence.

Many years later an elderly lady, a librarian researching for a book on the epidemic was checking through the evidence from the Zombie Apocalypse archives long after the recovery and she spotted the black leather diary. She got permission to take it out and began to read it. She found it very informative, compelling but also strangely disturbing to read. The sad thing was that this family were never attacked by human zombies but instead were infected by a cat that the children befriended and their parents foolishly allowed into the house.