9





For the past two weeks that I've been here, I've had these nagging feelings that something about this place is wrong. I kept putting it down to my nerves, past experiences, mental fatigue or whatever. Sometimes I would notice something out of place from where I left it before but I just ignored it, blaming it on a crappy memory. Then there was the time I was absolutely sure I had eaten the last can of asparagus (because I love asparagus and I know I counted them out and rationed them for myself), and then lo and behold there appeared another couple of cans of them tucked away in the corner of a shelf. Not to mention the blood, the layers of blood that I had laboriously cleaned.



I know when I arrived here I was down to about a hundred and thirty-five pounds or so, which is skinny as hell for someone a hair over six feet tall. I must have put twenty or so pounds back on, living the good life. Ha. Probably I was just being allowed to fatten myself up for the slaughter.



Dammit, if Jannie were here she would have raided the place and left on day one. She was only half my age but that girl paid attention to her surroundings. I hoped (and still do) she had gotten out of our last safe house alive, but I dont see how it could be possible.



I mentioned before how the building was solid and well built, but I didnt really go into details. I will now though. The windows are all triple pane with a clear sheet of thin material between each pane, making them bullet proof, hurricane proof windows that can be closed remotely. The walls are of a solid brick and mortise type, with steel reinforced bars. Even the ceiling is solid cement reinforced with rebar and drywall covering it. Apparently, the solid hard wood doors also have steel bars that can be slid into them, from the walls, and remotely too to boot. Where the electricity to do this is coming from, I have no idea as all the available outlets Ive found are dead. I knew about the triple pane windows and I knew the walls were brick, however, I just this morning found out about the rest of the security features. Ive found out that this place is well suited to not only keep people out but is well designed to keep people in.

Somebody spent a lot of money on this place before the world went to hell. That same somebody was probably planning for world war three to break out and being ready to hunker down and wait it out when this day of reckoning happened instead. That somebody is probably in a thick, deep, fall-out bunker under this house. That somebody has decided, for reasons Im sure arent for my benefit, to lock me in here.



I woke up really groggy, looking back I know I was drugged. I slept soundly, without dreams, for almost fourteen hours. Normally I sleep very lightly, waking at any small noise (being surrounded by the walking dead will do that to you), for no more than six or so hours at a time. It took quite a while for the cobwebs to clear from my brain, and as I noticed that all my shit was gone, my backpack, gun, even my boots, I wondered if I was still dreaming.



I remember leaving the bedroom window cracked open and locked in place before I slept so I could have a little flow of fresh cool night air. This was something I would never even consider in any other safe house, so it was worth noting when I did it. When I noticed it was closed and when the window would not budge open one bit is when I seriously started to freak out.



I ran into every room and tried every door and every window, while furtively searching each room for my stuff.



Until I walked into the kitchen. Then I stopped in my tracks. Then I knew I was being toyed with. My journal was lying open on the kitchen table, to the next fresh page. This page. This page that Im writing on now. Placed neatly to the side of it was this whittled down, next to nothing but an inch left, small ass golf pencil.



When I saw that I went crazy trying to rip apart the ceiling and walls with my bare hands. All I did though was manage to break up some drywall and pull a few pieces of molding off the walls and tire myself out. I searched and searched but I still couldnt find any of my stuff or any possible hatch or hidden entry to a bunker. Even the pantry door and the damn cupboards and silverware drawers are shut tight.



Whatever. Fuck it. Im not giving up. I know this was left out for me to write my own obituary, or last will and testament, or finish up whatever I had to say. Maybe the fucker wants to keep it as a trophy or something. I dont know. Im writing because frankly, it gives me a chance to kill some time until whatever is going to happen, happens.



Hopefully Ill be able to write what the hell happens with this situation when it resolves itself. Hopefully I can either get the fuck out of here or kill the bastard who locked me in here, but accomplishing both of those goals would be best.



Been over twenty-four hours now and theres nothing but stillness and quiet. I thought whoever locked me in here would have attacked during the night but it was unnervingly eventless.



Forty-eight hours and Ive tried repeatedly to find a way out of here. All I found were two cameras. They were extremely small and well hidden. I found one in the bedroom, embedded in some of the more intricate molding, looking like it was part of the carved scroll work. The other was behind the mirror of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I found that one when I started smashing the shit out of it. Even that was thick and reinforced. I dont think he (Im assuming its a he), will be expecting me to be armed with this nice, sharp, wicked, piece of mirror that Im going to try and gut him like a fish with. Im so tired now. Thats his game then, to wait until I pass out. Time to play possum and draw him out...





10





If anyone is reading this, you surely noticed that there is a page torn out. I did that. The bastard wrote a bunch of foul shit in my journal, taunting me with his vile ramblings, as he took breaks from his torturing of me. You're not missing anything by not reading it. His childish scribblings were hard to read to begin with and what you could read was pure filth. Insane garbage of how he was going to enjoy torturing, raping, cutting me up and eating me (and not necessarily in that order). I have no doubt that he would have done exactly what he said he was going to.

As it is, he cut off both of my small toes and fucking ate them in front of me. He cut me multiple times (in some very sensitive places) and rubbed salt in the wounds. Im in a lot of pain and its going to take me awhile to heal up from this lunatics assault. I had seriously thought that being eaten alive by the undead would be the worst way to go. Now I know better. At least with the zeds you bleed out and die within a minute, maybe two at the most. But this, this is so much worse. He worked me over for a day before I got loose and killed him. I dont even want to think about how long the fucker would have drawn out my death to satiate his hate.

Unfortunately, there isnt just the immune and the walking dead. There are also those who are carriers. Like the maniac who was going to torture me to death. The carriers are the ones whose immune system are strong enough to stop the Scarlet fever before it kills them, but not strong enough to beat it. They exist in that stage of the disease where their skin is a permanent bright red and their mind is utterly gutted. Im sure its a horrible way to exist, completely filled with rage and hatred. I know now that they are aware that their brain has been mainly eaten away, causing extreme insanity and delusions, driven by the parasite to crave the taste of living flesh and blood. While I do take pity on them, they are by far more dangerous than a hundred zombies.



This isnt the first time Ive had to deal with a carrier. Jannie and I had our run-ins with some previously. Ill have the time now, since I need to recuperate, to tell you about her. But not right now. Right now I need to write about my day in hell.



I sat there at the kitchen table, not moving, pretending as if I were sleeping. I may have actually dozed off at some point, but it was a dreadfully light sleep. I had gotten used to the normal sounds of the house, and still I awoke at the slightest sound, waiting for a noise that was out of place. It seemed to take forever, my body was crying out for me to change my position. I was cramping up from the forced motionlessness and every small itch seemed unbearable. Then it came. A noise I hadnt heard before. A small creaking of hinges from the same bedroom I had chosen to sleep in all those nights. If I hadnt been so keyed up and waiting for such a sound I wouldnt have heard it. Then came a sound I could place. It was the closet door in the bedroom sliding open. Thats where the entrance to the bunker was. I knew how much time it took to get from there to here and I strived to get up and get into position. I had wanted to get to the spot beside the doorway to the kitchen but my body wouldnt comply fast enough. I was nervous, stressed, keyed up and exhausted at the same time. My adrenaline was flowing and panicky sweat covered me. I stood up too quickly and my legs cramped up on me and I fell solidly to the ground.



As I was forcing my body to get back up and ambush the sadistic fuck I saw him coming in the doorway.



He was bright red, obviously he was a carrier, naked and just covered in filth. I smelt him then and his scent was overpowering. They say that demons are proceeded by the stench of decay and shit, but they could have nothing on this guy. His eyes and fingernails were completely black and no cloven hoofed devil could be as terrible a sight as him. I fully expected him to try and tackle me or physically assault me, if that is, he didnt try to put a couple of ounces of lead in me. I had my makeshift knife, made out of the painfully sharp piece of mirror, ready for the physical attack. Even if he shot me I still thought I would have the time to slice open his gut or jugular if he missed or if I got the drop on him.



What he did though I didnt expect. He tasered my ass. His black gums showed as he laughed manically while he shocked me repeatedly. With my body going into spasms from the electric shocks from two separate taser guns, he quickly hand-cuffed my wrists to my ankles, effectively hog tying me. He screamed obscenities at me as he beat me so hard with the butts of the tasers that they actually broke on my skull. Then I passed out as he beat me unconscious.



When I awoke I was tied spread eagle and naked to a gore encrusted work bench. I knew I was in his private bunker as I had never seen this room before. There were no windows. The light was from a flickering fluorescent light fixture, one bulb wasnt working and the dim, almost strobbing, quality of illumination from the single remaining bulb lent itself well to this nightmare.



I dont care to write down what he said exactly, or for that matter, what he did to me. What he said were vile ramblings and bragging about how I wasnt the first to fall into his lair. He was bat-shit crazy it was true, but he was also telling the truth. I found five severed heads in his freezer. Two adult males, a teenage males, a middle aged womans and a little girls. They were in there along with some pieces of meat I will bury as soon as I can. Enough of that. I dont want to get into what he said he did to them, and how he planned to do all the same evil shit to me.



His anger and insanity either lead him to overconfidence or he just plain overlooked the fact that the strap holding my left hand down wasnt nearly as tight as it should have been. With every slice and hateful torture he committed on me I pulled with all my strength on that loose leather strap. The pain he placed on me made the pain in my left wrist seem like nothing, so I worked that strap until I knew I could break it easily. I just couldnt break it while he was in the room with me. The torture seemed all the more worse knowing I could break at least that bond and smack his infected ass upside the head whenever I wanted. It took all of my composure and will not to.



Finally though, after he fuckin masturbated himself over my bleeding and mutilated body he went into the door-less adjoining room to sleep. After lying down for about twenty minutes giggling and talking to himself he finally slept.



The strap gave way easily then. I was nervous that he would hear the sound of me undoing the restraints but Im sure he had learned (even relished) to sleep with the crying and sobbing pleas of his other victims in his ears.



He is now going to be sleeping for the rest of eternity. There is no chance of him coming back from the dead either. I picked up a ball-peen hammer, which I am absolutely sure he was planning on using on me, as it was on a shelf along with some of his other tools. Then I slowly crept up on his foul ass and manically beat his skull and head into a bloody pulp as he slept. I think I laughed like I was insane (and maybe I was) and uttered vile things at his corpse, as I literally beat his body into an unrecognizable mass of meat.



Tomorrow Ive got some digging to do. Body parts and a body to bury. Tonight I need to rest.











11





It took me most of the day to dig a proper grave for the dead. I didn't want to bury the carriers body with his victims, but I did anyways. Even though the ground is mainly sand here, using a shovel was another experience in pain.



The bastard who cut my little toes off was no surgeon. The bone is exposed on what remains of my right small toe and is plainly sticking out, with the skin around it having shriveled and turned black. What's left of the toe on my other foot isn't any better, with both of them giving off the putrid odor of infection. I have tried to bandage them as best I could but with any amount of walking they weep a sickly mixture of puss and blood. I need to find a doctor (good luck with that) to have them properly amputated. There is a small amount of medicine and pain-killers in the bunkers stock and I'm hoping that it will be enough. If not I'm going to have to go back into town and find a pharmacy and find something stronger than the penicillin I have now. Maybe I'll be able to find a doctors office or something where I can get a hold of a Grey's anatomy book or something so I can operate on myself if it comes to that.



Im so depressed right now. What is the point of all this struggling to survive in a world where there is nothing left? My outlook is bleak. I can stay here and hope that my feet, which are swollen and red with a deep blackness spreading from the severed digits, miraculously get better. Or I can force myself to hobble slowly, with each step bring fresh pain, into town. There is a decent collection of weapons here, if there arent a large number of zeds in my way, I could probably fight my way through. In my condition though, not being able to run, if theres more than a handful Im just going to be zombie bait. To stay here Ill surely die, but to try to get to town Ill only probably die. For what though? Even if I do heal and get better what for? To eat canned and freeze dried food for the rest of my life? To bear loneliness as my only companion? My .38 looks to be a viable option. I think the only reason Ive made it this far is because Im a coward. I only carry on in this life because Im afraid of death.



I did have the time to investigate the bunker. Theres a whole pantry fully stocked with canned and freeze dried food. One room, the main room I guess, is full of monitors and a couple of computers that control the security for the house and shelter. Theres the small bedroom, of course, well stocked with plenty of DVDs and a couple of books. A small kitchen and a tiny bathroom with a shower are also down there. I dont know what the original purpose of the torture room was, it was possibly an exercise / utility room as I found some weights and whats left of a now destroyed tread mill. The place is a complete mess though, with broken and shattered stuff scattered all over. The place stinks to high heaven, being covered in filth and blood and God knows what. Gonna be a huge project to clean it up, Ill wait to do that when (and if) Im healthy again.



I had to do some serious investigating to find out where the electricity was being generated from. Remember how I told you there was a small stream that flowed from the spring fed lake? Well it seems there is a cleverly hidden water wheel under some large carved and hollowed rocks in the stream. I was actually standing on top of the covering stone before I noticed that the water swirled oddly around it. The constant flow of electricity is such a blessing.



Even though this place is fairly isolated, it isnt free from zeds. While I was doing some of the digging I was occasionally swearing and bitching from the pain my feet were giving me, forgetting all about the current state of the world. The damn thing had stumbled to within twenty feet of me and I hadnt heard it. I was so absorbed in the task at hand and my pain that I didnt hear the things clumsy crashing through the brush towards me. It was a close escape, one that was due more to luck than anything else. I couldnt limp away from the horror any faster than it could shamble towards me. I placed the grave away from the house. As I went down the slope that leads to the lake and the house itself I tripped and slid down the embankment, almost ending up taking a swim. As I got up, the zed came crashing over the ridge and it also fell and went head over heels down the steep slope. I got out of the way as fast as my painfully swollen feet would let me, narrowly avoiding the things outstretched hands as it rolled right at me. Thankfully it didnt have the coordination to stop itself from going into the lake. I know that if this had happened six months earlier it would have caught me and quickly made a meal of me. Time was finally decaying them as it should have a long time ago.



The undead clearly cant swim, but they dont drown either. It splashed and struggled to get free of the muck and silt that hampered it. Slowly it ended sliding further and further down into the lake. The water is really clear in the lake and I was surprised as a veritable swarm of fish, both large and small, surrounded it and start taking tiny pieces off of it. I was worried that the monster would find a way out of the lake eventually and I would have to keep an eye out for it until God knows when, but the fish were taking care of that for me. When it finally disappeared into the depths, the last thing I actually saw wasnt the zed itself, it was the school of fish that were slowly, methodically eating it. I think Ill stop putting fish on my menu for the time being.



For the next few days Im going to concentrate on getting together my equipment and weapons for my foray into the nearby town.





12





Another pain filled two days have passed. Agony is now a familiar friend. I've almost forgotten what its like to feel normal.



I decided to get my ass in gear. The sooner I get my feet taken care of, I figured, the better a chance I have at surviving.



It was the pain that spurred me into action, or the hope of being able to be rid of it anyways. My right pinky toe isn't as bad as my left. The right toe seems to be sheared off cleanly, almost at the joint, while the left is a jagged mess with the remainder of the bone sticking out. I have to try and amputate both of them as best as I can.



After I had packed my gear up into the ol backpack I went about choosing some weapons from the Reds cache. (It was Jannie that introduced me to the slang word to reference the infected ones.) Along with my snub nose .38 I grabbed up a sawed-off shotgun and an AK47. Both the AK and shotty were considered illegal, but what cop was going to arrest me? The shot gun was illegal because it was sawn off just before the pump, and used with buckshot it makes a nice room clearer. Even if the shotty dont kill a zed outright, itll definitely knock a group of em back and down so I can shoot their fucking asses in the head with the AK. The AK was modified to fire on full auto, highly illegal. Plenty of ammo and clips. There were other guns there to choose from, but I didnt want to load myself down with a bunch of stuff. Besides I thought, if this wasnt going to be enough firepower then I would probably need a tank. That and the fact that every step brought a huge jolt of pain to begin with.



I padded my feet as much as I could, even using a pair of the Reds work boots that were three sizes too big for me. I started by filling them up with rags and cotton balls to lessen the shock of walking.



I really hadnt thought about the lack of a vehicle here. I found a key chain with some car keys and there were oil stains on the driveway and in the garage, but there was no car. There was doubtless a car or truck hidden somewhere, the crazy bastard had more than likely stashed it somewhere nearby. I hadnt seen anything of it in my explorations of the immediate surroundings. Im sure the fuck hid it in some remote location, camouflaged of course, to keep his prey from being able to easily flee. Instead of taking the time to wander around the woods aimlessly in the hopes I spot it, I could just save myself some time and head on over to a neighbors house. One of them was sure to have a car I could find the keys to or hotwire or something.



Nature was quickly reclaiming what was left of the now unused dirt road. Saplings and brush were growing in it. In some places I could only determine where the road used to be by looking at the relationship between the old growth of the forest and the shorter, younger growth that was taking back the road. In another year or two the road would doubtlessly be completely obliterated and impossible to find. As I trudged along, the pain in my feet grew worse and worse. By the time I reached the nearest neighbor my left foot, especially, was screaming out in pure agony.



With an amount of relief I saw the house had an attached garage. Even if there turned out not be any car there I was glad I at least found a place I could rest up and check the status of my feet before moving on. I had only hiked about a mile and a half, but by the time I reached the front door I was huffing and puffing and covered in sweat.



I beat on the door, the banging seeming loud and out of place here, and waited for a minute or two, gauging the area to see if it attracted anything. Nobody answered the door, I would have been surprised if anyone did. Nothing came crashing out of the forest trying to eat me either.

The screen door was locked, as was the front door behind it. Even in civilized times locks only serve to keep honest people honest. Not that I was a thief or anything but locked doors are only a nuisance to me now. A quick slice with my nice sharp bowie knife (also allocated from the dead Reds bunker) gave me access through the screen door to unlock it. A quick strike with the shotguns butt shattered the decorative window placed, conveniently, in the center of the hardwood front door, allowing me to simply reach in and unlock it.



After I entered I closed the door behind me and waited. I waited not only to let my eyes adjust to the gloom of the house, but to listen for anything unusual. It seemed all clear. My feet were howling in pain but I decided to make a speedy search of the house before I got caught unaware from any crazy shit that might happen. There was an underlying scent of rot hanging in the house, but I didnt consider that anything unusual. The house had been closed up for the better part of two years now and it would be only natural for the smell of the rotting food and consumables to linger in the enclosed space.



There was a nice family portrait hanging above the fireplace mantle. Two beaming parents and their healthy child. My stomach turned a bit as I recognized the little girl in the picture. Her parents Im sure Ive never seen before. I know the face of the little girl though, I buried her head just the other day.



A wave of anger mixed with sadness rose up in me and I sat down on the family couch and softly wept for a moment before moving on.



My suspicions about the child were confirmed and explained a bit when I searched the kitchen.



On the refrigerator door was a hand written note, in the girls own writing.



Dad, I dont know where you are and its been a week since you came home. I hope youre OK. Mommys upstairs and Im afraid of her. She got the Scarlet real bad since you left. She didnt move all day yesterday but I had to lock her in the bedroom because she tried to hurt me today. Im going over to Mr. Kolinskys like we discussed. Please come back. I love you, Kimmy.



My eyes teared over again and it took some will to halt it. I knew now how the little girl ended up in the bunker. Her father had, in all probability, died in the insanity. Mommy though was a possible problem, I couldnt account for her and she could very well be upstairs still. Which she was.



I wasnt sure undead mommy was going to be found upstairs though. I had made a lot of noise and that always alerted the zeds. The undead never worried about being stealthy and clumsily bumped or bashed anything that got in their way.



On alert, and as silently as I could, I crept step by step up the stairs, heart pounding, feet throbbing, waiting for any sign of danger.



All was quiet as I spied the bedroom door that must contain mom. The door itself was solid, not like most of the interior doors in a lot of houses. Most houses nowadays have those cheap hollow doors that you can punch through in, at the most, a couple of swings. These people must have had some money as most of the items in the house were of quality. Still, there was evidence someone, or something I should say, tried like hell to bust out. The door itself was intact but the frame had started to come away from the wall, cracking the drywall and plaster around it. Its a god damned good thing the zeds are so stupid. Just by looking at the knob on the door I knew all the bitch had to do was simply turn the lock on her side of the door. That and actually turn the knob itself.

I listened but I didnt hear anything. I tried the door and it was indeed locked from the inside still. There was one of those holes in the knob, one that was designed so that you can sick a coat hanger end or one of those funky jimmies in the hole to pop the lock. It was no big deal at all to grab a metal coat hanger from the hallway closet, unbend it and go back to the bedroom door. It took only a second to pop the lock and the door swung open.



Mommy was there, desiccated, emancipated, shriveled and stinking. She was sitting on the floor with her legs splayed and her back propped up against the bed.



I took a quick look around the bedroom from the doorway and was wondering what, if anything, I could gain by scavenging the room. I had decided to come back later when I had looked after my feet and searched the rest of the house. I would leave this room for last, or completely alone, out of respect for the dead.



Almost on cue as I thought about respect for the dead, the corpse started to slowly reanimate. It started to get up at a snails pace, haltingly, stutteringly. Old dried muscle and flesh straining to rise to devour the flesh of the living. This was a first for me, I had never known a zed to shut down and go into a comatose state before but, I suppose, a year is a long time to be inactive.



Go back to sleep. I told it as I drew my gun and laid her down permanently.



Found a nice Hummer2 in the garage, half a tank o gas. Started on the third crank. Raided the house and loaded it up.



I'm taking a break to write this before I head out. I don't know what the near future holds. I feel like just giving up. It would be so easy to just lay down and die. Let the dark, peaceful nothingness engulf me and take me away from all this pain.







13





I'm holed up here at Walgreens. I'm writing this while the meds I took kick in. I lost my watch somewhere. When I lost it I don't know. For all I know the crazed Red stole it from me and stuck it up his ass. I'm going to need one for these meds. I don't want to accidently OD on this shit.



I'm currently taking refuge in some small, nameless town. Small means the zed population has been manageable. This store hadnt been raided by looters, it looks like its been untouched since the shit hit the fan. Until I arrived that is. Now theres a H2 crashed through the wreckage of the sliding doors and about a dozen dead zeds decorating the aisles.



Drove that Hummer like it was a snow plow and made a game of playing tag with the dead heads that strayed in the road. The windshield is half missing on the passenger side and the rest is spidered and cracked. Hit one on my side and it damn near came through the windshield. Thought the fuck was gonna ask to drive. When it hit the windshield, it seemed to violently burst open and a thick, black fluid mixed with its guts clings there, hampering my vision. The wipers just got stuck in the sticky, stinking mass, smearing it around and generally made it worse. Drove with my head hanging out the window or practically in the passenger seat till I spied this place. Drove right into it at almost 50 miles per hour.



I know I used my seat belt and I may not care if I live or die, but suicide is something else. There's a strange strength I have found in not caring about dying. Like I can be content in the sole fact that I tried and that alone is enough.



I guess 50 mph was a little fast. Almost went through half the building before I stopped. Shelving forming the aisles were knocked into one another, effectively closing three rows access to the rear of the store.

Ran over a zed that was standing where the first lane was. He got stuck somehow in the crumpled up remainder of the front passenger tire and the frame. His body thumped under the tire, trying to throw off my steering. The H2 was still drivable though and I parked it sideways across the gaping hole I made. The damn zed in the undercarriage had to be shot as though being twisted and mangled was only a minor handicap to it.



The wave of zeds from the nearby area arrived shortly, more spread out in their arrival. The shuffling beasts were finally on the verge of collapse with their slowed, restricted movements. That first wave was followed by a small, weak second wave that I had no problem taking care of.



I dispatch them easily now. I blocked off some of the aisles to funnel them into one row. The security mirrors in the corners, meant to stop shop lifting, gave a good view from the pharmacy booth. The pharmacy register is surrounded by good thick glass, its small but it shows the place had gotten robbed more than once. The managers office entrance (and the access to the safe,) was also on the other side of the locked door.



A foot past the frame was a regular drywall covered wall.



Punched a hole in that large enough to reach around and open it. Doubt a zed would figure it out but I put file cabinet from the office to cover the hole. Sometimes if a zed cant see into a room, he thinks he cant get in it that way.



I think the pain-killers have kicked in now...



I'm going to try to do this then I'll write again.



The only watch I could find in the store was a child's model. There is no date or day on it, just a digital read-out of the time. I don't know how accurate it is but all of the cartoon character watches, for the most part, read within an hour or so of each other.



Found "The Complete Guide to Prescription & Nonprescription Drugs." Didn't take me much time identify a fist full of antibiotics and pain killers. I dont even remember how many I took. I waited for what I figured was an hour to gauge the strength of the pills I had swallowed. It seemed OK until I started to seriously put the blade of the bowie knife to the right mutilated toe. Tried to cut it off at the joint in one go. Thought I could do it as it there was just a small piece to actually cut off, the actual joint was close.



I yelled.



Damn I yelled.



I decided that cartilage was tougher than it looked and another fist full of drugs was called for.



I knew my yell was going to bring another round of zombies. They came stumbling and crawling over and around the rubble of the entryway. The Hummer blocks what's left of the doorway, but it just serves to slow the bastards down instead of stopping them. They were all pretty slow now, except for some. Some of the undead still possessed a decent amount of vigor. It was evident the ones that retained their speed and mobility were the ones that had fed the most.



I took care of the zeds then locked myself in here again. Fuckin' buckled down and sliced that piece of shit toe off.



Sorry, Dear reader of mine, if the following seems a bit incoherent. I think I took too many drugs. That's right, "Don't do drugs kids. 'Cause if you do you might end up OD'ing in a Walgreens attempting to perform Autotomy."



Just thought it was funny.



I am so stoned right now.



I'm trying to use this to stayed focused.

Kinda dont care about life right now. Its leading me to be reckless, I know. Honestly though, like I said, I dont care.



Anyways, where was I?



That child. Kimmy. I thought how carrier dude killed her and I shot her mommy.



I can clearly see her mothers mangled body, with its arms broken off from the constant beating upon the door. For how long had she uselessly beaten herself upon that door I wondered. Broken bone shards and finger digits were scattered about the immediate vicinity of her animated corpse.



Ive done some rotten shit to survive before I started the journal. Wondered how much the same we and the necromantic parasite are. I curse it for killing people while Ive been doing the same. Not just the carriers or the hungry dead, but Ive been forced to (in my mind) justifiably kill the immune too. The parasite just does it on a larger scale.



I told you I was depressed, stoned and writing.



I got to remember to find some antidepressants or something before I leave.



I think I dozed off or zoned-out or something. I think I remember being awakened by zeds pounding on the thick glass of the pharmacy. I barely remember firing repeatedly at the group of almost mummified, walking cadavers through the group of small circular holes that were actually meant for speaking. It took only one shot of the sawed-off to make a bigger hole through those concentric rings of holes. Then I just put the barrel of the AK through and blasted away.

The memories have a fuzzy quality to them, dream like. Definitely had to be from the mix of meds and this fever thats hittin me. I kinda remember having to go out and foolishly hunt down a much more active one. I'm not sure.



I don't remember if I went to work on the second toe before or after I went out and cleared the store again. It's all confused and jumbled in my mind. I thought I had been becoming inured with the pain I had already inflicted upon myself. The left small toe had to be cut off midway up the bone, as the joint was too high up into my foot for me to want to dig. I was covered in my own sweat and blood. Before I decided to just try to cleanly cut it off and slap some liquid suture on top of it, I grabbed another round of painkillers. I used a disposable plastic lighter by itself and I used some tape to get three lighters bound together to heat up some cheap silverware for cauterization.

Ive got some more visitors now. Im going to have to give them their prescription of hot lead. Ill write again after I administer their dosage.

Too early to tell whats gonna happen with the surgery.



Gotta piss.



Drank a shit load of water, so thirsty.



Place seems quiet.



I think I successfully performed the surgery on myself, but Im no doctor. At least the pain has abated somewhat and thats got to be a good sign. It could be due to the shit load of pain killers Ive been eating like candy, but some of the swelling and puss have seemed to abated.



Gonna pass out again.

