i never truelly knew the true meaning of the calm before a storm, now i do. they seem to know i'm here but can't seem to find me. if possible i plan to make a run for it. my truck has enough gas in it to get to the next town. i'll try and make it to st.teresa, hell i hope there having better luck then i am.it's times like this that i wish i had forced my family to come stay with me. i haven't heard from the outside for so long, i wonder when the militray is actually gonna do something about these things. i luagh at these thoughts, it's not a movie it's real life and it's a fight for survival. now i must go now, if i mange to survive i'll keep writing in myjournal, however if i fail to escape i shall hide this book in hopes that some one will stumble upon this desolate place and by chance find it.
I hope this thing works. I just found an old generator with enough boost to get these messages and pics out. I just hope that WI-FI connection is still goin strong. I took these pics after I discovered this shotgun in a hotel room next to 2 dead men, actual dead not zombie dead. It seems this shotgun is a testament to these mens survival until the enevitable. I mean we don't have enough shells to kill them all do we??? Anyway, this shotgun took out quite a few zombies in the defense of these men and hopefully will keep up the tradition along with me. I call this shotgun Jethro because that seems natural. The pictures I took are of the shotgun and the 2 page note I found among the wreckage of the room.
These next pics are of the note and the shotgun stock. These men were obviously alone together in this fight as evidenced by the note. I am glad to be a part of a small group of survivors.
The stock pics really give you an appreciation of what this shotgun has been through and definitely what it has put the zombie populace through. This shotgun definitely can dissassemble a zomble faster than you can blink and be ready for the next in nothing flat. I can attest to that!!
Well, hopefully these get through and tell of these mens plight through this zombie apocalypse. I will be in touch again soon.
Hey! Draft of my submission. Youve probobly been here longer than i have so check it out. Any inconsistencies, let me know. I was going for a blogger type of feel. As if someone was blogging through their cell phone about what was happening. Enjoy!
12 July 2008
“Attack on Paradise.”
It’s been about three months since the Campion virus first spread. Ever since the first oubreak was announced its been progresivly getting worst and worst. What started out as a "super flu" has mutated into a plague washing over the world. The Bush administration's trying to play it down but when a sterilization camp named Camp Saint Teresa emerged; we knew this was more than a simple cold. Now, as we let the outbreak sink into our minds as a real threat, we're left with more questions than answers.
Its being reported in the media that a new vaccine once thought to be the cure is aiding the virus instead of keeping it at bay. The vaccine induses the infected into a momentary death but rejuvinates them into a second exhistance or, simply put, a zombie. There's no one we can turn to anymore as the government has deserted us and left us to make our own way. Even the hospitals were closing their doors but not by choice. Sam, a nurse at the hospital in San Diego, text me through out the wretched days leading up to this point. She spoke of horrors seen in the emergency rooms during peak hours, when injured bistandards poured in through their doors. Sam described the sights and sounds behind the sterile walls: Intense cries, blood covering the floors, patients jumping down from tables after deemed dead. Every patient seen had some sort of lazaration to the face, neck, or arms and even some broken bones. Soon it was uncovered that even with out the vaccine these people could transform into the undead. All it took was a virus transfusion through and open wound. The most devestating news came when Sam mentioned a change in the people she worked with. Some of the doctors were bitten and attacking anyone who was clean. There was no way to stay alive and Sam's messages soon started to die out until they stopped completely. Shortly after it was announced that they would be shutting down the hospital after some zombies managed to escape. Her last text warned of the overpowering presence of more and more zombies and how they were starting to escape through room windows and sealed off exits.
Today’s the first day these things started showing up around our streets. The first wave hit Downtown just as the local news station set out to cover the story. They broadcast live from the Gaslamp Quarter just outside the Convention Center. The reporter stood at a safe distance from the chaos behind her. The entire thing was surreal. The fear stamped on her face said everything. My parents and I watched from our living room in anticipation and confusion. Sam was right. They'd made it into the streets of Paradise Hills, flooding the roads, taking on anyone stupid enough to get too close. The neighborhoods and business areas became dessilated and seldom as the wave of disfigured and bloodied bodies walked, and ran, into stores and homes in hopes of finding someone. These things aren't the stupid, slow, incoherent creatures you're used to seeing in those old black and white films. These are quicker and have the ability to communicate through intuition. Although unable to problem solve but it doesn’t matter because they're still deadly.
Soon enough, after we were forced south by the strong military hand, my parents and I head for my aunts house in the ghettos of Tijuana, Mexico. We didn't have time to pack any of our belongings except for my dad’s old handguns and a long machete I found in the storage shed. Fortunately, we made it to the border just as the creeper started to slowly leak into our once quaint neighborhood and with the zombies came the armoured military forces helping the remainding home owners move out, packing into wide RV's plowing down the streets towards the lost zombies.
The line at the border was understandibly long due to the overwhelming amount of people trying to cross over. Some had even left their cars and were now jumping over stationed automobiles to get to Mexico. The irony of a tall, middle-aged man in a green 'minuteman' windbreaker cutting through a chainlink fence to make it through was comical and enraging all at once. The very men trying to keep Mexicans out once before were the ones pushing people away in order to jump the fence. It wasn't long when a hungry zombie was seen leaping through the bushes from across the road.
Drivers locked their doors and those outside cried in fear as the undead ran through the isle of cars, throwing himself on doors and windows, trying to find a way in. When the zombie came to our isle, he stood between two cars on our right; across the way from the passenger door I hid behind, peering around until I caught his eyes. My mother demanded I lock the door and duck down but I frozen in fear. The zombie looked my way, left corner of his lips and entire cheek missing and blood staining the white shirt from the collar down. He stood hunched over and swaying side-to-side, trying to keep balance on one good leg, letting out a deep groan like a dog snarling at a stranger, taking a step forward as I slowly reached between my feet to open the gun case. One step was all he could take as the car to his left reved its engine and slammed into the one up front, pinning the infected man at the waist. My heart pound harder than ever, the tips of my fingers on the gun between my legs. The zombie twist and curled as he lay pinned. He tried desperately to free himself by forcing the cars apart but was unsuccessful. He yelled loud again and thrashed on the hood of the white BMW until a man from another car got out and shot the infected zombie in the head. Then, like a hive to its queen, more and more zombies shot out from behind the wall of shrubs. Some sprinting as if competing in a triathlon while others staggered out of the gate. Lowering my window, I could hear the muffled sound of people screaming from inside their cars as everyone started pushing forward, forcing the lines to press on. I don't know what came over me but instead of staying inside I got out of the car and insert a full clip into the hand pistol. Luckily for me, my dad and I had spent many times at the shooting range with these very guns. I'd familiarized myself with them as if they were a natural extension to my very own hand. My mom yelled at me from inside and my dad cursed until he was blue but all I could do was regrip the handle and swallow deep. There were a few others holding steel bats and even a few others with firearms. It wasn't long when we were joined by army forces and police from over the border, yelling out orders in spanish at us and one another. No one moved. I stared off at the emerging zombies and at everyone around me and knew this was it. The special forces began shooting and so did we. My dad got out with the second of his two pistols and machete and stood to my right, waiting.
The police were good at keeping the undead at a distance but some slid past the wall of whistling bullets. The first attack aimed at a station wagon where two female zombies broke through the side windows and mauled the couple inside. A pair of teenage kids managed to get out and flee until one of them was caught by a female creeper dressed as a mail carrier. I've never shot at anything that moved. Only at stationary cardboard cut outs of men dressed as robbers but there was no better time to practice my aim. My dad was the first to fire out of the two of us. He clipped the right leg of a straggling man, causing him to slow down, then finished him off with a shot to the head. We managed to fire at more zombies before my parents and I fled into the border crossing offices where we're still held up now. I'm standing behind the main counter seperated from the rest of the room by floor length fiber glass doors. This is what we're forced to do. Hide and wait for help. If I look around I can see the peremeters of the building held down by men and women in black uniforms, holding long rifles in their arms, pointing at the hoard of zombies punching and throwing themselfs against the double-layered inch thick glass windows. The doors are bolted shut with security locks but still shaking at the hands of those trying to get in. My mom and dad are huddled together in the back room with a few other families. The ammunition is running low and so is our tolerance. People are crying, praying and singing, trying to ease the tension in the room. Infants are whinning and the anger levels are rising but there's nothing we can do but wait this out. I can see the 'policia' whispering to one another nervously while the zombies stain the glass in their blood. I can't help but get really worried at the sight of the police running in and out of the room, whimpering silently to one another in broken spanish. I can hear a commotion coming from the back room where my parents are hiding but nothing seems to be wrong. At least not from where I’m standing. The officers faces are losing the brashness they once displayed as more run in and out. There’s a man standing at the doorway waving everyone in the back out and yelling something I cant make out. People are rushing out, running with panicked eyes, trampling over a fallen mans legs. He’s trying to crawl away from the stampede but the weight over his limbs is too strong. Everyone’s out now except for the security all darting back inside the room with guns drawn. I hope its not what I think it is. I hope they’re going in to strategize in private. I hope they’re holding a meeting about what their next move is going to be. I prey its something minor and not what I think it is. But, incase this is the end I hope I’ve shed some light on the situa……