Farewell, modern literature...

I was wondering through the ruins of some city in Virginia when I came upon a mall. Strangely, the generator still worked and the lights were still on. Must have been on a timer. I sat and considered it for a moment, and after a few minutes decided I needed shelter from the biting wind and the frigid air. I remember thinking I might be able to salvage something while I was at it.

I know. A mall in the middle of a zombie outbreak. Laugh if you want. I did.

I crept along through the hallways, stopping in occasional stores, just in case there was something I might need inside. I managed to replace my shoes, with the heel flapping loose and a hole starting to form under my big toe, with a pair of decent running shoes. I can't believe people used to throw away so much money for these things. I also found a good coat that should last me through the winter, and I had a good meal out of some still-functioning freezers in the food court.

Now, don't think I was just waltzing through the mall unmolested, gathering supplies for my long trek north. I'd counted at least six of them as I worked my way to the food court, and a ton more as I crouched behind a counter, preparing to leave. I was so preoccupied watching the zombies' movements to better time my escape that I didn't notice what littered the floor. I waited patiently, crouched behind my counter. As soon as my moment arrived, I started moving low around the counter to make for an exit, but I slipped on something. I landed flat on my back, wheezing and coughing in an attempt to get the air knocked out of me back into my lungs. I rolled over to push myself back onto my feet, and, looking down at the floor, I had the chance to see what I'd slipped on.

The blood was still wet-ish, and relatively red. Couldn't have been more than a day old. I could see a number of bloody footprints moving out away from the pool. They must have knocked whoever it was down and fed right there. Then, fifteen or so hours later, the reanimated shell of a person got up and followed suit.

I had to act fast. The noise I made from falling and the noise I was making from trying to breath had attracted their attention. I could hear moans coming from all around me. I got up and dashed for the nearest store with doors. I tumbled inside and immediately got to work making a barricade. With the doors closed and locked, I moved a big shelf in front of them to block the zombies after they'd broken the glass. Assured that this would hold, at least for a little while, I had the chance to sit down and catch my breath, and I got to take a look at my new, temporary safe-house.

Thinking back, it's ironic that I should take shelter here, just as I did before the outbreaks. Rows upon towering rows of shelves crept upward toward the ceiling, lined from end to end with books. A bookstore, where once I ran to shelter my mind, now I ran to shelter my body and spirit. And sitting on the floor, I realized that I would never see a new book in my lifetime. It wasn't until this moment that I realized the true fatality of this whole situation, the fact that our civilization was now on the brink of absolute dissolution. The fact that we may forever be wiped clean from the face of the Earth.

As much as I don't want to admit this, upon my epiphany, I fell to my hands and knees, weeping. I only had a short while with my grief, however, before the banging of ghoulish fists on the door behind me snapped me back into survival mode. I hastily began searching for an exit; a back door, or anything the like. In the back of the store, I found the manager's office with the, much to my relief, unlocked. I lept into the office, slammed the door shut behind me and bolted the door.

I quickly took stock of my surroundings. Among ordinary office things, such as inventory manifests, "inspirational" posters, and a crap-load of pens, there was a security panel with an unusually large number of cameras, a safe built into the wall with a keypad lock, and a rotting corpse, dressed in Sunday's finest, missing its head. I gagged a little from the stench, but choked back the urge to vomit and started searching what was left of his blood-soaked suit. I ignored the shotgun resting between his knees and found a key key in his jacket pocket and a note to his side, stained with, presumably, his blood. The note just had four numbers written on it, barely legible: 4682.

Using the code, I opened up the safe and found several thousand dollars in cash. How sad. This white collar Joe, in his once neatly pressed suit, he knew it was the end of the world, so much so that he took his own life in a final act of cowardice, but he still assumed the money would still be worth something. Very shortminded. I thought on this for just long enough to notice another door out of the office. I used the key on it and quietly peeked out and found a service hallway that ran behind all the stores. If I had known this from the beginning, it would have saved me a whole lot of trouble, but what's done is done. No sense in dwelling.

Even though I doubted any zombies had made it back into those halls, I still played it safe and crept low along the walls like a terrified mouse. Eventually, as I made my way through the seemingly labyrinthine tunnels, I found the security office in which I now take refuge. After blocking the door with a couple of filing cabinets turned on their sides, I found this computer, still connected to the internet no less, and started typing this chapter of my story.

I'm still making my journey north to Chicago, and I expect to get there within the next month or so. There's no telling when the next time I'll find an internet-enabled computer will be, so again, I beseech whomever reads this to seek me out near Chicago if I'm not heard from within the next few months, and to recover my notes out of my flash drive if the worst has befallen me. I still need to get this information out to the world, even if it kills me.