It's getting dark...

I don't know how much longer this barricade will last.

I can hear the moans and the cries of hunger from the undead predators outside. In the distance a car alarm is echoing, unnattended by the owner who no doubt has long since joined the hellish legion or temporarily filled their infinite stomachs.

I hate this house, now more of a prison for my own survival than the happy, messy home that it once was. My housemates all lost but one, Phil, who sleeps before it's his turn to keep watch. I don't know how he can sleep but I envy him. I spend my hours making sure the fire in the chimney stays well lit, hoping the smoke will give a signal to wandering survivors, rescue, anyone. I don't know why I keep doing it... I guess if I put it out then I accept that all hope is lost.