They came from the windows, the doors...from everywhere. It was like some horrific nightmare I'd had as a kid, but this time I couldn't run away by opening my eyes. That was the last thing I really wanted to do. I just wanted some damn sleep, but they never stopped coming. It seemed the only thing I had to look forward to, at this point, was smashing in every single bloody contorted face ‘til one of the bastards eventually...inevitably...gets a hold of me from behind.
That's the main downfall of traveling alone in this grotesque version of society. You can never really watch every side you need to watch. They come from behind when you're watching your front. They come from the left when you're swinging right. It's amusing in a forlorn sort of way. You always know "someone" is there with you whether you want them to be or not. It's just a matter of where.
Well, I'd been shacked up in this decrepit warehouse for weeks now trying to come up with a plan. The idea was to head as far south as possible. I'd heard they rot away faster in the Florida heat, so I was hoping that would give me a heads-up. They're slow as the dirt they crawled out of when their legs are just dangling. However, I've come to think this plan is as ridiculous as the idea that it's possible to survive in this new world. "Living" doesn't mean what it used to. Though, I guess I'm not really sure what it used to mean...I'd never been much of a liver. I was hardly a survivor either before all this started. Most days I'm not sure how the hell I'd managed to go this far without being turned. I guess hating company, and just really truly loving to smash in undead brains gives me a better chance at "survival?"
What am I supposed to do now that my impending doom is crawling toward me in groaning frenzy? Do I stand and fight? Do I run? Do I let them have me so I'll finally fit into some sort of social niche? Can I really let myself just give up like that? Oh my, the thoughts really take you over in a time like this don't they?
Of course I can't give up. I could be the last American in this god forsaken hellhole! ...I could be the last... What reason would I have to NOT give up then? Oh, right...I love to smash in zombie brains.
Hot damn! I love the deafening sound of a skull cracking beneath my timber in the morning.
Now for the other 30...