Well folks, this may be the end for me. They’re beating down the door. John’s already been bitten. I’ve only got two shotgun shells left and the machete. They’re about to break down the door as I furiously type this last message. Whoever finds this…don’t take my stuff.

….
….

The pounding has stopped. Could it be? Could I be saved? I’m crawling over to the window, I’ll keep the laptop close.

Yes, the zombies have stopped! They’re gathering around the apartment. I can see them gathering in the parking lot and beyond. There’s hundreds of them, no doubt thousands, maybe even millions! Zombies everywhere, for as far as the eye can see! They are lined up, about arm length from each other. What are they doing?

They’re dancing! It takes me a minute and then I recognize it. It’s Thriller!

The zombies shuffle and dance quite elegantly. They contort and sway perhaps on par with the legendary Michael Jackson himself. I am watching this in disbelief, how can this be? Was the zombie apocalypse purely so the zombies could make the biggest flash mob ever?

I watch and wait and just as my computer clock hits twelve midnight, the zombies finish the song, fidget a little as if waiting for applause that doesn’t come, and then begin to shuffle away into the night. A moment later the door opens and John walks in, once again human and healthy. He looks at me, with my mouth hanging open and my eyes wide with surprise, and says, “Oh, hey. Did I eat today? I feel really bloated. Ugh. I’m going to bed.”

11:59 pm | Category: Writing, Zombies | | No Comments

I had to run over a few zombies getting to Fry’s. Nothing too bad, they seem to avoid the tarmac, probably because it burns their feet. At Fry’s, I thought a zombie was at the diary area, blocking the milk, and I touched the machete’s hilt, ready just in case…but it turned out to be an old lady who couldn’t seem to decide between 1% or 2%. She seemed either oblivious to the zombie threat or immune.

Most of the zombies congregated around the Starbucks coffee bags. I got an idea and while I ran past I grabbed a whole armful. The zombies didn’t even blink. They seemed to be trying to make their stubby, bony fingers work and open the bags. When I got to the parking lot, it was a different story. There were nearly four dozen zombies slowly shambling their way towards the sliding doors!

I saw my chance, an opening that would get me to my car and I ran. I tossed the bags of Starbucks coffee behind me and the zombies went right for it, ignoring me and allowing for my escape. I tossed the milk inside and slid into the driver’s seat and skidded out of the parking lot. That was a close one!

Now back in the safety of the apartment I watch the zombies from the window again. They seem to be attracted to movement — like a T-rex — and smell. Since they can’t seem to smell me in the apartment (I made sure to lock all the windows and doors) they seem oblivious to my presence. I try to stay perfectly still when I watch them. There was one close call when a zombie appeared and scared me. I jumped, he noticed, I tossed out the last of my coffee and while it isn’t Starbucks, it was enough for make him pause. These zombies seem to like coffee and brains, interesting.

Right now, I’m watching a zombie munch on a kid’s arm and stop when the kid turns into a zombie, himself. Well, the kid shouldn’t've cut in the line for the slide, zombies don’t take kindly to people who cut in line.

More later, as this zombie apocalypse continues.

7:28 pm | Category: Writing, Zombies | | No Comments

Still here. There’s more of them this time than last time. Dozens upon dozens have descended upon the apartment complex. They seem to like the children’s playground, particularly the slide. I watch them climb up the wooden ladder and slide down. Some of them smile, their lips cracking open, and some can’t smile anymore — no lips.

My current kill count is 3, not very high but I don’t want to risk anything. The last thing I need is zombies munching on my brain. But, when I opened the door to get the mail, some stragglers saw me and shambled towards me with arm’s outstretched like they wanted to hug me. Yeah, that’s one hug I don’t need — no touchy, you zombies, unless you want to kiss my machete. I haven’t even needed to use the shotgun yet.

I’m out of milk. Damn, I need to head to Fry’s and those damn zombies are out there. That’s OK, that’s OK. I can’t let these zombies rule my life and I need my Quaker Oats breakfast. I’ve got weapons and a car. I can do it.

10:47 am | Category: Writing, Zombies | | No Comments

I remember the horrific events of last year I was ready this time. A large machete, a shotgun, some boxes of shells, and an MP3 player full of music sit in the corner as I look out of the window suspiciously. I know it will happen, it happens every year. They come out from whatever dark corner that they are hiding in.

I smell them first. After all, it’s over one hundred degrees today, so it’s not surprising that the smell comes first. It smells sweet and cloying like garbage left outside too long — like rotten meat. When they finally come into sight, I can say it. “Zombies,” I murmur. Their skin is ghastly. Most of their skin has discolored, being dead for so long, and some have little strips hanging down and wiggling as they move. Each zombie is unique, like a snowflake. Some have eyes that are protruding from their face because their eyelids have rotted away. Some have atrophied muscles showing because the skin has scraped off. Some, the bone in their jaw can be seen, white like snow. Some, their teeth are large and ghastly because their lips have rotted away.

“Ugly fuckers,” I say, reaching for my shotgun. It’s going to be a long day.

I’ll journal again, but right now I’ve got to discourage some undead from snacking on my brain.

8:24 am | Category: Writing, Zombies | | 1 Comment