Free Fields of Rot by Jesse Dedman Page B

The only thing I could think about was of my friends and their personal stories. Lost and desperate for some sort of clue, I checked for any recent updates on Facebook. Comments of last minute moments smeared upon the wall and became difficult to stomach.
     
    I needed to get off the streets. I went for the house the officer tried. The front door was impossible, but the back door was unlocked. A home of modest size, the backdoor led into a suffocating kitchen with raided cabinets. Boxes of rice, packages of noodles, and other quick meals were strewn across the countertop. No signs of a fight or of a struggle, no splatter of blood, and no broken appliances or doors. Just a panic grab and go scenario.
    The living room was spacious, offered a decent place for rest, and I was fortunate to score a place with a wireless connection.
     
     
     
     
     
    Entry Eight, 12/15/2014
     
    The wireless router in the house is fine, all lights are green, but the connection is bogged to a point slower than dial-up. It took thirty minutes to load three minutes of an interesting video another Otaku friend of mine uploaded. Apparently, my town is not the only spot terrorized by the dead. Cities throughout the country are reporting swarms of strange, unexplainable activity. Still, the news stations are being little pussies about the situation. Why the fuck are they afraid to say zombie? These are rotting, soulless motherfuckers with the only cure being a bullet to the head. The forums of popular news stations took forever to load, and the material was just as infuriating as the wait. It was nice to stumble upon a few enlightened individuals, but there were those that dared to state that we shouldn’t be killing them, that there is a peaceful solution. People attacking those that claimed to have killed a few in self-defenses. Of course, religious nut jobs ranted and raved about how Armageddon has come, and our salvation is to pray to Jesus Christ. I’m not about to wait on my knees for salvation while those dead things continue to walk around.
     
    As I sit, waiting for my blog to refresh (which took several tries during a span of twenty minutes) the dead massed at the front door. I heard them bashing against the wood. It scared me at first, bringing me to uncontrollable shakes, but eventually it was like watching a dog trying to get a bone it cannot reach. I devoured the rest of my chocolate iced Pocky as I watched the rotten, mutilated arms bash through the narrow panes beside the door. No sense of pain, the zombies reached in franticly, jabbing their own arms into the surrounding shards of glass without any discomfort.
     
    During my wait, as I loaded another string of comments, I stocked up on all the supplies I could carry: Ramen noodles, chips, crackers, and other junk, all of it was needed. I only hurried when the commotion at the door grew louder. I could hear the deadbolt begin to give under the stress. I grabbed my bag and went to stash my laptop, when I noticed that several people have made comments that the zombie epidemic seems not to be the result of a virus. It didn’t seem to be the case, as one person, a brave college student, received a nasty bite. It appeared infected, but he hasn’t suffered any strange symptoms, yet. Some one dared to speculate a theory about a Hell Gate. This prediction fueled a debate that could’ve distracted me from the advancing legions of rot, but I quickly stashed the device and left for the back door.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Entry Nine, 12/16/2014
     
    I should be thankful that I met someone that is insane enough to encourage me to join him as he single handedly executes every walking corpse in a field behind his house. The man, who for the purpose of confidentiality will be referred to as James Mustang, seems happy. He walks around as if this strange episode was an answer long sought for, as if he secretly prayed for the day he could murder people with the strangest of all weapons: a bass