Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #24

16 October - 10:44 P.M.

A light rain broke out just a short while ago. Thank God. I closed my eyes and caught raindrops in my mouth, no longer trusting the bottled water that I’d hauled up here a few days ago. The water was salty sweet, reminding me of Sour Patch Kids candies that I ate when I was a kid. I sat there, my head spinning, relieved that I could put something in my body that wouldn’t come back up.

I’m nearly out of food, but I doubt I’d eat anyways. No, I’m going to have to find a new source of food. Even if I have to kill it with my bare hands.

I laid my head against the sign and watched it flicker briefly. I felt so numb. I could barely feel my legs. “Ekeziel, provide for me,” I whispered to the empty streets.

The rain stopped and clouds rolled into the distance. At first, I mistook it as a bad sign. “Vindictive, aren’t you, Ezekiel?” I mumbled, feeling more and more like the rotting corpses below.

My thoughts darkened and I cursed the sky for teasing my thirsty mouth. And as I sat in a stupor, eyes stinging in the light breeze, I realized that my stomach was no longer rumbling, my head no longer throbbing.

Ezekiel had provided.

And with the wind so went my hunger.

Nethersteam: Diary of the Undead - Entry #23

16 October - 12:23 P.M.

I’ve read about entire cultures surviving on snails, worms and insects when famine was rife and there was little to choose from, and I don’t have an inkling how they did it. It takes a certain kind of stomach to survive on dirt, if need be. An ironclad one that isn’t easily disrupted and turned inside out.

Obviously I’m not one of those diehard survivors. For the second time in two days, I can’t keep my food down. It’s no coincidence. Everything is poisoned, right down to the last leaf of lettuce and grain of rice. Even wild mushrooms are unpalatable. And then there’s the water.

This whole thing reminds me of the Japanese reactors in Fukushima that got pummeled by the tsunami. The radioactive leakage tainted everything and the lifespan of the entire population was curbed substantially. Sea life died and nothing was imported from Japan for a short time. Then everything went back to normal, but the people didn’t realize that they were being poisoned at an alarming rate. “It’s healthy, don’t worry about it,” the governments here and abroad tried to comfort us. Then more people got sick and the experiments began, one more stepping stone to where we are today.

The zombies here are different. Though I hadn’t noticed before, their bodies are pocked with boils and rashes. Perhaps I’d better get my hands on that armor sooner rather than later.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #22

16 October - 10:17 A.M.

Snails, again. How darn strange!

Every time after a purge—where hundreds if not thousands of zombies have fallen—a downpour ensues, followed by a rash of snails that crawl out of the earth. Their tiny, spiral shells make me stare in wonder. Despite all of this, they’re thriving.

Is this what happens to the undead when they die? They become escargot? Perhaps it completes the cycle, so to speak. Do they return as primitive life forms, working up the food chain until they become human again? I do not pretend to have all the answers and there are some that believe this very thing. What if you accidentally eat your ancestors? Do they have to start all over again even further back? Sorry mom, I didn’t realize it was you.

That’s quite a leap, especially from the evolutionary side of things. But what about the spiritual side? Simplifying the creature and paring back its senses and intellectual capacity might strengthen its spirit, allowing it to evolve into a more complex creature once it is ready. Are humans at the top of the ladder? Or are there other forms that we have not been exposed to yet? Or are we all just fodder for the living earth, in a constant struggle to rise to the spiritual plane?

All of us, no matter the creature or size, must take the journey. Lessons not learned must be repeated again and again, at the most primitive levels if necessary, to strengthen the spirit, layer by layer, so that it may soar on its own one day.

Of course, snails aren’t the most religious of sorts. So how can they be spiritual? Butterflies exhibit a certain flair that distinguishes it from other creatures. An aura of freedom radiates from its wings, sparking the imaginations of those that lay eyes on them. But are they spiritual or just insects? Don’t free spirits choose their destiny, even if their choices are simply fly left or right? Hunt or sleep? Does being connected to this universe qualify them in any way? Or perhaps none of us are?

How many of us wish to be a butterfly and just fly away from these problems? It would be a simpler life, for sure, and perhaps more rewarding.

I pluck a snail off the sign and remove it from its shell. “What about you, little one? Are you a spiritual being?” I whisper. “Or are you just lunch?” I threw it in my mouth and gulped it down.

Thunder erupts in the distance, turning my blood ice cold and skin into gooseflesh. Did I just anger the gods? Or perhaps they’re just telling me to shut up and eat?

I toss another in my mouth. Then another. It was a bit slimier than hush puppies, but at least I wasn’t going to starve to death. When the rain fell in my thirsty mouth and thunder erupted once more, I realized what this was all about.

God will provide if you ask him to.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #21

15 October - 8:02 A.M.

Henry be nimble
Henry be quick
Henry ate too many hushpuppies
And got really sick

Supplies are running low, and what was left of my stash got upchucked on a pair of passing zombies that strolled into town this morning. Since it was still dark, they couldn’t figure out where the projectile vomit had come from and quickly attacked the body next to them. Thankfully the military didn’t notice, or at least appeared not to. I waited for them to pluck me from my cozy perch and blow me to smithereens, but nothing happened.

Whew!

Inevitably, I will need to raid the kitchen again. The hushpuppies I ate were growing old and stale. Not everything green is good for you.

Though the power to the building is erratic, the freezer remains cool. Likely there are other things that I can cook up in there, but I’ll have to do so quietly. I can’t afford for anyone living or dead to detect me or it will be me in the fryer.

Speaking of fryers, one works fine but the other next to it spits up hot oil. I can’t recall which works properly. Was it the right or the left? Perhaps the zombies can help sort it out for me.

If I have to eat hushpuppies till I die, then that’s how it’s going to be. But that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Death by hushpuppy? There are far worse ways to die, and it sure beats the heck out of what zombies eat. No wonder their teeth keep falling out of their heads. They might want to think about changing their diets. And flossing.

And wouldn’t it be foolish to die in the act of cooking hushpuppies? Can you imagine the tombstone?

Oh my
This guy died
Just to fry
A few savory
Cornballs

or

Oh, Henry!
Didn’t momma tell you
Hushpuppies are bad for you?

The jokes would be endless! Don’t be the punch line unless there’s no one else living to laugh about it.

Ultimately, I will stay here and starve to death or roll the dice and take my chances downstairs. The circumstances aren’t so dire that I need to make a decision yet, but once I run out of fluids, my hand will be forced.

But not today.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #20

15 October - 6:46 A.M.

If I’m going to die here, I should at least know the name of the town where I’ll be buried. This place is a bit of an anomaly. There are only a few residences before the small downtown emerges. The construction is newer and paint still fresh; far more pristine than anything I’ve stumbled across. Perhaps they’d just begun building the supporting residential infrastructure when all hell broke loose.

Or perhaps it was planned this way.

This ghost town is better served without a name. There is one that keeps popping up, though: Ezekiel. I’ve seen it printed on flyers throughout town and a few of the shops bear its name. The biblical implications unnerve me, but it’s better than Cannibal Creek or Manson Hills.

All right, Ezekiel. Tell God that I know he’s watching over me. And if it’s not him, then someone else certainly is. No doubt he thinks he's God as well.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #19

14 October - 6:11 P.M.

Is there any leaving this place now? If they catch me fleeing, they’ll gun me down. Certainly they have the technology to do so, and it’s amazing that they haven’t discovered me yet.

Why is that?

With all of their toys, why can’t they locate the intruder in their midst? Is it my charming personality that keeps me off the radar? Or perhaps it’s the hushpuppies. They’ll make a zombie out of anyone who eats enough of them.

I look around and it slowly dawns on me. It’s the sign, stupid. The electric sign must be giving off some kind of electromagnetic interference, allowing me to go undetected. As long as the sign keeps going, I’ll be alive.

It’s a good thing that the robot didn’t slice up the Chowderhouse; otherwise, my head would be in a pile along with all of the others below. Next time I won’t be so lucky. Before the lights go off, which inevitably they will, I must make my escape.

Time for me to disappear. Over and out.

Nethersteam: Diary of the Undead - Entry #18

14 October - 3:33 P.M.

What the heck was that?!

I was just sitting around, watching a group of zombies fight over some unlucky son-of-a-gun’s humerus when something large strolled into town. The gray robot was about twelve feet tall with a rocket launcher mounted on one shoulder and Gatling gun on the other. It headed straight for me, one hydraulic foot stomping after the other, reminding me of a high noon showdown.

It didn’t bother cloaking itself; it just walked right up to me and stopped.

“This is it,” I thought to myself. Surely they’d seen me by now. “Was it the hushpuppies?” I asked. There was still half a bag left and more in the kitchen. Since the unit still had power, I could cook up a batch of frozen dough from the freezer. Heck, these didn’t taste half bad, and I was certain that the dough was still good. Perhaps I could offer a few.

The robot stood there, unmoving.

My heart raced. Would it do any good to beg for my life? And what if they hadn’t seen me yet? Who was I kidding? The game was up! If I didn’t want to be blown to bits, I’d have to comply with their every demand, which I wasn’t sure if I was ready to do yet.

No, begging for my life was out of the question. At the first sign of weakness, they’d exterminate me along with all of the other mindless lemmings. They might even mount my head on the empty plaque in the dining room below. There were eight in all. Was I worthy of that wall?

The gray behemoth stared into my soul.

“Please…don’t,” the words escaped me as I heard a low rumble surging behind his titanium enclosure.

Below, a zombie took notice of me. Somehow he’d heard my whispers over the robot’s engines, or perhaps he’d finally caught onto my scent. When that happened, I had a whole new problem entirely. If the zombies didn’t know that I was up here before, they certainly did now. And I couldn’t just set fire to the neighborhood like I did a few months ago. The soldiers would cut me up and feed me to the hordes one piece at a time if I tried such a thing. It was a good idea not to piss them off.

Metal turbines on the robot’s upper back grinded furiously, lifting its feet off the ground.

This was it. I had no choice whether I lived or died next. It could blow me to kingdom come or fly off into space. But I would not give up my position, not even to surrender. There was still a chance, however slim as it seemed.

Arcs of white light streaked over the robot’s metal skin.

I didn’t move a muscle, couldn’t move a muscle. I just sat there in awe, a lowly, humble servant about to meet his maker. If this is it, let it be swift. I am ready for you, Bethany. Let your love lift me into your care.

As I stared down the barrel of his mounted run, it slid aside. Three blades of light emerged from his balled fists. He surged forward, floating over the land with ease, and swiped the unsuspecting zombie hordes. Torsos and limbs were severed off with surgical precision. Heads bounced off the pavement; arms and intestines entangled on low-hanging signs. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! It sliced the air, and in the blink of an eye, their ranks were cut in half.

When the zombies finally realized that they needed to defend themselves or crawl back into their holes, it was over. The metal titan had dispensed of them in seconds without firing a shot. In a gratuitous sense of timing akin to winning the lottery, I thanked him from the bottom of my heart as he touched down and stomped away, careful not to let the words reach my lips this time.

Forget about the armor. I had to get one of those!

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #17

14 October - 1:10 P.M.

Crap! Is that a third soldier walking around? It looks like I’m not going anywhere. I’ll just sit back with my stash of hushpuppies and bottled water and enjoy the festivities.

It helps that there’s no direct access to the balcony. It’s for show only, a false stage to watch the real fireworks below. I had to scale the outer walls before I could climb over the railing and hide behind the flickering electric sign. Light attracts everything: bugs, zombies, humans and the like. Perhaps that was the first clue that I would find trouble here, but it’s too late now. I’m stuck on Park Place without a pair of dice to move me to the next square. What will it take to pass Go and collect my shiny souvenir? A little blood? My life?

It would be great to have the cloaking ability that these soldiers do, but technology like that comes at a price. Once I get my hands on it, I’ll be swapping one predator for another. They’ll hunt me down and reclaim their hardware unless I can convince them that I’m the least of their worries.

I’m harmless, really. I just want to protect myself—is that too much to ask? If they were in my position surely they’d do the same thing, but is that really an advantage? Does anyone feel anything anymore? I don’t want to hurt anyone; I just want to collect what I can and move on to the cycle.

Perhaps one of the soldiers will make a mistake and expose himself. I can’t expect them to hand over the armor voluntarily. But if I set the trap, am I willing to kill for it? With so many hungry mouths to feed, perhaps I won’t have to.

It’s tempting to jump down and walk around a little. My legs are cramped and I could use the exercise. Unfortunately, my vantage point only tells me so much of what’s actually going on down there. I hear things…horrible things…especially at night. What horrors are waiting for me down below?

The last thing I need is a whole football team of zombies chasing me into the horizon. There’s no choice. I must sit and wait.

I’ll just treat this as a Sunday Afternoon Double Feature. Perhaps I’ll see her.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #16

14 October - 9:35 A.M.

They say that the male mind thinks a sexual thought every few minutes. Heck, I must be dead already. Indulging in such fantasies is a luxury, and it’s not as if there’s much to choose from these days, unless you like yours dead and rotting and foaming at the mouth. Kinda like my ex-girlfriends, but with more teeth. (Did they have that many teeth to begin with?)

Still, the thought of a healthy female intrigues me. Not to have sex with, just to talk to. No, seriously. She could be a thousand pounds as long as she had an ear to listen. Am I really that bad for desiring companionship of the female persuasion? Tomorrow I could die. Who else would understand how much I Ioved Bethany than another woman? Perhaps I can find some peace in talking about it. I’m only human.

Katey, Sierra and Lindy were my life. I love you, darlings! Somehow I must bury you in this heart of hearts and carry on. Then one day, when this is over and I’m sitting back in my padded chair, it will all come pouring out, page after page, volume after volume.

I will fill up entire libraries about you, my angels. Let others know how your nose flared when you were mad, Lindy, and you snorted like a piglet when you laughed. Or that you, Sierra, had won a spelling bee with the word ‘antitoxin’ a week before the outbreak. The world that never knew you will hear of you one day, and understand in graphic detail what the plague has cost us and why it must never be repeated again.

Rest well, my darlings. Daddy will be with you soon.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #15

14 October - 6:25 A.M.

If it’s brains they’re after, no wonder I’m still alive.

I rambled on and on and forgot to talk about the bizarre incident that occurred last night. A second soldier—a man, no less—decided it was time to take screw around with the witless walkers. As he materialized at the other end of town, a chicken crossed his path. Now I don’t know if it was an undead chicken or it had escaped from Kentucky Fried Chicken and certainly a joke about it crossing the road belongs here, but for all I know it was just an ordinary chicken. With metal claws, the metal soldier swatted it aside, shearing off the poor creature’s head.

The zombies watched the chicken run in circles, not sure what to make of it. Even my eyes grew wider the longer it ran around. Briefly I imagined plucking and frying and eating its warm flesh. Had it really been a year since I’d had the colonel’s secret recipe?

Oddly enough, the zombies shrugged and went about their business. Only when it ran into the zombies’ legs did they moan and retaliate. After slapping the chicken away, they looked up and found a new thing to preoccupy themselves with. A metal ball floated overhead and paused over a group of them. A whitish-blue strobe light flashed in their eyes, disorienting them and causing them to fall to their knees. With the brief sound of a digital heartbeat, the orb pulsated and then shot up into the air and disappeared.

Once they’d collected themselves, the zombies took interest in the headless beast and tore it to shreds. They were also noticeably faster now, not the bumbling fools that they had been just a few moments before. They devoured the chicken, bones and all, and then turned on each other.

All the while, the soldier did not bother cloaking himself. He just stood there observing the chaos until the zombies turned their attention back to the empty streets.

The soldiers had quite a collection of toys. Hopefully the bright lights hadn’t affected me.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #14

14 October - 6:00 A.M.

What a strange night. Something’s not right here, and it’s best to move on.

But I can’t.

It turns out there’s another soldier down there, and he’s well armed. Nothing can pierce his metal plating—certainly not the bullets from my pathetic rifle. I need to get my hands on that armor if I’m going to level the playing field. It would make all the difference in the world.

This place is a test zone and I’m the rat trying to find the edges of the maze. Each passing moment I’m more and more convinced of it. Hopefully neither soldier has spotted me yet. I need to keep it that way or things will go badly for me. The key to all of this is the armor. I just need to figure out a way to coax it off them.

“Most likely the armor has a tracking mechanism,” says a voice in my head.

“Fine. Then I’ll tear it out,” I reply.

“And what if it encumbers you to the point that you can no longer outrun zombies?”

“I’m having a hard enough time outrunning them as it is. Eventually they’re going to catch up with me, with or without the armor.”

In the end it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna get my hands on that shiny, metal skin or die trying. It’s too good of an opportunity to pass up—a gift from the heavens that promises to keep me safe while I sleep. And good sleep is worth killing for.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #13

13 October - 7:53 P.M.

All of this waiting around is killing me. Eventually they’ll look up at the neon sign and discover me hiding in the O. Occasionally the sign flickers on, but I have no idea what powers it. The lights in the other buildings don’t seem to work.

Why does the Chowderhouse Café have its own power supply? Is it by design? Perhaps all of this is one big experiment?

My thoughts are beginning to scare me just as much as the zombies downstairs. I don’t want to think anymore. Over and out.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #12

13 October - 4:44 P.M.

Wow, writing these journals is addictive. Who would have thought? I better take a break and round up more food before it gets dark. Ugh!

I watch another zombie’s head explode and stop dead in my tracks. What am I thinking? Those things are down there, slithering among the undead, and then there’s the matter of the invisible soldiers.

It’s not safe, and best to stay where I am. They might scoop me up and use me for a science project once I’m down there. In the meantime, I’ll just keep writing these journals. My stomach is grumbling, but I can deal with it. Hopefully the zombies won’t destroy the last of the food in the pantry downstairs. It’s a chance that I must take, but being hungry sure beats being dead.

Still, I need to find out more about the synaptic snakes before they discover me. But not tonight. Something tells me that I’ll find out soon enough.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #11

13 October - 4:02 P.M.

Look at me—I’m writing all the time. This is good. Really good!

One would think that the apocalypse is over with all of the free time I have. But when you find a safe nook, killing time takes on a whole new meaning. I am thankful, though—I have a cozy spot while others are sprinting for cover. Still, my supplies will only take me so far.

I must make the best of this unexpected lull. And keep churning out pages.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #10

13 October - 2:54 P.M.

What’s wrong with me? Is the desire for the flesh all that consumes me? Heck, I sound like a zombie already.

Though I may falter from time to time, I will not dishonor my family’s memory. I must not die foolishly; in spite of everything, they would want me to survive this and carry on our good name. I owe it to them to make things right.

I can die in many ways, but I must not invite ruin when it presents itself. Simple temptations can provoke doom in these lands if you let them. My family is not just a pile of ash scattering in the cold breeze. They are here with me, every step of the way.

I know you are watching, my love. When this is all over, there will only be you. Death cannot steal you from me.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #9

13 October - 2:33 P.M.

She spots me in the distance and takes off her shiny, mirrored helmet. Blond wisps of hair fall out and are caught by the wind, trailing off into infinity. Her blue eyes pierce me from a mile away and electrify the otherwise dull landscape. Slowly she removes her body armor, revealing a skin-tight black jumpsuit with a silver zipper down the middle. She runs her fingers through her golden hair and steps towards me. Could this really be happening?

Her hands trace over her shapely breasts before making their way towards the zipper. She hesitates at first and then gradually pulls down the zipper. It’s a hot day, after all—what must a girl do to cool off these days? Midway down, I begin to see the edges of her magnificent cleavage. Great heavens. She wants me. She really wants me!

I’m ready to jump off the balcony and slay a million zombies with a plastic fork until I feel the cool edge of the barrel against my head. Quickly she zips herself up and crosses her arms. Not this time. Not ever.

Her betrayal is the last thing I ponder before my captor pulls the trigger. Yes, please…shoot me in the head…

My gruesome departure springs me back to reality. I rub my eyes and try to shake the vision from my head.

I can fantasize, right? I mean, what hurt could that do?

A lot, actually.

Perhaps I should get a dog.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #8

13 October - 2:20 P.M.

Jeezzz…how long has it been since I’ve seen a woman? One that’s alive, that is. Or one that hasn’t wanted to kick me in the nuts and make off with my ammunition and supplies?

Women. They make life much more interesting and far less lonely…

What am I saying? Am I honoring the memory of my wife and children by slobbering over another woman? It’s not like I’ve seen her face yet, and she’d probably kill me if she knew I was out here.

I said that I’d never love another woman and I meant it. Bethany still occupies a special place in my heart and there isn’t room for another. Besides, I’d just compare my new love with Bethany and that isn’t fair to anyone.

It’s been almost a year since my wife’s death, and I must seek the help of others. But I’m at peace going it alone, and in charge of my own destiny. There’s no one else to blame but me.

And what would my wife say if she were dying? Would she tell me to move on and find another? Would I wish the same? Though I might say these words with the world slipping from my grasp, I’d never want another man between my wife’s legs. Ever. Surely she’d feel the same.

No, my wife would want me to survive and that’s it. Maybe even write a book about it. It’s too risky getting close to others. Another woman would mean the end of me, Game Over. So I will honor her request and find a way to endure.

No beer, no drugs and certainly no women.

Damn.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #7

13 October - 1:10 P.M.

Do zombies’ heads normally explode on their own? That’s what I wondered as I peered over the second story balcony. Perhaps they were getting too brainy, trying to solve the Riemann hypothesis before making a meal of their neighbor. They could also be thinking about their ex-wives. Yeah, that ought to do it.

I rubbed my eyes and looked through the riflescope again, just to make sure that I wasn’t deceiving myself. Snap, snap snap…plop! Another one bit the dust. That’s strange. I didn’t recall any gunfire at the time. Something else was supplying the fireworks.

I’d been hiding on top of a seafood restaurant for the past two days, overlooking a small ghost town in the middle of the woods. The fish had gone bad, but the zombies didn’t seem to mind the smell. I was able to salvage a few delicacies from the pantry below: oyster crackers, breadsticks, ketchup, ranch dressing, croutons, bottled water, Arizona Iced Tea and delicious hush puppies.

Ah, hush puppies…how I worship you, almighty hush puppy! Few meals are known to expand the stomach and trick you into believing that you’re full. A few pieces with a little honey butter on top are all I need and I’m good for the evening. That’ll keep me alive longer and prevent my stomach from rumbling in the middle of a firefight. What more can I ask for?

Suddenly another zombie’s head exploded, causing me to drop my esteemed piece of fried dough. Even with a little dirt on it, it still tasted marvelous. You didn’t think that I’d let it go to waste, did you?

I tried to imagine an angle that a shot could have come from. Nothing. It was really just me up here.

Another head exploded. Then another. Hey, I could get used to this. There’s nothing better than a town filled with self-deprecating meatheads. That is, until I saw something slithering out of their skulls.

Perhaps they’ve had one too many of these mind-blowing hush puppies.

The creatures were about a foot in length and pale like the gray matter that they gestated in. Zombies tried to pursue their quick, snake-like movements, but were far too slow. And when one tried to block the raptor’s path, it burrowed right through the zombie’s stomach.

The zombie stood there, staring at its dangling entrails and confusing them with the creature that had just passed through. He chomped away at his own intestines, feeling no worse for wear while the parasite slithered away. Others joined in the festivities, taking a bite of their neighbor’s tasty, slimy guts. For a moment, he was the life of the party until his innards ran out and his restless guests devoured the rest of him.

The creature almost made a clean getaway until something scooped it up. Like magic, the worm floated in the air, both heads snapping at the unknown force. Was David Copperfield in the audience?

Briefly the soldier materialized, a bevy of mirrored armor covering it from head to toe. It tied the creature in a knot, shoved it in a foil bag, and walked away. Though I wanted to get a better look through my scope, I remained still. The soldier stopped, looked over their shoulder, and scanned the area carefully. A moment later their armor glowed and they disappeared from view.

“What the heck?” I whispered to myself. I must be in the middle of a top-secret military project. And there was something else that caught my eye. The stranger…moved like a woman…

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #6

13 October - 11:51 A.M.

The higher the elevation, the more likely you are to survive. At least that’s been my experience thus far. But what about going underground or below sea level? Does the theory still hold up then?

No doubt there are nuclear submarines circling the seven seas at this very moment. They must feel like gods! Armed to the teeth and virtually untouchable, they can endure extreme conditions and blow away anything in their path. As long as they keep their systems running and crews motivated, they’re golden.

Over the years they’ve trained for situations like this, with nuclear war as the catalyst. They’ve been instructed what to do if the planet became uninhabitable and few people remained. Although a global pandemic may have seemed unlikely at the time, they prepared for it nonetheless. I wouldn’t be surprised if they parked themselves in Antarctica, fed off penguins and sea lions, and waited this out.

If I were in space, I’d do everything I could to delay returning to earth. None of NASA’s designated landing spots are secure and the airports are teeming with death and plague. Landing at sea would be safer, but to what end? Ultimately, everyone has to return to shore.

Personally, I’d prefer to sit atop Pike’s Peak and pick off zombies following me up, but I’m better off sticking to rooftops. Sure, there’s still far too much company than I’m comfortable with, but at least you have some maneuverability and occasional access to food. Besides, whether I’m on the Love Boat or holed up in the Sky Hotel in Aspen, supplies always run thin and every outpost falters eventually.

It also gets lonely. Very lonely.

Perhaps the zombies can point out someone I missed.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #5

13 October - 8:09 A.M.

How bad is the infestation? Imagine every person that you’ve ever known coming back to life and chasing you for your flesh.

Now multiply that by a thousand.

No, more.

Before the outbreak, there were approximately four million residents living in the D.C. metropolitan area. Obviously you haven’t had the chance to meet all of them, but if you wait long enough, I’m sure they’ll introduce themselves to you.

But those are just the recently deceased. How many have died over the past decade? And how many are still intact enough to pose a threat? This number could easily be two or three times more.

Knocking off ten or twenty on a cool afternoon might make you feel invincible, but in the grand scheme of things, you’ve accomplished little. Snuffing out a legion of 10,000 zombies in a small neighborhood like I did is just a drop in the bucket. You’ll have to do it hundreds of times before you begin to thin the herds.

Feeders like to migrate, and it isn’t surprising to get transients from Maryland, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, New York, Delaware, North Carolina and Tennessee. At least there are some rivers in between; otherwise, it would be the Million Man March on the nation’s capital every morning.

Without much in the way of rivers or access to the sea, those guys in the Midwest sure are screwed. Hopefully they can climb high enough to avoid capture. But as I’ve found, zombies have a knack for climbing, too.

To get a handle on the situation, perhaps it would be better to blow up all of Old Dominion. But I’m not willing to give up on Virginia just yet. She’s been good to me thus far.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #4

12 October - 10:41 P.M.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have said a few things, but once my mind gets going it’s hard to stop. I’ve been unable to forget that moment when I lost Bethany, and often replay it in my sleep. Sometimes I’m the one who gets bitten, other times it’s my wife. When I awake, I find more comfort in the nightmare than the cruel world around me.

No…I’ve gotta stop thinking like that...Must stay positive…I promised them…

Eventually I found myself trapped in the attic. The first floor became indefensible even though I had cleared it room-by-room several times before. Just when I’d catch my breath and stare at my unbroken skin in disbelief, fresh waves arrived. Quickly it became obvious that I had chosen the wrong house to defend, and no amount of fortifications would ever hold them off. Once the attic became unsafe, I found myself on the roof, where I’ve been ever since.

That dang roof! The wind and rain were unforgiving, making the night unbearable. Still I scraped by. Barely.

Zombies seldom made it to the roof, and when they did, it was fun throwing them off headfirst and watching their skulls splatter on the pavement. I was utterly exposed up there, and in time, I had no choice but to jump from roof to roof and spend quality time with the neighbors.

For the longest time I complained about the crappy job that the contractors did constructing our neighborhood. The houses were too close together, creating a fire hazard. Now I appreciated their incompetence. If necessary, I could light them up and make them fall like dominoes.

Zombies wandered from house to house and swarmed wherever they found warm flesh. Since there were only a few hundred, they tended to overrun one house at a time. By jumping from one house to the next, I could hide out for a while, raid it of vital supplies, catch a few winks of sleep, and move the next door over when things got dicey.

Searching for survivors was pointless. They were either dead or crazy or adamant about sticking it out alone. When the last one fell and I felt truly alone, I knew that it was only a matter of time before I blew this joint.

I searched every home hoping that I was wrong—every last one—but not a soul survived. I stuck it out for four months before the zombies overwhelmed Echo Springs and I had no choice but to set the block on fire and hightail it out of there.

The home I once cherished was now ash, the remnants of my family tucked neatly underneath. I’m glad it’s gone now; otherwise, I’d be tempted to go back. And going back meant death.

“You’re still with me, here in my heart.” I offered a shot of Corner Creek to the charcoal sky.

Somehow I’ll build a new life for us. Somehow.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #3

12 October - 6:43 P.M.

Before I ramble, perhaps I should say something about myself, for posterity’s sake. I am Henry Smith. I know what you’re thinking. Another darn Smith, right? At one time, millions shared the same surname. Every day it grows that much more uncommon, o’ mighty clan of Smith. Heck, I might even be the last one standing.

I’m the proud father of three young, beautiful girls. At least I was. All have passed away now, along with my darling wife Bethany. Incinerating their corpses was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But they had become infected and were coming for me.

Bethany had no chance at all. She stood in horror, watching the school bus veer off the road as it entered our neighborhood and crashed into a house. After several desperate minutes, my daughter Katy crawled out from the wreckage. For a moment my wife was happy to see her until she noticed the change that she’d undertaken. Soon Katy was running on broken legs, but not for consolation. Something had taken hold of her. She was hungry. Ravenously hungry.

The sound of the crash sent me running into the street as well, just in time for me to witness the murder and transformation of my beloved wife. Katy would not stop biting her neck, and after awhile, Bethany stopped resisting her. Soon, the two turned their attention towards me. In that split second, I promised myself that I would not go out the same way, and search for my other daughters who were still at school.

I was no less mortal that day than the others grieving their loved ones. I, too, would rather die than raise a hand against them. Like a coward, I ran back to the house and locked the door. I barely outran my hobbling daughter before Bethany realized my utility. But I could not harm either of them, even though they meant to tear me limb from limb.

Of course, granting undead family members safe passage comes at great personal risk. Though dead, they can still remember all the secret ways into the house, like the basement window that would not close and small gazebo that could be scaled to gain access to the second story guest room. Although no school buses arrived for my other two daughters, Lindy eventually found her way home and brought plenty of friends. As for Sierra, I can only hope that she made it out alive. Please, be safe.

It wasn’t until they cornered me in the attic that I finally snapped. I grabbed a hammer from an old, rusty toolbox and kept swinging until I’d smashed every last one of their skulls.

It’s taken me months to forgive myself for dismembering their corpses.

I wish I could say the same for the other survivors.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #2

12 October - 5:01 A.M.

That’s it.

I need to do this. Every day until I die, if necessary.

This is the one place where I can unload all of the problems that are eating at me. So much happens these days that it’s hard to keep my head straight. Eventually I will succumb; there are just too darn many of them. By leaving behind these words, hopefully someone will find the strength to keep going.

One can only lose sleep for so long before crumbling to this cruel existence. I’ve been lucky thus far, and have been able to rest up when necessary. Still, I could use more. Heck, I could always use more. Just one night’s sleep is all I’m asking for.

I must not give up hope. Every problem brings a solution. And opportunity.

If anything, this journal is a reminder that I haven’t turned yet—that there’s a life worth fighting for! And all of those simple pleasures would just slip through the cracks if I didn’t take a moment to reflect.

I must honor the memory of those who have given their lives to help get me this far. They will not be soon forgotten, and this is as good a place as any to lay down their bones. I’ll write their names in my own blood, if necessary. Those who endured the apocalypse must live on in some meaningful way. I will make note of this, blow by blow, moment by moment.

There’s a way out of this. I can feel it in my veins. There’s something I’m missing, something that I’ve been exposed to and promptly forgotten. The answer is buried deep within me. It’s just the matter of getting it all out of me.

Though weary and pathetic, I have survived.

I must help others do the same, even if it’s only recounting my adventures.

This is my legacy, a legacy worth fighting for.

Netherstream: Diary of the Undead - Entry #1

10 October

Halloween is fast approaching, but by the looks of things many have already dressed the part. Pallid faces stumble by, without a healthy sheen or spark of life among them. It’s a shame that I can’t have a normal conversation with anyone these days and have to settle for the grunts and moans of these brazen lunatics. Perhaps I set my expectations too high.

There is a basement to this pit of despair, and several more below it. Things will only get worse if I let them. I must keep my wits about me and try to remain positive if I am to survive this.

It’s uncommonly cold this October, with temperatures plummeting into the single digits. No doubt this is due to the merciless clouds overhead and fog that licks the ground. Its dreary cast swallows everything, bleeding the land of color and the dwindling hope that I cling to.

Adventurers that once came for a cheap thrill need only cross the Potomac. After a few steps, they’ll get more than they bargained for, punctuated by the deathly chill that blows through these ravaged lands.

Surviving the winter won’t be easy.

But surviving the undead hordes will take a miracle.

Hopefully I still have one left in me.

Netherstream - Case File: Tabitha

Weary

I may be

Fallen

Light-headed

Burnt by the sun

Can anything ease

The dark hunger within

Anything

I’d give anything

Just to reel it in