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.