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.
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