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!