Subject: A World Gone Wrong
I'm fucked. You're fucked. Everybody's fucked. I'm not the news watching type of guy but THE SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN. And by SHIT I mean Zombies. And by FAN I mean the entire fucking continent.
It started like any other regular world-wide pandemic. Thousands of unlucky tourists came down with a bad case of chronic diarrhoea from digesting some questionable cucumbers in the south of Spain, or at least that's what the press was telling us. The tummy rumbles eventually became the last of the poor bugger's problems when their bodies decomposed and shut down. This was a pretty bad blow for Spain, knowing that they had a box of killer cucumbers taking up space somewhere, but it was also bad for the rest of Europe, especially when body bags in hospitals everywhere started bursting open and giving birth to flesh eating zombies. Some of which still smelt like cucumber induced diarrhoea.
This was a month ago. Four solid weeks of absolute confinement. The first week was a bit of a mess. Every news channel had their own, twisted story. Twitter then blew things even more out of proportion when its various B-List celebrities began complaining about the legion of dead people stomping around in their pristine gardens and eating their pristine children. Internet forums, mostly the dark, conspiracy themed ones with the abundance of neon-green fonts, had been actively rebelling against the cucumber theory, dismissing it as a cover up story for something much more diabolical. But before anyone could come up with a logical conclusion, the internet was fried. And lets be honest now, without the internet we may as well just be a bunch of monkey's sitting around and flinging shit at each other.
It took only a few days for the infection to spread its wings and make the short trip to Great Britain. The suits in charge did their best to prevent the spread by locking down the airports and docks, and terminating access to the Eurotunnel. This only sent the country spinning into a deeper outrage, and did little to prevent the infection creeping through the nation. Within hours the disease had managed to squeeze its way into the United Kingdom, tainting a huge chunk of the population. The merest signs of illness would mean your door being knocked from its hinges and a group of masked men wheeling you away to die in the comfort of a quarantined hospital bed, amongst thousands of others.
It worked for a day or two, but you can't monitor everybody all the time. Eventually someone caught the cucumber bug and tried to fight, and failed. They then proceeded to shit their pants and turn into a rampaging zombie.
What remained of the police forces that manned the major cities were easily overwhelmed. And it's easy to see how; the first zombie infects two people, those two zombies infect two other. And so on, and so on. Our last hope was the military, they were called in and given explicit orders to shoot anything without a functioning brain. Soon it became hard to differentiate between a zombie and a classic teenage degenerate. Mistakes were made and innocents were shot on sight. Riots began. Supermarkets were raided and picked clean. The government fell apart and dragged with it the military. The leaders of Britain had diminished into a group of unlucky public speakers who didn't know their asses from their elbows.
So now I think its safe to say the country has gone to shit, and it is being closely followed by the majority of Europe. At the count the population had been estimated at roughly 60% Zombie and 40% desperate, starving homosapien. I'm lucky enough to be in the 40%, but only because I'm holed up in a student flat where the kitchen happens to be already stocked with tinned goods and microwavable meals, all of which are non perishable and will last us weeks, as per our studently needs.
I'm locked in here with my flat mate Mo (Short for Muhammad), who spends all day practising with his nunchucks for the inevitable morning that the dead manage to break down our door. Some might say we got off easy, but the guy sweats like a wildebeest and the flat is quickly becoming filled with the pungent smell of unwashed man.
Every now and then comes a tepid scraping at the door, followed by an eager grunt. I'm almost certain it's not the pizza delivery guy. We're surprisingly sensible when it comes to making sure not to give away our position. Every light bulb had been unscrewed so our routine-engraved-brains don't accidentally send out a shiny invitation when it gets dark. The bath tub had been filled to the brim with water, just like the survival guide told us too (Helpfully broadcast by the BBC). We have a cup of stagnant bath water each day to keep us hydrated. We ran out of Pepsi two days ago. Things have been tense since then.
The guys at the other end of our radio are telling us that the electricity will run out any day due, probably due to the zombie workers losing interest in maintaining it. After the warning me and Mo decided to conduct a search of the entire flat for any batteries we still had lying around. No doubt they would come in handy during the days to come. Sadly we only managed to scrape together a six pack of Duracell AA's. Pretty tragic, I know.
I have recently come to the conclusion that the future is looking rather bleak. My blog viewers have reduced to 0 since the outbreak. I guess your all too busy eating each other. (Not in the good way).
Until next time.
Peace out and keep on keeping on.