The day was like any other day. The sun came up and the wind was blowing gently through the trees. Although everything seemed normal, it was far from. The thing that caught me off guard was the person I was watching walking down the road was hit by an oncoming car. The car never even slowed down - just plowed right through the man. The man's body went airborne at the time of impact resembling a life sized bloody rag doll flying through the air and landing violently on the pavement. The sound of the landing seemed so loud to me that I actually found myself covering my ears and wincing. The bloody mass that was in a tangled and mangled ball of increasing gore, seemed very much dead. However, the man began to move again with erratic movement almost like small seizures. He soon found his way off the road but never screamed or made a noise. I wasn't sure of what I was seeing until he made eye contact. I do mean eye contact as one had been removed from socket and was staring at the ground. This man WAS dead, but animated, never changing expression, never crying out in pain. The man had to be dead, he had broken both legs, one arm was hanging by tendon and muscle only, and a portion of his face was missing showing the few teeth left in his head through what used to be his cheek. He noticed me when I finally called out to him. He never answered just groaned and used his good arm to pull himself towards me. Soulless eyes looking at me like I was meat. He made it halfway across the road when the dump truck came through and crushed his head. He quit moving this time and didn't move again. Had I really seen one? Could it have really been a zombie? I'd better prepare just in case…

I knew something was wrong when I saw that guy on the side of the road after being hit by a car, not dead but not alive either. I took all the necessary precautions though; fortified my home, loaded plenty of ammo, stockpiled food and water, filled two 55-gallon drums full of gas, made sure the generator worked, and got plenty of stuff to keep myself busy. It was about three weeks after my sighting that everything started to go downhill. The news started having reports of crazy people biting and ripping the flesh from others. Hospitals were reporting death after death from the trivial bites. The CDC thought it was a biological terrorist attack. The Army started declaring marshal law. I just sat on my sofa loading rifles, cross bows, shotguns, and making pipe bombs. I knew what was going on and I was ready for it. After a week of the news reports, they stopped and all stations went to emergency broadcasting. The moans and screams from outside my home increased every night. The thought of my family and friends as zombies feeding my need to destroy the vile creatures. Tomorrow I'll start the hunt....

I got up early this morning, around sunup, and made some coffee. While the coffee was brewing, I picked up a pipe bomb and my rifle and headed for the roof. In previous weeks I had placed a deer blind on the roof of my house just for such an occasion. I sat the rifle next to the chair in the blind, then lit the pipe bomb and tossed it at small group of zombies that were in the street. It landed a foot in front of them and rolled to a stop about six inches from the middle zombie. I remember thinking, "I hope the neighbors are dead because this will be one hell of a wake up call if not." To my amusement the middle zombie had bent down to get a closer look at the pipe bomb when it went off in it's face. BOOOM!! Nothing like starting the morning with a downpour of rotting flesh and gore. Went back down stairs, lit a smoke, and poured a cup, then waited for the shuffling and moans to increase in volume and numbers. The bomb was fun and all, but it was merely to gain the attention of the others. Back on the roof and the street is filled with about 30 to 40 zombies. Men, women, and children all mouth agape and missing body parts. I noticed the neighbors, Don and Trudy, so I yell at them. "Don! Trudy! Still think that I'm overreacting by putting up the 8 foot fence of cinder blocks around my house?" I then grabbed the 300 Winchester Mag with scope, lined up my shot, and put one bullet through both their heads. "Man!! That felt great!!" ...

There is nothing more satisfying than blowing the heads off zombies, but clean up is a cruel mistress. I spent one full day putting holes in the heads of zombies, now I have to clean up the yard so to speak. You can't just leave a bunch of rapidly decaying bodies layng around, it's just not kosher. Leaving the confines of the house is risky business, especially since I don't have anyone to watch my back. I spent the first part of the morning preparing. I have a modified trailer that I can easily haul around 500 lbs. in by hand, that will be used to transport the bodies. I have lightweight body armor that I made using some old catcher’s gear, thick leather, and some good old fashion chain mail. Lastly I gather protection; a pitch fork for moving bodies, a hatchet for making zombie giblets, and my trusty boom stick (12 gauge double barrel Remington, S-Mart's top of the line, has a walnut stock, cobalt blue steel, and a hair trigger). Leaving the house I notice that the streets seem empty, only the echoes of moans from a distance on the wind. I begin my tedious task of gathering bodies for the pyre. I cautiously make my way to the front yard with the trailer and tools in tow. The first couple of loads go smooth and simple, gather the bodies dump them in the empty in ground pool, and repeat. The third would end up costing me. I had dumped the third and final load into the pool and I was in the process of pumping gas in the pool when I felt it and heard it. Unimaginable pain in my left arm followed by the nauseating sound of bone breaking. I had gotten into burning the mass grave that I let my guard down. I wheel around to see the lip-less face of the zombie snarling and gnawing on my arm.... ( I totally stole that from Army of Darkness)

Face to face with zombie scum and things are going right down the tube; fast. The teeth I currently have wrapped around my arm are tenacious. Even after removing the head from the body, the jaws still continue to clamp down on my arm. I set my arm on the trailer and use the hatchet to make a respectable divert into the skull of the head, and the jaws finally let up and I'm able to remove the now lifeless head from my arm. I toss the new body and head into the pool and ignite the gas. As I turn to head back into the house I notice that I have more "friends" on the way. I'll have to leave the trailer since I can't haul it with a broken arm. The route back into the house will be difficult, I hadn't taken into consideration that I would lose an arm. I round the corner of the house and see five zombies right in my path. Hatchet in hand I rush the group and pray. The first one, missing both arms and the better portion of its face, lunges at me teeth first. I side step it and push it to the ground. Two and three team up and attack together, I plunge the hatchet into the temple of one and leave it there while I grab the boom stick and put it to the other one's face and blow it's nose out the back of it's skull. By now the last two are interested and on the hunt. I retrieve my hatchet and throw it at the closest one's head. It connects and plants right in it's forehead, and I pump the second shot of the boom stick into the last one's ear, spraying zombie brain goo all over the side of the house. The carnage I left in my wake was to be admired, just not right now. Right now I need to get inside and tend to my arm....

I made it back inside and I am not in a good mood. My arm is throbbing with pain and I kind of feel as if I could pass out. I work my way out of the body armor, not an easy task to complete using one arm. I end up having to cut some of it off of me leaving my left arm for last. All attention on my left arm now and I notice that the leather and hard plastic which made up my protective gauntlet still has teeth embedded into it. I work my arm out of the gauntlet and breathe a sigh of relief, my arm maybe broke but no broken skin. Knowing that I wouldn't wake up dead, I passed out.

"What are you doing now!?"

"I'm putting up a security wall made mostly of cinder blocks. I plan on re-enforcing it with concrete and I-beams. "

"I swear if you don't stop with the stupid Zom.. z.. living dead, that I will leave you."

"But baby if the world comes to an end we have to be ready, I can't stop, it needs to be done."

"You need help...."

I wake up calling out to my now ex-wife. She left a long time ago, said I was crazy and stupid for wasting our money on such nonsense. I just hope she's okay. As much as she hated me for being a paranoid fanatic, I still love her and wish she were here with me right now. My safe haven was once our safe haven. None the less the vision made me realize, I got to find some help and find my wife. Alive, Dead, or undead....

I used a couple of flat boards and an ace bandage to set my broken arm and began making a list of people that I need to try and contact. Most of the people that I warned dismissed it as the ramblings of a mad man. Still if they noticed the signs and found shelter and protection there may be a glimmer of hope that they are still among the living. The list is short, real short, maybe ten people. My dad was the first on my list to check in on. His house is close, only a few blocks away, and he has guns, ammo, food, water, and a slew of tools and other helpful equipment. I want to leave right away but my arm tells me other wise. I will hole up here for at least a month while I give my arm time to heal. Time I really can't afford to lose. I use my down time to prepare for leaving the house on the search. I get out maps and devise the quickest safest routes and make sure that if need be I can hide out or put up a fight along the way. My ace in the hole this time will be the remote control car. The plan goes as such; I am going to use the remote control car to distract and group zombies together then dispose of the group with a pipe bomb or molotov cocktail. The explosions should attract the attention of others while I sneak on by. I will be reusing the body armor I made, but I plan to make modifications to prevent broken bones in case of another attack gone bad. Two Colt .45 pistols with silencers, four clips, crowbar, six pipe bombs, six molotov cocktails, binoculars, and "Dirty Louie"(a baseball bat with a gutter nail in the barrel) should be enough to handle any problems along the way. I just pray that everything goes as planned. Hopefully dad is still alive and if he is can he last until I can make it there. It's been almost a month since the outbreak and I know that the chances of the people on my list being alive are slim but I have to know for sure...

Things have gotten very quiet around the house lately. There should be moans, shuffling feet, screams, explosions, gunfire, or something. Is it over? Is everyone dead or at least dead-ish? I have a gut feeling that things are about to get real bad, real fast. I take to the roof to scope things out. The streets are completely empty not a person or zombie in sight. I surveyed the area for about two hours, never seeing anyone or anything. I went back inside and turned on the radio and television to see if the army had gave the all clear. Like it would matter, I'd just end up staying inside for another month or two anyway just to be safe. Nothing on the radio or television to confirm or deny anything. What in the world is going on!? It had been hours since I left my roost on the roof, but now I hear something. Yelling, someone is yelling out to me. I can't quite figure out whom right off, the cinder block wall around the house muffles voices. I get on the roof and look around.

"Q! Come on man let me in!”

"Who's out there? Show yourself!"

"Q, it's me... Tom"

"Tom! I knew you'd survive. Get in here before you catch your death!"

“Nice play on words, jerk!”

I drop the ladder and let him in. Tom is my best friend and one of the only people that actually believed my ranting. He looked as if he had been fighting to survive for days now. If he weren’t talking to me I probably would have shot him by the looks of him. I got Tom into the house and got him a smoke and some water.

"What took you so long?" I gave him a smirk that he didn't return.

"Screw you!"

"Sorry. What is going on out there?"

"Total chaos is what's going on!"

Tom went on to tell me of his failed efforts to protect his home and family. He was ill equipped for the oncoming zombie swarm. He fought his way across town with only a hatchet and crowbar, and found shelter where ever he could along the way. He had nothing to eat or drink in a couple days. Once he had finished telling his story I filled him in on mine. Tom passed out soon after.

While Tom slept I tended to his wounds and checked for bite marks. He had been through hell that’s for sure. The clothes he had on were bloody and torn to shreds. He had a lot of cuts and bruises, but not one bite mark. He'll live. I mark Tom off my list and wonder if any of the others were lucky enough to have survived…

I've given myself two and a half weeks to let my arm heal. I can move it around and use the arm fairly well, considering I didn't set it very well and it now has an odd bend to it. I am anxious to get geared up and head out. Tom won't be joining me on this, he is to stay at the house and make sure no one else tries to move in; zombie or otherwise. Tom had noticed that during the day that zombies tend to migrate towards businesses. Drawn back to the places that they used to work, play, or shop. Funny how most of the people that are zombies now, were actually zombies then. Mindlessly doing as they are told by the government, their jobs, and television. Maybe this will be easier than planned.

Every muscle in my body is tight and quaking with the anticipation of the search and rescue. The events to come flashing in and out on my mind’s eye. I’ve had almost a month to prepare and I’m ready to light this candle. I grab my backpack full of goodies and gear up. Tom is going to give me some cover from the rooftop while I make my way down the street. I lower the ladder and hit the ground running. There aren’t any zombies in street but I want to make this as quick as possible. Three blocks down I run into my first group of zombies, five of them chewing on a corpse. I hopped up into a tree and watched the group for a moment. I noticed that they were all elderly people, senior citizen zombies, the thought made me laugh. What threat could a senior zombie possibly pose? They have no teeth to bite with, no strength to over power, and brittle bones that break easily. I grab the binoculars and get a closer look. The writhing mass of flesh that they were feeding on was in fact a child they had been able to over power as a group. They gummed at the flesh trying to tear off a tasty chunk only to come up with nothing. As I found out a month ago, if zombies have one thing going for them it’s their tenacity. Although they have no teeth, they continued to gnaw and gum at the boy until the flesh from their gums tore loose revealing the bone beneath. At this point they were able to start tearing the boy apart. I guess senior citizen zombies can be a threat! No point in wasting ammo, so I hopped out of the tree and continued to my dad’s house. Tom was right about the zombies being preoccupied during the day. The streets were fairly empty, but the damage was beyond belief. Houses with cars planted in them as if God herself had dropped them from the sky, bloody bodies lined the streets, fires raged out of control, and the air smells of iron and rotting flesh. If there were ever a perfect depiction of Hell this would be it.

I made it to my dad’s neighborhood and it looked like a war zone. The once gated community with million dollar homes was reduced to rubble and ashes. Dad’s house was half gone, the section of the house that was once the master bed and my old bedroom had been ran through by a Mack truck. Tact and stealth is the only way to approach the house. If my dad is alive he’ll be well armed and by the looks of things he might just shoot anything that moves. I had taken this into consideration before leaving, and made a special hat that read, “My name is Quenton, and I’m alive. Please keep me that way!” I figured that he knew that head shots are the only true kill and prayed he could read my message through the scope on his rifle. Once I made it within a block of the house the gunfire started. I heard the report of two shots and before I could react I heard a “Voomf!” and then ringing from the right side of my head. I drop and grab my head and this is when I found out my right ear had been blown off. “POP! I’m not a zombie you crazy old man! I can’t believe you shot me!”

Old man must be slipping in his old age, he never misses his target. I am thankful that my head is still on my shoulders, but I can’t hear and it feels like the contents of my skull are leaking out the side of my head where I used to have an ear. Once I dropped I stayed there waiting for the kill shot or response from my dad. There was nothing for what seemed like and hour, in all reality I think it was actually about a minute or two but time drags when your brain feels like it trying to push out of your head. I crawl up to the house and call out to the old man again. “Pop, I’m coming in!” I make my way into the house and the stench of body rot is overwhelming. Pop has been busy, there were at least 40 bodies with huge holes through their heads; a result of being shot with a .50 caliber hand cannon. No sign of my dad anywhere in the house so I make my way to the garage. The house has a 4 car garage with a full size attic above it that is larger that most people’s houses. I check the attic and find that someone has definitely been living here. Rations and water bottles around a sleeping bag and lantern. As I am pilfering through the attic there is a loud noise from the garage and then a gunshot. I run down the stairs and throw open the garage door to see my dad standing over a lifeless body with the smoking cannon in hand. “You all right Pop?” He looks me square in the eye and shakes his head then drops his eyes to the floor. Following his gaze I see it, a good portion of flesh missing from his left calf. “I’m sorry I shot you son. I lost my glasses and I tried to pull the second shot once I saw the hat through the scope. Perhaps it will make it easier for you.”

“NO! You’ve survived war, cancer, and raising me! You cannot go out this way!”

“Don’t really have a choice son.”

“Let’s lock this place down and you can tell me the whole story!”

I helped him get the fresh one out the door and we close up the garage and headed to the attic. Once in the attic he started his story…

The day that the reports started airing on the news I had my suspicions that what my son has been so animate about for most of his life was coming true. He spoke of people that would die from the bites of humans and of the dead rising to feed on the living. People were starting to die from being bit by crazed people. I never thought that he would be right. I knew things were bad when the

Army declared Marshall Law and did my best to prepare, but it was too little too late. Those things, I believe Quenton called them zombies, had already made it into my home. It started when Barbara, my wife, made a foolish trip to get her daughter Mindy. Mindy had been bitten while riding the city bus to her job and was near death by the time Barbara got her to the house. Barbara never left her side and tried everything to keep her alive. During Mindy’s decline I racked my brain trying to remember what my son had told me if confronted with this situation. She survived only two days before she stopped breathing, and only stayed dead for five minutes. Barbara was so upset that her daughter had died she was hysterical and refused to let me remove the body; this lead to her death. When Mindy reanimated the first thing she did was tear a chunk of flesh out the neck of her own mother. I heard the commotion and busted in the room to see Mindy feeding on the motionless body on my wife. At that very moment the words of my son rushed into my head and I remembered what he said, “Once a person dies from the bite the only way to stop them is to put a bullet in their head or damage the brain. Don’t hesitate when the zombie are loved ones or friends, because they are no longer that person and will kill you if given the chance.” I slammed the door back shut and went for my gun. I returned to the room with my Colt 45 in hand, ready to handle what had to be done. I flung the door open to find Mindy and Barbara both poised to attack and with two squeezes of the trigger they were both on the floor motionless. I spent the next few weeks defending my home from the masses of undead that seemed to increase everyday. Explosions and screaming from all around the community forcing flashbacks of Vietnam. The neighbors had tried to high tail it to safety in a Mack truck only to end up taking out half my house and severely compromising my safety. With the main area of the house with a gaping hole in it I made camp in the attic. It was rough but I continued to survive.

Pop laid it all out on the table and didn’t leave out any detail up to the point of me showing up. Earlier, before my arrival, he had been attacked and bitten on his leg. We continued to talk and reminisce until he started having trouble breathing. I gathered his weapons and ammo and whatever food I could carry and waited for him to pass. I was forced to watch the man that raised me, the man I admired, the man I looked to support, the man I loved die. With his last breath he told me he loved me and was proud of me and that he was sorry he never listened to my warnings, I told him I loved him too and with tears flowing down my cheeks I put a bullet in his head…