Please read this before reading this post.

This will be my last post. I don't know what will become of me, or of the human race. All I know is that it would be near pitch black outside, if the world weren't burning.

Things were quiet here until about two hours ago. That's when the zombies managed to breach the blockade at the tube. Thousands of them. I can only hope my parents weren't caught in the surge...

Our fortress here has held up so far, but I can hear them trying to push through. We're going to torch the place and get out the fire escape. That, too, has its risks. There are a lot of them outside. Women. Kids. The kids are the worst. Young faces with soulless eyes.

And all through the neighborhood, all you can hear is sirens, gunshots, and screaming. The screaming always gets cut off.

I've got a backpack and enough supplies to make it for a few days without having to scrounge. I can make it to the Stone Maze and [livejournal.com profile] ribbin if I don't sleep. From there I'll start looking for Bay Area survivers. Hopefully [livejournal.com profile] josh_summit and dearbhail will be among them.

It's funny. Remember how in grade school they'd ask you what you would save if there was a fire and you could only save one material posession? I used to say I'd save the blanket my great-grandmother knit me, but now... I'm taking my ring and a small photo album. It's all I can afford to carry. The blanket is far too heavy.

Shit, they've breached the downstairs blockade. Whoever reads this, whoever survives, know that you are not alone. There are others out there. We will survive. Don't lose hope. Find us. There is safety in numbers.

The Bay Area burns tonight. That's partly [livejournal.com profile] ribbin's fault. And now it will be partially mine.
Please click here before continuing to read this post.

I just heard from [livejournal.com profile] josh_summit. He's fine, but it may be that he is the last person left alive in Hayward. Things are worse than I thought. The carnage and sheer destruction he witnessed has left him raving mad. He is now utterly convinced that this is all just an elaborate livejournal hoax. I wish I weren't trapped on the this damned island. I'd try to get to him. I only hope he can hold out until I am able to get out of here.

There haven't been any more attacks on the house as of yet, though we've seen quite a few zombies shambling around the streets. The roar of sirens and the screaming have become like white noise, and we are starting to get used to the smell of burning houses and burning bodies.

I will continue to post until the power goes out or I am forced to leave. There must be a record.
Please click here before continuing to read this post.

The emergency sirens blared on the island. Jen quickly turned off the television and turned on the emergency station, AM 1290. The repeating broadcast, which is still looping for all to hear, runs like this:

This is a message from the Alameda Emergency Broadcast System. This is *not* a test. I repeat, this is *not* a test. Reports of animated corpses attacking living persons have been confirmed on the island. This is *not* a hoax. Authorities ask that all living persons barraiade themselves indoors until further notice. Authorities will be blocking the Webster and Posey tubes and lifting the drawbridges. People will not be allowed to enter or leave the island. This is *not* a test.

We had listened to this message twice when we heard it. A low moaning coming from outside. Jen stuck her head out the fire escape to see what was going on. When she pulled her head back inside, she was pale. "They're downstairs," she muttered. "About 5 of them." That's when the banging started.

Thinking quickly, I had everyone grab anything that could be used as a weapon - heavy pans, large objects, baseball bats, anything. The window on the front door of the complex broke with a resounding crash. The undead had made it into the building.

I will pause here to mention that the front door of my part of the complex is actually the second story of an old Victorian-esque home reachable by a large wooden staircase that is build over the door to the first-floor apartments. Goddess help our neighbors who lived on the first floor.

As those of us with enough bravery (or stupidity) charged ahead to fight off the small invasion, I yelled at the others to try to go for the head. It would either stop them or at least make it harder for them to attack. Those things are vicious. I narrowly escaped being bitten twice as I fought them off, though one managed to scratch my arm. I have since removed some of the flesh surrounding the wound and soaked it in Bactine. It still throbs. I hope I'm not infected.

The most frightening thing is that, though they looked human and quite fresh despite a few obvious wounds, there was nothing human about those eyes. They were blank, unfocused, un-dilating, emotionless eyes. It was like looking into a mirror in the near dark - nothing to see but the shadow of your own reflection. Before I knew it, we had dismembered them all. Luckily, we all escaped with minor wounds. No one was bitten - that time. Two of my neighbors volunteered to check in on our first-floor neighbors, as there were no more undead in sight. Our neighbors downstairs, those that were home, had been ravaged and were themselves shambling about in a daze. We lost two men fighting them off.

We took the dismembered pieces of zombie into the backyard and started a pyre in the dirt. One of the hands twitched as I picked it up. It still felt alive. I can't say I was sorry to throw it on the fire.

Those who were too scared to leave the building walked around to all of apartments and started to gather necessary supplies - filling buckets with fresh water and gathering both perishable and non-perishable items. It was decided that we would camp out on the top floor and barricade the doors downstairs as well as the top of the stairway. At least then we could use the stairs to our advantage. Our landlord took charge of building the barracade. Myself and one other watched the fire to make sure it burned thoughoughly.

Once the barracades were up, the waiting began. The police and fire departments were having a relatively easy time controlling the zombie outbreak in Alameda, owing to our not having a proper cemetary on the island. We could hear sirens and some commotion coming from the direction of Park St., but little else.

I heard from my family an hour ago. They are unable to get to the island because of the barracade. We set up a meeting place outside of the Bay. I also was able to get ahold of [livejournal.com profile] ribbin. He is heading for the hills and setting fires as he goes. I tried to talk him out of it, as he'll burn the innocent and the dead, but it is sounding more and more like there is only the dead. Still no word from dearbhail and [livejournal.com profile] josh_summit.

The wound I recieved in the fight is burning. I'd be tempted to removed the whole arm, but we'll see how things go. I'm sure that my neighbors will do what is necessary if the time comes.
Please click here before reading post.

I am posting this in the hope that someone will find this - if anything remains of our society long after these events have passed. Perhaps someone will find them. Perhaps this whole thing will blow over. Perhaps... but I'm not so certain of anything anymore.

Everything was fine until after I got home from work. I had taught an unusually small class for summer school at the charter school I work at, but I thought nothing of it.

As I was eating lunch and had just finished posting a response to my horoscope on livejournal, I got a call from my Mom. She was panicked. I could hear gun fire in the background. She told me to stay in my house, lock my doors, and wait there until she, my father, and my siblings could get to me. I asked her what was going on, and she told me just to sit tight, and that she had to go. It was then that I noticed how quiet it was on the island.

Alameda is right under the flight path for the Oakland airport. Even during the witching hour, that magic time when even nocturnal animals are at rest, there is always some noise or another: the hum of machinery near the docks, the passing of an occasional car, the rustle of a light breeze. As I hung up the phone with my Mom, I noticed that Alameda was silent. Dead silent. The only sounds I could hear were the hum of my refrigerator and the whisper of my own breathing. I could feel the electricity in the air, and that heavy, foreboding feeling that proceeds disaster. I pulled out a black candle, lit it, and prayed that my friends and chosen family were doing o-kay.

A sharp knock on the door startled me out of my devotions. I grabbed my engagement ring and slid it on as I walked toward the door of my apartment. I peeked through the peep-hole in my door. It was my older next door neighbor. He was making sure I was all right and wanted to know if I'd seen the news. He was clutching a rolling-pin - possibly the only heavy object in his apartment. We both jumped as Jen, who used to be a coworker of mine, charged up the stairs calling, "Have you seen the news?!?"

Not too much later, the clustered residents of my apartment building sat in silent awe at the images that flooded the television in Jen's apartment. Riots in Los Angeles so violent it was hard to tell who was a zombie and who was just looting. A reporter and crew on the streets in Colma overwhelmed by decaying, shambling bodies. The cameras ran red with blood and we could hear their screams before ABC could cut away. Oh God! We could hear their screams and the wet sounds of tearing flesh. The newscasters sat in stunned silence, tears streaming down their faces, unable to continue their coverage. On CNN the reports were much the same - all over the world there was carnage and violence as the dead appeared to crawl out of their graves and attack the living. In Iraq the insurgents and the allied forces had called an unofficial truce to try and stave off the undead attacks. One pundit commented that this was God's wrath on the world for not following His laws. Maybe that's true, and if it is, God is an asshole. Armageddon. The newscasters, pundits, people being interviewed on the street, they all kept mentioning Armageddon. I honestly don't remember the Bible saying anything about zombies... No, nothing about zombies, although plenty about raising the righteous to live with God in heaven. I sincerely doubt this is what the author of Revelations meant.

We must have watched the images for an hour, too horrified to look away. I called [livejournal.com profile] ribbin, [livejournal.com profile] joshua_summit, and dearbhail, hoping to find out if they are still alive. I was sent directly to voice mail every time. Strangely, there was nothing about violence in Alameda, though we could hear the distant sirens of emergency crews in Oakland. It occurred to me that there were no cemeteries on the island, just the morgue and a hospital six blocks from our home...

That is when the emergency sirens went off.

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singerinthedark

August 2010

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