They’re zombies. That’s right, I said it. Zombies.
It’s cold and rainy. The number of zombies better decrease soon, or we’re in trouble up here. John looks really pissed; he stamps around in the intermittent rain, and when he gets to the edge, he swells up with rage, as if he's going to scream all the zombies away. He doesn't, and the zombies continue to stay oblivious to us. We need to go downstairs soon, which means we need target practice; there are tens of zombies in the store at all times. If we don't go in, we're going to freeze and starve to death. If we go down, we're going to get infected. Where is the rest of society? Why hasn't anyone come to help us yet?
Helen E. Monroe, 8 October 2009
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