“Peeps” by Dave Sipley
Read by Dave Sipley
Music by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Monthly Archive for May, 2008
Vannawhite’s face was a death mask as she walked past Clipboard, staring straight ahead, face covered in her own blood. She didn’t slow down or even acknowledge him.
He watched her go in amazement. When she was ten yards past, he called after her. “Hey V-Dub! Don’t you have anything to say? What happened? Is everyone all right?”
She stopped and turned all the way around. “It was awful out there today. Like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m going to medical.” She turned and headed toward the terminal.
US Government Publication – Airborne Informational Leaflet (AIL) – 1A
The US Government, through FEMA, has enacted a ten-step plan to combat this new and rapidly spreading threat. Step 1 is this rigorous airborne leaflet campaign designed to combat the spread of Solanum and aid survivors of the plague through public awareness and preparedness. Unfortunately steps 2-10 never really quite got off the ground and all government and military personnel have been evacuated to secret heavily guarded bunkers in the Rockies. This leaflet is now the only line of defense – keep it close!
To weather this storm you have three options:
1) Hunker down and wait for the pandemic to burn itself out or for help to arrive.
2) Attempt to fight your way out of the infected area you find yourself trapped in.
3) Face facts, treat yourself to one last hurrah, and commit suicide.
Information on these options will be provided in plain and candid language (see reverse for Español)
Section 1: Batten down the hatches!
So you find yourself besieged by what may seem like limitless hordes of the walking dead? Don’t panic… Not yet, anyway.
The first thing to consider is the surrounding area – is it rural, urban or suburban?
In a rural area the population density will be much lower. Groups of the infected should only appear in dozens, not hundreds, at least until mass migrations from more densely populated areas occur, so enjoy this three or four day respite.
In a suburban area this placid time of impending dread will be greatly reduced. Swarms wandering away from major population centers should reach you in a matter of hours. Don’t let this dampen your spirits! Look on the bright side: at least you won’t have as much time to contemplate the inevitable, just like ripping off a band-aid.
For those citizens trapped in urban areas, this publication refers you to Section 3.
No matter where you live the prevailing wisdom is the same. Find as secure a place as you can to hole up in, barricade all windows and doors, be sure to lay in as many provisions as you can, keep plenty of duct tape on hand, and always have an exit strategy.
Well now, you’ve followed these directions and have gone unnoticed, but you’re running out of food?
Unfortunately you’re now only left with two options:
1) If you are part of a group, draw straws.
2) If you are alone or have lucked out and gotten the long straw, see Section 3.
Section 2: Familiar with the collected works of one John Rambo?
So you’ve read section one and aren’t too keen on it? You might be in luck. It was for just such occasions like the Zombocalypse, as it is colloquially known, that the Founding Fathers included in the Constitution the Second Amendment. Through the astounding foresight of America’s political leaders you have been able to keep and bear arms as a US citizen. So, stand up for your right and break out your legally purchased and licensed firearms.
While reading the previous paragraph you may have some questions or reservations, chief among these being:
Q: I’m a US citizen but do not own any firearms. What about me?
A: It’s your own fault for not seizing your constitutional right to gun ownership and the federal government may not be held accountable for any loses of property, limbs or lives.
Q: I’m not a US citizen. What about me?
A: Not our problem.
In any of these three cases you seem to be hopelessly outnumbered – see Section 3.
Section 3: Suicide–All roads seem to be pointing in this direction so get to it!
Well, it looks like they’re playing your song. It’s the end of the road and the only thing left to choose is the way you’re going to sing your swan song. Fortunately for you the state has you covered. The AILs will help you decide upon a method that fits your individually tailored needs. Unfortunately, since federal law and recent court cases involving intelligent design prevent us from comforting anyone with the serene and reassuring beliefs in a higher power, you’ll just have to make do with this brief list:
Self-inflicted gunshot – If you always wanted to go out with a bang, here’s your chance. It’s quick and painless and while it will leave a gruesomely disfigured corpse, there won’t be anyone around to complain. Yes sir, this is the Cadillac of suicides. Then again, if you had a working firearm with ammunition you probably wouldn’t be on Section 3. See what procrastination has gotten you?
Pills – The ever stylish overdose, for those of you who always dreamed of fame and fortune. Go out like a movie star! Just make sure you’ve got enough, or else you’ll wake up with a killer hangover and Zack gnawing on your foot.
Leaps of Faith – For those survivors living in urban areas, why not take a dive off a skyscraper? The perfect end for any thrill seeker, great for the extreme sports crowd, one last rush before you bite the big one. Gnarly!
Sunday Roast – This one is just great for those who want to drift off peacefully or those who loved to sniff glue as a child. Easy as pie; just insert your head in the oven, blow out the pilot light and au revoir. To avoid any embarrassment and wasted time be sure that you don’t have an electric range before attempting.
And lastly, we come to the abject coward who can’t bear commit to the real estate deal. There’s just no helping some people.
“Brews” by Rob Kay
Read by Tallon J. Larham
Music by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
May 8, 20XX
To the Editor:
Yesterday, my class had to stay late after school. My teacher said it was because a bear was in my neighborhood. After they let us go home, my dad wouldn’t let me play outside because a bear was in my neighborhood. Last night they caught the bear down my street, but I never saw the bear. I don’t think there was a bear in my neighborhood, I think it was something else.
Johnny
Age 9
Brad’s parents were always fighting. He hated it. He’d wake up to the sound of the screaming spouses and come home from school to the same monotonous noise. If it wasn’t bills, it was senseless jealousy. He had started to grow accustomed to it, but had never become immune.
One day, Brad got off the bus and walked to his front door. He went to pull his house key out of the smallest pouch on his blue backpack when he noticed the door was ajar. Brad looked at the brass knob but shrugged off his worries and stepped inside.
He quietly gave thanks for the silence. He looked around at his home’s interior. The kitchen table was pushed over with the shattered remains of a floral patterned vase surrounding it. A blood-stained doily lay nearby.
Brad’s heart started to race. He followed the trail of broken furniture and porcelain animals through the kitchen, living room, and down the hall. It stopped at his parents’ bedroom door. Brad could see shadows crossing the orange light streaming onto his feet. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open just in time to see his father snap his mother’s eye out of its socket and chew on it hungrily, as her blood ran down his chin and onto the gore-covered floor.
Brad’s parents were always fighting.
The world rippled above the heat of the mid-day tarmac, and even the clouds had fled the sky for cooler climes. It was in these dog-days that even the living began to move like the walking dead — slumped, shuffling, and groaning through their duties. If he had been given the choice, this is exactly how Charles would have preferred to be spending his day. Instead, he was running as fast as his booted feet would take him over the tent-spotted fields outside the airport while trying not to drop his rifle.
He wasn’t the only one—another figure cut a swerving path thirty yards ahead of Chuck. He was moving far more deftly than Charles in shorts and an open Hawaiian shirt, and he only carried a small metal pistol which he used to clear people from his path with manic waves. Chuck didn’t expect the other man to stop running, so he saved his breath and didn’t yell. Instead, he focused on trying to plot which turns he could take to best outmaneuver his fleeing quarry; maps of tents and storage containers flashed through his head as he jumped over crates and discarded machinery. A crackle in his ear made him wince.
“Chuck … where are you?!” The voice whistled through the ear piece and died with a spit of static. Chuck pulled the microphone to his mouth and pressed the button on the side.
“He’s trying to get to the fence … Gonna cut him off … .” His words were clipped with his ragged breaths.
As he ran, Chuck pondered the absurdity of it all—the man had stolen a few bottles of narcotics and antibiotics from the med-center, and now he had to be caught. Chuck couldn’t help but think that this place made oblivion seem awful tempting; he could hardly blame the man.
“Bliss” by Tyler Smith
Read by Dave Sipley
Music by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
The green is the perimeter fence of cars ( that’s going to take a lot of cars ). We live inside the green line.
Click here for a look at the new HUGE map Like most of the highways in the area, it’s under construction. Once I get all of the pieces put together we can draw in the fence, label sleeping areas, food areas, vegetable gardens, and anything else that we want.
A.C. was in his junior year of high school when The Panic happened.
He was in love.
Jessie was the love of his life.
They had been dating for just over a year when Zack stole her away.
A.C. swore that he would have his revenge on Zack for stealing his girl.
At seventeen, he was one of the youngest members of the Corps.
For his first mission, A.C. was sent into downtown Syracuse. It was winter, so his mission was mainly to take out as many frozen zombie skulls as possible. He eagerly went about smashing his crowbar into the frozen pedestrians. With every swing, he would proclaim his love for Jessie and his hatred for Zack.
He had cleared a block of Clinton Street when he decided to check out one of Armory Square’s famous establishments. He smashed his way through the front window of the bar, and headed inside. The temperature inside was considerably warmer than that of the outside air. A.C. failed to notice the last few bar patrons that were waiting for last call.
There were four of them and he was on tap. The ghouls surrounded him and began to close in. A.C. swung his crowbar and took down the first two quickly. When he struck the third, the crowbar became lodged in its skull. He didn’t have time to retrieve his weapon, so he improvised. He tried some of his high school wrestling moves, but they didn’t work very well. The moves only brought him closer to Zack’s teeth and claws. In a last ditch effort, A.C. kicked the ghoul off from on top of him and impaled it on the horns of the bar’s mechanical bull.
A.C. made his way over to the third ghoul and retrieved his Z.E.D. Raising the crowbar over his head, he approached the final zombie. “This is for Jessie,” he said as he delivered the final blow.
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