We have recently discovered that fish, the source of evolution for all mammalian life on Earth, will be the last real hope for humanity’s survival. Sea life has been left untouched by The Solanum Virus, responsible for global zombification. Until recently, we have searched aimlessly through the barren wilderness for any uncontaminated nutritional sources. A week has passed, but this particular event is still held vividly in my mind. The remaining survivors in my pack stumbled across a chipmunk carcass caught in some razor wire down along the perimeter of our establishment.
- The Solanum Virus: A mentally altering virus spread through bodily fluids (primarily saliva and blood). On one occasion, the virus was reported as airborne. In this instance, the virus was spread exponentially fast, nearly affecting ninety-five percent of the population in Atlantic coastal regions.
The virus affects its host by severely altering or destroying crucial mental processes. Victims have no conscience or awareness of their previous state. They become possessed, devoted to a single cause… to feed. Mindlessly seeking unaltered human flesh, they will stop at nothing.
We untangled the torn, mangled, still twitching glob of gore from the rusty, jagged mass of steel. We eagerly mutilated the poor chipmunk, ripping anything out that didn’t feel like bone, and shoving it in our mouths. The now negligible remainder was left for its previous inhabitants to repopulate, the maggots.

As of now, this camp isn’t much, nothing more than a small, shanty camp, fit only for nomads like ourselves to call home. Just two days ago, we constructed a small watchtower along the creek at the far north edge of the perimeter with two interlocking shopping carts stacked vertically with a blood stained, worse for wear rug on top to sit on. Now it’s doubling as an overlook and makes a great place to sit and satisfy our newly discovered necessity for fish. However, we’ve only caught one since then. It worked better in my head, but now I’ve started collecting hair from everyone in the pack while they are asleep to tie together and make a fishing net, hopefully doubling our fish output.
Our camp’s not in the best condition at the moment. Its condition decays as the zombie attacks become more frequent. If we don’t want to be infiltrated and overrun by our zombie foe, we will need to relocate. We would often joke that it’s the only zombie/rodent/chipmunk proof settlement within a thousand miles, and would now do anything to keep it this way. Initially after we set up this camp, the zombie attacks were random and dispersed, as if they were scouting. I think they’re catching on.

Day 35: Zombie Apocalypse
Disparity for relocation increases still. We had an encounter early this morning, just like any other. Now we need to find something to do with our new friend. While all the other zombies were all loopy and drooling on the ground from having their heads bashed in, there was one left still fighting. No matter how many times I thrust my rusty nail board in his face, he just wouldn’t go down. This struggle lasted for several minutes; luckily Skinner was there. Skinner being who he was; there was not a zombie left that he couldn’t kill cinematically or elegantly. If only we could watch slow-motion kill-cams of all his takedowns. He flailed his rope noose, snagging on the zombie’s deformed head and heaved it towards the ground. The limp body convulsed upon impacting the firm, rocky soil. Skinner crooked over and just as he was about to drive his dagger into the helpless zombie’s throat, a thought entered my mind. I quickly interjected, “Spare him!”

Skinner immediately retracted his arm and replied with bafflement, “hur…?”
“We could use him, study them, learn of their strategies and interactions…”I paused to think of more possibilities. The rest of the group paused in awe, or at least that’s what I like to think. It was probably more like a:”This guys crazy, what is he thinking?’’ kind of incredulity. Ya, definitely that one. Nevertheless, we spared it after some prolonged haggling. Now, what to do with him?
I named him Rob. Initially, I speculated over the name Mongo; but in foresight, if he spontaneously generates any measurable intelligence and kill us all, it would be safer not to name him something so stereotypically simplistic. Plus, Rob the Zombie has a particular ring to it.

Day 42: Zombie Apocalypse

It is moving day. Since my informal adoption of Robby, I’ve realized he can be quite a burden. Now I’m responsible for transporting him, it’s too much. We’ve learned little to nothing of what we expected. All he does is groan and walk in a constant direction as far as a six-foot rope attached to the biggest tree near our camp will allow; six-feet. Yet he just keeps walking in place. It’s rather annoying, ”crunch, crunch, crunch… eeeeeeeh…crunch, crunch, (repeat)”

We have, however, measured his orientation. He’s trying to go South East. We assume that he’s trying to return to the rest of his zombie allies. In that case, I think we’ll migrate more to the North West.