Okay, this is my first work in english -except compositions for school and that kind of things, of course- so... if you catch some mistake, please let me know it and I'll run to fix it. Please!

Actually I'm a little bit nervous -only a bit? Ahaha-. Usually I don't write author's notes unless they are about warnings and similar, this is a special occasion. I hope you'll give me an opportunity. I dream about the day I'll write in a fluid english without think about stupid mistakes xD I wrote this long ago and I'm stalking the Newsfleh's fandom for months and I'm a little bit jealousy because in spanish... ok, in spanish the fandom of this saga is empty. Totally. By the way... in my country -Spain- we only published Feed and when I wrote this fic -one year ago, more or less- I only had read Feed. Even I didn't know that Newsflesh is an trilogy! Latter I found and bought Deadline and Blackout in Amazon and now I'm the happiest person in the world. So my next step is insert myself in the english fandom.

You can read the original version in spanish in my profile: /works/762372

In resume, the thing is... SPOILERS of Feed and a little pair of incongruities with Deadline.
Warnings: thought about suicide and swearings (swearings in english are very funny!)

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Survivor

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If you want commit suicide in a world infested by zombies, you'll need a good friend. A very good friend. You don't need that kind of friend who brings a film to your house one night; you need the kind of friend who is able to stop for a second the motorbike in the middle of a escape, all for you can board up. Always when he was sure that nothing has bite, scratch or split in you. That wouldn't be a good friend, that would be a stupid friend and probably a death friend.

This is the life we have been dealt after the Rising. You are born, you live, you become fond of other people, you die, you're reanimated and you try to infect your loved ones who they are not more. Then becomes you your second death. The final death, which really gives you rest.

That was the only reason for which I didn't direct the barrel of the 40mm to my own head after I shoot Georgia. That one reason and the other reason for this was her story, and the story wasn't over. Hers, not mine, don't be confused. My story ends in the same moment I put that cannonball into Georgia's dorsal spine before she loss herself entirely.

I still remember the blood on the screen and the words of her last article, in white on a black background.

SHOOT SHAUN SHOOT

She was requesting me. And I did it. She did not expect any less from me. Neither did I from her. The only problem was that this shouldn't be like this. We always knew that one day I would get our of hand too far and make the greatest of my stupid acts and I ended infected, then she would be the one who need to end with me until it was too late. I would die, not her.

I don't feel guilty for surviving. I'm furious because she died. It wasn't worth the effort. People can say 'sorry', or 'at least it helped to uncover the truth', as it often was what they want but they're wrong: the truth could have been uncovered with an George alive. She could write the real article once this'll end, with Tate in jail or dead. I don't care. But with George alive.

I didn't shot myself in that moment because I had unfinished business. Business with Tate and business with George. Before she died she has the time to write that last article and upload in to the page with all the files, but someone needed to break into the party and make it clear. And that somebody needs to be me. I owe it to her. Bloody hell, of course I owe her that!

But I would have loved to shoot myself right here, inside the van. Our van which had seen us do so many amazing things.

This brings us to what I was saying before. If you want to kill yourself in the world of the Raising, you'll need a very good friend. Because it's not as easy as to shoot you. That awakened the latent infection inside your bode and you'll be reanimated and you're immediately trying to bite the first person you'll find. Which was great now because the van was sealed and nothing would enter while had an infected body inside; but it wasn't so cool because the only thing that can to nibble here was Georgia and I wasn't going to do that. Not even if I was dead.

It would be fun, right?

In addition I had my own things to do.

But now that Georgia's funeral has pass. The CDC was been so late that I thought that we would have to bury her without hers ashes, but finally they arrived on time. In the act they were all of them, but I would prefer that nobody was there. Only George and I.

We had always been Georgia and I. Nobody else mattered. Buffy, Rich, all of them were there, but in the end it was always reduced to both of us. Us two in the motorbike, jumping down a hill infested of zombies, we two carry all the cameras on us for the best plane. Georgia calling me idiot for kicking the wrong zombie... Without Georgia I felt dissembled. I was only a half.

The worst thing is I still hear her.

I guess that I have not beat it.

His voice still sounding in my head doing exactly the kind of comments that she would do. It takes me nothing to imagine them and it's more and more. We knew each other perfectly. Often people look at me strange and pretend it had I heard her, as if I was talking to Georgia next to me. There're a few idiots. I don't want his kindness, I just want to disappear.

I don't even penetrate into the infected territory. At some point I didn't like it anymore. Now the only turns my stomach. That is funny if we have surely of they going to give me the award of the irwin of the year on internet. I think Them should give it to Dave, he was who spent almost a moth in Alaska, nobody knows how.

The funeral has already passed, the Tate's affair is calming and the web works marvelously. Mahir does a good job as Georgia's substitute. I left space to the others. I only deal with the essential questions of organization and administration. Things that Mahir could do perfectly, too.

Fuck! A few months ago we were three. George, Shaun and Buffy. Now I am the only one, me and the new team. And they are good. But they are not them.

Holy shit, I would love to shoot myself right now...

I don't know what stopped me now, what is that makes me get up every morning and turn on the computer.

George, the truth is that I neither planned be only son for a long time.

Damn, I just want someone who is capable of me lifting a fucking gun, point to my head and shoot as soon as my body was re-animated so and I could go in peace. I don't know if there is a place where we go to after death. I don't believe in God, that's a Buffy's thing -I guess that it is the reason why she did what she did in the end- but I would like to think that when I die I'll meet with Georgia again, wherever it is. I don't mind if that place is a hell with twice as many zombies as Earth. I don't mind.

I tried to request it to Steve but he sent me to hell -with words-. We argued a bit. I didn't speak to him in a week, until he came to force me to talk. I guess I can understand his reasons. No, I don't understand him. Never. I am still upset. Much.

So here I am.

But without George.

Which, if you think about it, is a shit.

I miss her so much...

—From Hail to the King!

the blog of Shaun Mason, August 3, 2040.