Due to an unfortunate outbreak of writer's block at our offices, we here at JSE regretfully bring you the news that from (5/5/14) we will be on temporary but indefinite hiatus until we can acquire some vaccines for this anti-virus.

Sorry to all our readers! - Hilden, Jack, & rest of The Koo-Koo Zoo Crew


December 25th, 2013

Update to the earlier entry. Made it into town just as the sun was starting to set. And almost instantly the place seem like it was gonna do everything it could to make me crap my pants. Like the set of a horror film, except all the carnage and corpses lying around are for real. And the real stuff, once you see it, is tons more frightening than anything Hollywood or even a guy with a camera and twenty bucks could have cooked up. I'm surprised I actually didn't let it go.

Town with littered with those things, like it always is in the zombie movies. One behind every corner, a pack on your back, and there doesn't look like there's any safe place to run to. I thought my lungs would explode, or my legs would just fall off and refuse to start running. But I couldn't stop. Because I'd rather deal with the pain each step brought than feel what it felt like at their hands of those things.

Death.

I don't know how I got away. Guess even those things have a limit to how fast they can run. When I regained full control of my bearings, I was in front of a little motel. Snuck into the main office. Dead guy in there and looked like he was there long, so place smelt like shit, but none of those things at last. Whole bunch of keys just hanging on the wall, never to be used again. Well, except for today. Ha.

Barricaded the door but it won't last in case of a prolonged siege. Well, this expedition is off to a good start so far. Signing off, yours truly.

December 26th, 2013

Early morning. No breakfast for me. If one of those things hears my growling belly, well I guess I can only blame myself. And that bastard RP. Still too dark out. Should be at least an hour before the sun rises. But I can't go back to sleep. Too much difficulty falling to sleep. And when I do, the dreams make me wish I hadn't.

So if I ever find myself in a position like this again, I'll just write in this journal. Maybe I can bore myself to sleep or pass the hours quicker doing this. What will I write about? Just anything that comes to mind. First thing comes to mind is that I haven't spent a whole lot of time talking about myself. I mean, why should I? Not like anyone's ever going to be reading this but me. But regardless, here I go.

My name is Michael Reed. I was born on May 25th, 1977. Childhood was less than pleasant outside of the rosy memories of Transformers and bad music on MTV. My father was a veteran of the Nam who never really came home. He had lost half of his old circle of high school friends in a hellish jungle overseas, and came home to a society that he felt abandoned his generation. My mother was a nurse he had met in the war. I'm grateful for mother. If it hadn't been for her, father would've taken out the majority of his rages on me.

The rages could less and less frequent the older dad got and one day they just stopped altogether. But I remember those rages clearly. When I would lie huddled underneath my covers at night in fear, trying to go to sleep, trying to drown out the sounds of his shouting that would give way to the noise of flesh hitting flesh. But the sobbing would keep me awake all night.

I wanted to stand up for her. But I was afraid. Afraid of him.

As I got older I pleaded for the two of us to pack what little we had and run away. To somewhere safe. Where he would never find us. But mother refused, despite the scars and bruises and more he had done to her. What he was doing to her. She insisted that he had been good back then. I never understood her. Was it an acceptance of the hopelessness of her life? Had he beaten the will to hope from her? Or perhaps she felt differently. Maybe responsibility. That she helped him once and maybe she could still save him.

She never got away. But I did. Outside of the wall that my father had erected around the two of us with abuse, I found a new world. And there I met Jess. That's all I have to say today. Maybe I'll talk more later. For now, it's time to move. Supplies aren't going to find themselves.

December 26th (updated)

I found a shovel discarded in somebody's backyard. It's a bit on the heavy side, and I swear I might throw off my own arm if I don't swing it carefully. But it's handier for taking out the runners than my tiny knife. If I walk slowly enough, hold my breath and don't make a noise, the infected fuckers won't even know what hit them when my shovel's blade takes their head off.

Made my way to the supermarket. Someone hit it before me, place had been cleared out long before I set foot in it today. Entire place was in disarray. Make my way around the place like a snail, taking out all the runners one by one. I nearly fucked up at the end, knocked over an empty water bottle. One of them came rushing at me and without thinking I fired at it with my gun. Bullet killed it instantly, but then I heard the shot echo. I heard more of those things come running. So I had to run.

The last thing I remember running out of the store was noticing that not all of the dead in the store were runners. And not all of them had died via the hands of the infected.

I'm surprised I made it back here in one piece. I suppose that as long as I'm staying in town, this will be my base of operations.

December 27th, 2013

Went to town square today. The place was empty. Discounting all the bodies of course. Most of them hadn't reacted kindly to nature's course. Place smelt like shit. Some of them were wearing military uniforms – helmets and body armor. Seems like a last stand might've gone down here. Was tempted to take some of their gear for myself but thoughts of health hazards turned me away.

World's ended – turned into a fucking zombie movie or some shit, human society is in shambles, and Mikey-old boy, you still care about your hygiene.

Unlike the last two days, I managed to find some useful things today. Batteries. Matches. Some packs of dried food. And some paper and pens for myself. But it's not much. Keep searching, I tell myself. I promise I'll keep this search up for another day or two. Then I'm heading back to the school.

There's something else.

Dumped near a bench was a chocolate bar wrapper. The stains on the wrap were still fresh. And infected don't eat chocolate. Only one thing for sure

Either I've already gone nuts or I'm not alone.

December 28th, 2013

Alright, I can take solace in the fact that I am not actually nuts. As I stepped out of the motel room this morning, I saw a note pinned onto my door.

"Meet me at Prussian Lager – sunset 2day 2 trade stuff" scribbled hastily. Decided to take the risk of meeting whoever this mysterious survivor may be. If he is any good at surviving on his own in this infected death trap as I think he may be, he's sure to be loaded with good stuff that we back at the school could use. And maybe if I play my bargaining skills well enough – I might convince him to come with me. Then I remembered how well these bargaining skills have been used in the past, from mother to Jess, and a smile is wiped off my face.

Good thing about his timeslot is that is gave me a good while to explore more of the town for stuff. Still no improved gains but at least I didn't set off any runners.

When the sun starts to set, I'll go to Prussian Lager. I remember it being a German pub not too far from town square.

December 28th, 2013 (updated)

The trip to Prussian Lager was surprisingly infected-free. There were some fresh dead bodies in the streets that I navigated over. All infected, with varying degrees of the fungus growing out of their bodies. Bullet holes. I presume that my mysterious host left them on his way to the pub.

My mysterious host turned out to be nothing like I expected. I had expected a roided-out dude, the sorta type the movies make you expect when you think of the guys that manage to survive on their own when all the shit is falling down around them. But he's nothing like that. He doesn't even look like he could swat a fly without pulling a muscle. Pimply face, glasses. Scrawny as a stick. Introduces himself as Danny. I didn't tell him my name but I told him that I was from a larger group that was nearby. Asked him if he wanted to join.

He said he prefers being on his own (crazy – in a place like this, too) but he will give my thoughts some consideration. He says that Prussian Lager is just one of the many safehouses he has established around town as he shows me a map of the town with several locations marked with circles and Xs. Circles mean safehouses. Xs mean areas where the runners or spores are most concentrated.

Said I should probably catch a few winks, and that we will move out again in the morning.

Before I tune in, I will take the opportunity to write a little about myself once more since this is the first stable rest I've gotten since the last personal session. I met Jess in college. One thing led to another, and we started doing more than just dates.

I don't think it was until after mother's funeral and my impregnation of her that we got married – I don't remember anymore. She was a good girl. I think out of everyone I knew she was the one who understood me the most. Not entirely, but she was able emphasize a good chunk with my woes. But I never told her the full truth and she couldn't sympathize long enough to stay with me forever.

One day she told me she wanted to leave. It was April. I don't remember the year or day. Just the month. A half-finished bottle of the stuff was nearby on my desk, next to a pile of papers that I had barely filled out. This was the peak of our financial woes. I failed at many jobs at this point. Writer, teacher, business manager… so many things.

Why?

It's for our daughter's own good.

How? You think that having her parents split in two is going to do her good? I love her goddamn it… its just

Everything is taking its toll on you, Mike. Don't you remember the time you lashed out at her and left her lying on the floor?

What? I… I never hit her? The bottle suddenly seemed so welcoming as those words came out of my mouth.

I lied to the doctors. Said she slipped on a wet floor. I never told them it was actually your fist that give her the black eye.

I didn't hit her goddamn it. I don't remember ever doing it! You're lying to me, Jess!

That's because you are too fucking drunk! When you hit here you were drunk! And when I'm done talking to you, you'll probably get wasted to pretend this never happened! I love you, Mike, but you are falling to pieces right now and I don't know what else I can do before you do something worse to her or me! I want out. I'm sorry.

I tried to plead with her to stay with me, not to leave me alone. Maybe we could help each other through my crisis. But she would have none of it. It was for the best she thought. I was a wreck. I had already hurt them. And I knew at that moment I had failed at something else too.

Danny caught me writing. Asked what it was. Told him it was none of his business. Kid got pissy, said he was just trying to see what was wrong since I looked troubled. I apologized, but it doesn't seem like he really accepted my words. I'll have to make it up to him somehow tomorrow. He seems like a genuinely cool kid. I like him.

December _?, 2013

A lot has happened in the time since the last entry. I better start at the beginning, to the crazy sob reading this journal (including myself… heh)

On the 29th, I woke up to the sound of eggs and bacon cooking. Yes, actual fucking eggs and bacon. It's amazing what you end up missing when the world's ended. Sure enough, Danny was whipping out a batch of the goods.

He told me to eat up. We had a long day of work ahead of us.

I gobbled down the breakfast faster than I ever had done for anything. I asked how he managed to get freaking bacon and eggs when there seemed to be no running electricity to power fridges in the town. Danny explained that most of the perishable goods he had already went kaput, but he was surviving on a cache of dried and preserved goods. Mentioned something about setting up a veggie garden once he had secured the part of town with the best soil.

I asked Danny what we were going to do today. He explained that it was time to clear the town of a few infected. I asked him what part. He replied the elementary school. There was a garden set up by some first-graders or something that could serve him later. We got to the elementary school with little ease. We traveled on bikes. He said that he has a car saved in one of his storehouses, but he doesn't use it much because of the noise it makes and most of the fuel being jacked up in the initial panic. Shit started to go down once we got to the school.

Is it just me, or are the runners getting smarter? I swear that some of them weren't just charging at us like the dumb brutes usually did. There were these ones with a whole bunch of fungus growing out of them. They actually seemed like they were toying with us. Taking alternate routes, trying to cut us off. If it weren't for Danny, I wouldn't be here writing this right now. We looked out for each other's asses, and we barely knew each other. In that moment, I thought all those stories about the selfishness of humanity when the panic hit could go suck it.

We actually secured the school. God fucking damn it, it was just the two of us against an entire bunch of the infected. And we fucking won. The school seemed good. Not many areas with spores. Danny had a gas mask on him. He saw I didn't – said that he would get to looking for a pair for me if I stuck around any longer.

update – sorry for the pause there. A runner coming up on the road. Hoped on the pedal and swerved to avoid it then peddled like hell. Seems far enough now. I'll resume where I left off.

Afterwards, he pulled out his mark and made a couple of marks on the part where the school was. Then we biked to another safehouse, this one in an actual house in the suburb part of town. Danny told me that I did well today. He might consider giving me some supplies of his own to take back to my group. But he was still on the fence on whether he wanted to join us or not. I asked him why. Surely it must get lonely down here. He said that he was well-off. He was able to secure all his safehouses by himself and survive the initial panic. How well-off were we, if we were sending just one man down into a town with scant preparation?

Danny said that I could head down into the basement to see if there were any guns I would like to take with me.

What sort of guns?

Automatics, semis, shotties, any sort of Rambo shit.

Hell yes. I replied.

When I opened the basement door, I noticed how dark it was. I was about to ask him for a flashlight when I heard the footsteps coming up behind me. Before I could turn around, I heard something whishing through the air. I found out later that it was a baseball bat. But in that moment, I knew nothing except literal nothingness. A sea of black. All I knew was that I was still breathing and wasn't dead yet.

I don't know how I long I was out. When I woke up, he was shining a flashlight in my face. I had been gagged. I squirmed, tried to bag through my bindings. What the hell had happened? And fireworks were going off in my head… I had trouble focusing. All the altruism had gone out of his face like an extinguished candle. I wiggled my head around the room I was in, despite my bindings.

I wasn't alone. Not in physical presence at least. But whoever these people were, they all were long gone in that sense.

"I suppose that you're rather pissed at me." Danny was speaking as he looked over a knife. "That's why I put the gag on you before you woke up. After all these folks, verbal abuse just doesn't do anything for me no more. I can listen to it for hours with only a morbid curiosity to feed. But you people can never think of anything new to say. But hey… maybe you do. After all, I don't know you like I knew these others fellows I strung up." So he removed my gag.

"What the hell, you crazy son of a bitch? I thought we were in this together!" I tried to spit at him, but he decked me before I could do it. Goddamn, that skinny bastard hit harder than you think he could have.

"So far, nothing new. We were never in this together. You just fell for the act. It was all contrived really."

"What the fuck? Is this what you do for kicks? Get the trust of people and then kill 'em later? You're just a fucking kid. And every ounce of your fiber is perfectly fine with what the hell you're doing here?"

"No. Not for kicks. It's for my survival. Me above all else. Not a muscle in my body opposing their continued lease on life. Let me tell you something about me, Mike. You know, you probably could tell already, but before all this shit went down – I was a loser. That dork who spent all his free-time wasting it away on the internet while he jacked off to the vixens in his comic books and video games."

"What the hell do fucking comics and video games have to do with anything?"

"I was on the bottom of the food chain. No one noticed me. I never felt so surrounded yet so alone in those days. And for the lack of a better word, I was a coward. But you know, back in September, when that world ended… invisibility and cowardice is what helped me survive. No one thought to take me out. And I never got it into my head to be a hero. But I saw everything that everyone else did in order to survive. And I realized something, you know what it is?"

"That you're a fucking maniac, huh?"

He hit me again. I could taste blood in my mouth. But my teeth were still firm at least. "No. I'm not a fucking maniac, psycho, sociopath, or any other words you can toss at me. You see, I realized why in spite of our fascination with them in pop-culture, there are no real-life superheroes. Because the idea of a being that'll put their own interests below the greater good is jack-diddly-squat nowhere to be found in a real human's soul if we even got any to begin with. We naturally are selfish self-centered fuckers. Sure, we can pretend we're good folks. But once you take away all the distractions and conveniences we take for granted… what do you have left to find? The whole world is just a fucking contrived place. I didn't even need to kill all of my old group by myself… they did themselves in. I realized something… this was a world where I could finally rise to the top. Play King as you can see here. And I realize that I really fucking enjoy it. I'm not letting anyone take that from me. Don't bother with the psycho routine, as I've said. Who's to say you wouldn't be doing the same if you were in my position? This is just who we are at the core. Rotten. But at least I'm being honest and embracing it. Go ahead, tell me how long you think your group at the high school will last the longer this goes on and it becomes more apparent with each passing day that no one is coming to save you."

"So you're just going to shoot me now?"

"Shoot you? Oh no. You see, I could see it in your eyes at the school when we were clearing it. Admiration. Trust. So much more. I think it's gonna be more satisfying to chase you down like a dog. Do it dirty. Personal. Make you beg. I took the liberty of taking away all of the deadly shit you were carrying on you. But still, I've played this game before and I know how it goes."

"God, you must be a buzzkill when it comes to hide and seek."

"Well, well, how did you know what game we were playing? As I was saying… you still hope. And it does give me a personal tingly to crush it. You know, Mikey, I'm going to enjoy reading through your diary when you're dead. Wonder what's in it that you'd never want anyone else to see. Jack-off tally count, perhaps? Or maybe every sex fantasy you've ever had about your kids."

"You son of a bitch." He's wrong though. I've never had a single urge to touch my daughter like those sickos they show on the news. He's also wrong about taking away all of my deadly shit. I could still feel the knife I had in my boot.

"Ah, I've hit the right nerve, haven't I? Go on, get angry. It won't make a difference." He smiled. "Let's play, then, shall we? Don't feel so bad, though… you're far from the first… and you definitely won't be the last of those poor fuckers who wander into this town to play with me."

He released me. Instantly, I keeled over as if suffering from the mother of all stomach aches, used it as cover to get the pocketknife from my boot. "Aw, you weak little bitch." He laughed. "I'll make it quick then. You aren't gonna be any fun at all." And just as Danny came close to hitting me, I lunged upward and tore a seam through his stomach to the neck. He went down without a scream. Silent. I think he was just losing too much blood at that point, but maybe… just maybe he didn't care. I kept stabbing him until I was sure he was dead.

Christ I killed that killed. But Jesus, like what the fuck. The kid was fucking C.R.A.Z.Y.

Then I realized as I stood over his expanding pool of blood. I looked down at all the punctures in his body. The pierced eyeballs and mutilated remains of his lower jaw. Bits of brain leaking out with a gas-like hiss noise.

Psycho or not, he was the first human… non-infected that I ever killed. The experience is nothing like the movies. No casual stroll away. Not even the blood and wounds look anything like Hollywood has ever put on the silver screen. I vomited all over his corpse as I thought about this. I grabbed the flashlight he was holding. Staggered away, still in shock. But before I could make it to the steps of the basement, I noticed a newspaper on a bench nearby as well as a poster of the infected in various stages. Apparently some of the runners we fought at the school were actually stalkers.

US Military Recalls Search Effort

My next thought went exactly as follows: Oh shit. We just went from 99% doomed to 100% doomed.

update 2 – Finally made it back to the school. I'm pooped. I hit all of Danny's safehouses. I probably looked ridiculous when I was doing it. A near middle-aged man fleeing for his life on a bike from a mob of infected. I can barely move with this bag full of all the heavy stuff on me. The others don't say a word to me, not even those who I can consider pseudo-buddies. They don't comment on the stuff I suddenly found. The bicycle, the new guns ,etc. They're too focused on getting the supplies to somewhere secure in our little safehouse.

I kept the newspaper with me. Do I have the heart to tell them? Will it be the right thing to break whatever hope still exists among them?

Then I thought of something else. How long will it last? They know that I was gone longer than expected. But they say nothing. But I can feel something brewing in the air… as CCR once sung… I see the bad moon arising.

I heaved myself to an empty classroom where a bare mattress lay. And here I am, slumped here. Just writing. Safe at last. What does that word even mean anymore?

As usual, in case I don't get the chance to do it, in person... good-night to you, Jess and Katie. Both of you.

If they're even still alive. I better stop writing right here. Unless I start crying myself to sleep through the night, and I really don't want to have to explain myself to anyone who hears me tomorrow morning.