Thursday, October 15, 2009

Frost on the Grass, Blood on the Pavement

Every word I transcribe is painful, every thought feels like its slipping away, and yet I must record...

I left the dorm this morning, 8 o'clock, for work, and made it into the LGRC without incident. Before leaving at 11 for Greek, I checked the infection tracking website and found that the ranks of the undead had swelled to over 80. A cold shudder ran down my spine as I realized I would have to walk through campus during prime feeding times. However, I had no choice but to brave the masses.

I walked out, and immediately encountered a member of the undead. I stayed close to the wall, gun at the ready, but he made no move, and I walked on. A wiser man would have avoided the crowds, or hid himself well among them. I struck a bolder, and more unfortunate path.

I walked with the pond on my immediate left, when in the distance I caught sight of no less than 4 of the undead beasts shambling near the library. As if attracted by my gaze, they saw me and began to approach. I held my grenades and gun at the ready, and almost saw an opening to make a run for it, but they had surrounded me. I backed into the bushes by the pond, ready to take them on. They calculated their approach until they were no less than four feet from me. Eyes on all of them, I thought fast on how to get out of it. I would have to make a move soon, or else they would rush me.

And so I diud. I threw one grenade, but it was high and the zombie evaded the throw. I threw another, but it was wide. They moved in. I shot one last dart, one desperate hope for salvation; this one found its mark, and he fell. But there was no timee to reload, for the next one was on me. I was able to wrestl them off, and ryn to class, but not before he had taken a samole of my arm.

I sit heree, tring ti seew thhe keerys on ny keetyboarrd, buiut eveertthing is growwingg dimm for soomme reaasonn i thhink the only waaay to keep my hummanntiy abuot me is too aaquirre somee bbraaiinsss....


Hello Readers of this blog. I am here representing the Unified Human Resistance Association, or the UHRA. We think you deserve to know what happened here. During patrols, we heard scraping, screeching, and otherwise out-of-place noises coming from the room in which Mr. Chan, I assume, lives. Or, shall I say, lived. We knocked on his door, and after some fumbling and more scraping the door opened a bit. What came at us was no longer Mr. Chan, or anyone for that matter. He has become a zombie.

We are currently working on a vaccine for all infected individuals, however it is nowhere near ready yet. For now we have restrained Mr. Chan in a secure location until he can be treated. Do not be alarmed, he will not be harmed and he will be kept from harming others.

In other news, associates of UHRA witnessed a tragic event, namely the death and conversion of one Steven Craft, whom it has come to our attention you are also aquainted with. As we understand it, he was leaving an exam armed with a six-shot NERF gun. As he walked out of Bartlett, three zombies emerged from the bushes around the door. Mr. Craft, gun at the ready, prepared for the onslaught. He got one shot off, stunning the one closest to him. However, the other two ignored their fallen colleague, having eyes only for the strained brains residing in Mr. Craft's cranium. They fell upon him, and the UHRA witnesses saw no more of him, as all but the bright markings of his NERF gun fell beneath the tattered clothing of his attackers. We mourn our fallen comrade.

UPDATE: Mr. Chan has escaped from his restraints while he was in transit to his secure location. Luckily he did not infect nor harm his holders. We will keep you updated, as we have installed a tracker in his body and can monitor his actions.

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