The Walking Dead
An introduction of sorts.
27 April, 17:56 p.m.
I’m not even sure if Callie was her real name.
I mean, lately I’ve been considering the fact that we met up in California, and all of us simply used nicknames, she could have easily adopted the state nickname.
I only knew her for about two weeks, but those two weeks still changed a lot of things. No, not a lot of things – those two weeks changed everything.
When we first got to Vancouver, they split our group up; now I’m living in a shared dorm with about 17 other women, and we’ve all generally befriended each other. Except for one girl, who looks a lot like Callie. I’ve avoided her ever since I got here, and when the others ask me why, I just shrug them off.
As a matter of fact, it worries me a little that I haven’t seen Alex or Ricky or even Ben since I got here, considering Ben can sneak around anywhere.
I’m not sure why I’m writing this either. Perhaps some historian will thank me in the future, if there even is a future. We don’t know what’s going on outside of this centre. All I can remember is that Canada and Mexico sealed their borders almost immediately, and as far as we know, it was pretty effective. I don’t know what’s happening in the rest of the world. The soldiers won’t let us listen to the radio, and they keep a steady distance away from us, so we can’t ask questions. They’re afraid of us.
27 April, 19:22 p.m.
You know what, I’ll write this for myself and for the journalism degree that took me four years to obtain. I’ll write it all down so I can forget about it and stop having these nightmares. For my own sanity’s sake, I’ll skip the first 3 weeks of infection and their incredibly boring details. Although the above mentioned historian may want to strangle me for this, there really isn’t that much to tell.
Scratch that, I’ll give the simple version. When the infection first started on March 13, Ben and I hid in a housing project on the outskirts of Las Vegas for the first week; after that, we raided the abandoned homes and a gun store before hitchhiking to Primm. In Primm, we happened to meet up with Ricky, who had just found a Prius with a full fuel tank. We heard about the evac centre in L.A. over the radio before the broadcasts cut off, but we got there right after the first wave of military bombing, so we had no choice but to turn around and head north. Several stolen cars and motorcycles later, we ended up in the Bay Area, and that’s where I’ll start my story – in an abandoned mall in Daly City, completely cleaned out of zombies Oh, I’m sorry. Completely cleaned out of “infected.” This is where my group found Alex and Callie, where we caught a lucky broadcast that led us up the Pacific Coast, and to the events that followed, starting on April 9, 2013.
I’m not even sure if Callie was her real name.
I mean, lately I’ve been considering the fact that we met up in California, and all of us simply used nicknames, she could have easily adopted the state nickname.
I only knew her for about two weeks, but those two weeks still changed a lot of things. No, not a lot of things – those two weeks changed everything.
When we first got to Vancouver, they split our group up; now I’m living in a shared dorm with about 17 other women, and we’ve all generally befriended each other. Except for one girl, who looks a lot like Callie. I’ve avoided her ever since I got here, and when the others ask me why, I just shrug them off.
As a matter of fact, it worries me a little that I haven’t seen Alex or Ricky or even Ben since I got here, considering Ben can sneak around anywhere.
I’m not sure why I’m writing this either. Perhaps some historian will thank me in the future, if there even is a future. We don’t know what’s going on outside of this centre. All I can remember is that Canada and Mexico sealed their borders almost immediately, and as far as we know, it was pretty effective. I don’t know what’s happening in the rest of the world. The soldiers won’t let us listen to the radio, and they keep a steady distance away from us, so we can’t ask questions. They’re afraid of us.
27 April, 19:22 p.m.
You know what, I’ll write this for myself and for the journalism degree that took me four years to obtain. I’ll write it all down so I can forget about it and stop having these nightmares. For my own sanity’s sake, I’ll skip the first 3 weeks of infection and their incredibly boring details. Although the above mentioned historian may want to strangle me for this, there really isn’t that much to tell.
Scratch that, I’ll give the simple version. When the infection first started on March 13, Ben and I hid in a housing project on the outskirts of Las Vegas for the first week; after that, we raided the abandoned homes and a gun store before hitchhiking to Primm. In Primm, we happened to meet up with Ricky, who had just found a Prius with a full fuel tank. We heard about the evac centre in L.A. over the radio before the broadcasts cut off, but we got there right after the first wave of military bombing, so we had no choice but to turn around and head north. Several stolen cars and motorcycles later, we ended up in the Bay Area, and that’s where I’ll start my story – in an abandoned mall in Daly City, completely cleaned out of zombies Oh, I’m sorry. Completely cleaned out of “infected.” This is where my group found Alex and Callie, where we caught a lucky broadcast that led us up the Pacific Coast, and to the events that followed, starting on April 9, 2013.
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Finally returning to chaptered stories after a long and painful break. Don't be a silent reader - commentaires s'il vous plaît? :D