LastDaysJournal.com

I realized that i haven't written anything about my situation here. My shelter is located on the second floor of some sort of social housing block. I'm spending my nights in the bathroom because it has no windows, I'm actually afraid of using any kind of light unless i know none of those things might see it.

So far it's pretty quiet, the elevator doesn't work anymore and I piled all the furniture i could find in the staircase, I'm exiting my shelter from one of the balconies using a rope ladder i looted from a kid's playground. It seems those things can't climb ladders.

A word about those zombies, it appears that some of them i would say 1 on 10 tend to be a "smartie" they seems to react a bit quicker and do not fall for the cheap tricks that work on the others, so be careful everyone.

I'm not passing by the staircase anymore, I'm too afraid of giving one of those on the first floor the idea to come knock at my barricade.

A week ago, one of them saw me climb back up and it stayed under the balcony for three whole days before leaving.

Hello, my name is David Thames. Me and about 24 others have holed up here somwheres near the Alaskan border. Found this site after finding a body lying out in the tundra with a laptop and a bullet hole in his head. We managed to get the thing working, and a message was left on the screen. Something about this site being one of the few true last bastions of civiliziation. So now, here we are.
I'm really not sure what else to say. one of our outposts has stopped responding, but we're unable to reach it do to increased local zombie population. I would deal with them myself, but we're just too low on ammunition, and I'm not too sure we have enough fuel left in the truck to make a "Crash-n-Burn" run. So, for now, we wait. Luckily, we've sound proofed the buildings (Mattresses), and I've managed to make a few rifles for us (My grandfather was a gunsmith, and I learned a fair deal from him on the art).
Well, I guess thats it. It's my shift on the bike anyways, so I should probably finish up (We managed to scrap together a Van de Graff generator on an old exercise bycycle).

-David Thames, signing off.

Conner rested his hands on the folding table studying the Map laid out before him. He had never been a general. This wasn't his normal run and gun campaign. He knew that they couldn't continue fighting at sea, knew his guys wouldn't last out there. He took a long drink from his mug, the whiskey warming his throat. It helped keep his demons at bay. He smiled as he thought about these new adversaries, he had almost had them won over on his word alone. It was a same he had such a devious passion for blowing things up. He looked back at the map and marked the spot where The Citadel was. This was their stronghold? This is where they were going. It would all be over soon... one way or another he would get his rest.

As he walked over to his control panel he passed a mirror, he recognized the person in it. It was the same wild-eyed man that also looked back on him when he was terrorizing in the old days. He smiled at this man, this old friend he could trust. As he looked around he noticed the other men were smiling too, because Conner's smile was a contagious thing. He picked up the radio then "Oh Vlaaaadddd, I need you're assistance in our play room!!"

The overhead lights flickered, the generator feeding them slowly starving. Harold wandered down the blood smeared corridor, it's pockmarked walls burrowing towards the metal blast door. It was partially adjar, and numerous moans crawled from within. Harold crept closer. The crushed bodies of two soldiers were the cause of the doors improper sealing. Harold sucked in a breath, and pushed open the metal guardian...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last infected corpse flopped to the ground, the echo of the Kalashnikov dissapating into the heart of the facility. Harolds eyes hopped around the room, hunting for any creature that had escaped his attention. Nothing was to be seen, so he relaxed. He turned his attention to the computer console to his right. The machince hummed, oblivious to the bloodshed surrounding it. Harold punched in a few keys, and a few audio logs popped up. Harold clicked play on the first one.
"October 17th, 2007, 0230 hours. Major David Holmes, Commanding Officer. We sealed the facility today. We just couldn't risk infected personel coming through. The facility staff is concerned with the subjects on the 7th floor, but it's really not a threat. The stasis units should holp up well. Anyway, this paperwork won't file itself, so I better get back to work."

Suddenly, the door to Harolds left started to grind open...