The Infected by Gregg Cocking Read Free Book Online Page A

nightly way of being on the computer. She and I used to walk home from high school the same way when we were younger, so for almost every afternoon for five years we would leisurely make our way the two kilometres home chatting about, well, anything and everything really. I did go through a phase when I had a huge crush on her. I never told her. Maybe I should’ve?
     
    Anyways, she’s gorgeous, always has been, and even though we hadn’t kept in touch as often as we maybe should have, we still have a bond, formed over many a kilometre, which I don’t think will ever go away. Which is why I feel so sick inside now. I should have got her brother’s fucking cell number – I didn’t even think about it.
     
    Sam
     
    1:03am, May 14
    As you’ll have noticed, I still can’t sleep. Maybe a good thing as I’ve been trawling the internet looking for any of the latest news, action, basically anything. I found this on a guy called Tailon’s blog; he seems to have had quite a bit of contact with the infected:
     
    Ive found out how to kill them zombiefuckas – you just gotta stop their brains, man. It dont matter how you do it, just fuck up their brains. Ive used a knife, youll need a big fucka to get thru the skull, a spade, a Beretta 8000 pistol which I found, from close range and from a good 10 metres, a crow bar and a crossbow. You just gotta puncture their frikkin brains and the fuckas drop like flies. The last zombie I killed was this morning – the fucka was trying to get into our back door so I took the pick axe, got Casper to open the top of the door. Its one of them that can half open. And Mr fuckin zombie didn’t know what hit him. It was a pick you fucka!
     
    Well, apparently you have to basically stop the fuckas brains from working. I’m not going to take this guy’s ramblings as gospel, but hey, it’s worth remembering if you come up against one of them.
     
    I had supper ages ago, as well as a packet of Mini Cheddars too, but I’m starving. Just gonna go fix a snack.
     
    Take care
    Sam W
     
    11:49pm, May 15
    lILY i LOVeyou baby Please phpne me or email me or blogg me – i NEED TO HEAR FROM YOU MY GIRL. tHERes some wierd shit goingon her and i need you with me. Pleese. /i loveyou and cant live withou you ihope that yiu ar okay – call me whenever yuo want
     
    sEE YA
    sAMM
     
    10:37am, May 16
    Humble, sincere apologies for that last post. It was late at night, I have been seriously missing Lil, and I got stuck into my bottle of Spiced Gold. I don’t know who won – the bottle is empty but I feel like death. My head is throbbing, it tastes like a small Ethiopian boy has crawled into my mouth and died and I am struggling to focus on the screen without the intense need to throw up. But worst of all is that I don’t remember anything from last night. Obviously the above post speaks for itself – if I could delete it, I would, but it’s already out there in cyberspace, isn’t it? But I could have, in that state, played my music at full blast, had all my lights on, gone outside, and who knows, even challenged the infected? (I’ve sometimes felt bulletproof when drunk, but zombieproof ?)
     
    I spent about five minutes instead of the usual two surveying my surroundings from each of my vantage points, partly to make sure that I hadn’t alerted any of the infected in my drunken state, but also largely due to the fact that I felt slightly less awful when I wasn’t moving. I took my last Extra Strength Disprin – not that it has helped and I must make a note to get painkillers, plasters, cold and flu medicine and stuff like that when I go out – and forced myself to eat some onion and tomato mix and Peppadews for breakfast. I had to do a bit of cleaning up – spilt Spiced Gold, Ghost Pops crushed into the carpet and peanut butter on my keyboard!!!
     
    But you are probably wondering about my midnight message... well, I guess I had kept it bottled in too long. I am dying inside. You don’t