Zomblog: The Final Entry by Tw Brown Read Free Book Online

before taking off again. I don’t know if he was actually following Eric, or just leading me away from the oncoming horde of zombies.
    We emerged about a half mile up the road. Some of the zombies managed to stay on my tail, which flustered the hell out of me. I was forced to push the cart by now, and my body was drenched with sweat.
    I know that you might be wondering how I couldn’t elude the slow moving undead out in the open. First, there were all the cars. You try getting a cart to twist and turn in a space where I can barley fit it, much less turn it. I had to turn when there was room…that meant long bursts of staright ahaead.
    When I got to the other side of the highway, I saw Eric climbing through a ticket window of a huge theater. He had already killed off a few zombies, unloaded his cart, broke his cart down, and shoved it through the box office window. Then, Eric went through the hole. He was nice enough to help me once I finally made it to him.
    We didn’t have any way to block the wall of glass doors at the entrance—some of which were already broken—so we made a hasty retreat in to one of the pitch black theaters. We had to pull out one of our flashlights with the red lenses in order to see anything as we hurried down the aisle. We were gonna duck out back and keep running, but when we managed to force the exit door open, we found ourselves in a long—perhaps thirty feet or so—cooridor. We decided that it was as good of a buffer as we were likely to find. We wedged the entry door to this particular theater shut and have decided to wait things out a while in here.
    We know that there are survivors in the area. That means that it is likely that any of the zombies that have been drawn by us will eventually be drawn away by other distratctions. Seriously, zombies have the memory of a goldfish…at best.
    The hornet’s nest we have kicked around these parts will die down. In the few hours we have been here, the pounding and other noises that go along with a zombie horde have dwindled significantly. Twice I have gone out to that cooridor and listened at the doors at either end. It is silent. While I can’t be totally sure, I am fairly certain those doors lead outside. Probably open out to a side or rear parking lot.
    Well…I’ve had enough of Eric’s dirty looks as I run down the batteries on one of our flashlights. I will stop writing for now.
     
    Sunday, February 14
     
    I thought we might be screwed, but we finally got out of Sandy. Well…the main part of it anyways. We are now shacked up in this really posh house outside of town. It sits at the edge of a gigantic farm. Hard to tell what used to grow here, the military took a position on this land complete with what look like holding pens and massive trench burial sites. There are lots of blackened bones scattered around fom the burning piles. (It takes a lot of heat to burn a body down to just ash. Bonfires wouldn’t be enough to do the trick.)
    We are up on this hill that offers a perfect view of the highway. A forest flanks us on three sides. As nice as this place is, it has been absolutely gutted. It is worse than a Who house after the Grinch picked it clean on Christmas Eve night.
    We are in the rear of the place with a nice fire going in the sunken tub of what used to be the master bedroom. Eric nailed a few fluffy, white bunnies for us to eat.
    I can’t recall being so tired in a long time. We’ve been ducking and dodging for the past thirty or so hours. It is a blessing to be able to lay back and relex. Plus, I doubt we’ll be moving from this spot any time soon. It’s snowing again…hard.
    It has been a while since I’ve seen so many of those things scattered around and lurking at every corner. Between the singles, roamers, and the always dangerous creepers under seemingly every vehicle…I’ve probably put down over two hundred of them in the past day and a half.
    I kept hearing the voice of Doctor Who —the dreamy David Tennant