Final post from “The Laziness of Paradise”?

The following text was found in the deserted ruins of town, out in the desert.  It looked like it was attacked, overrun.  There was nothing left of the occupants of the town but gnawed bones.  The note was found in the a dwelling in the middle of the town, much more fortified than the rest.  It tells a horrible tale…


Nine hours before the attack.

I’m scared…

I don’t know what’ll become of me. I’ve build by home up as far as I can. I have a stronghold now in the middle of town, or at least something I can call a stronghold. A mass of wood and iron. An old door and concrete blocks. I’ve left the rest of the defensible stuff on the perimeter, they’ll do more good blocking the zombie’s entrance into the town than they will blocking my home.

I did as much as I could during the day. I made up the last of the town defences that were within my capacity. Setting lures of human flesh on the barbs on the walls. Sickening work, but if it redirects even a dozen of them it’ll be worth it. I think the town walls can keep out eighty, maybe eighty five of the vile creatures. Then it’ll be up to my stronghold. That could hold up to a dozen at most.

Today was grim. I looted most of the other tents and beds of the final belongings. Put them dutifully into the bank. HA! The bank. I still feel like I’m robbing my fellow citizens if I take to much stuff too quickly. The town mentality is strong, but we’ve been through so much horror together…

When I woke this morning there were a dozen corpses in the town. I knew these people. Some were friends, comrades. I used so many water rations dealing with them, I used the whole supply in the bank. I couldn’t get any more from the well, we were to make a pump to make it easier, but … it’s too hard to get so much water. I water the bodies of my friends first. I couldn’t bear the thought of them coming back. To have to try and fight them off.

Some of the bodies I dragged out of town. Still four left. I know what’ll happen to them. In the night, they’ll rise. I’ll hear them at my door. Pushing at my walls. Hungering for my flesh.

I can’t think about it any more!

I’ve made weapons. I’ve got a water pistol, full. Zombies can’t seem to touch water. I have a strange weapon that shoots batteries. I don’t know where it came from but it’s effective. I have lots of batteries. I have a heavy stick too, if worst comes to worst. I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to use them though. I’m so tired.

So tired…

I’ve been working all day.

I ate and I drank, it helped keep my spirits up, but there was so much more to do.

There was some steroids in the bank. I took them. They gave me some energy.

I finished baiting the barbs.

But there were still bodies all over town. I trawled through the tents and beds. So much stuff unused. But I knew I had to get rid of as many bodies as I could.

There was another drug in the bank. I didn’t know what it was, the label was torn off. I think someone in town made it. A desperate, twisted experiment.

I took it.

It was horrible, but it gave me more energy. I dragged as many of the bodies out as I could, till there I could move no more.

Now I have just four, still, silent friends, to keep my company in my final hours. I don’t think they’ll stay still for long though.

I think there are still two others from the town alive. They’re outside. I heard them earlier this morning.

One of them, DannyCrowley I think, was calling across the desert. He said he was camping. He was exhausted, thirsty and injured. He didn’t know how he did not die last night.

I don’t know how I survived either…

I offered to bring him food, water and bandages, to camp with him for the final hours.

He never replied.

So I built my stronghold.

There was another out there. He never could speak unless in town. He was banned from discussing in our forums. I saw him moving about, he was doing something, but never came to the walls. I talked to him a couple of times. He seemed nice, but I daren’t open the gates again.

The world has fallen to madness. Why must I endure it another night?

So it comes to this. To waiting. Holding weapons I may never use. I’m so tired. So tired. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay awake till the attack. I’ll just have to trust my defenses. Hope they hold.

Why should I hope?

Would death be better? I don’t know.

Maybe … if I live tomorrow … I’ll write again.

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