Kevin Journal 6

This stuff is getting nasty. Mom, Dad, I really hope you’ve managed to hole up in the hunting cabin or someplace even more remote. Dad, I know what you mean about Viet Nam, now. That’s all I can say. And I probably still don’t get it.

Because I made this axe thing, a bunch of us went down to try to fix the engines. I’m point, because of the axe, but they gave me a bunch of riot gear. It’s like trying to cut a cord of wood in August. There were a bunch of these zombies, again. And one talked. People keep saying they’re all dead, but if he remembered enough to be able to talk, he’s not entirely gone. We’re not just laying them to rest, we’re killing them. Nobody’s said anything, but I suspect we — the people who haven’t been infected — will eventually have to kill all of the rest. Or die. That’s got to be a couple of thousand people.

You know, I’m not going to write any more today. It’s been nasty. Sorry, but … Dad, I figure you’ll understand.

Kevin Journal 6

Rise of the Dead kettle Dervish