Summer, lost track of time.

I don’t know how long it has been since they attacked. All I remember is that those things made their first push on black friday. I don’t like to reminise on those days, in fact, the only reason I started to write in this damn journal at all is because I was told that someday, somebody might want to know what things were like for me. Well, my name is Jack Furrow, and I am the leader of the best damn zombie assault squad that anybody in the U.S. knows of. Though I’m sure that this is just going to end up rotting in the dirt after I get my ass killed, I’ll try to keep this thing updated. Today we made an attack on an old supermarket full of those damn zed-heads, it was pretty much the usual smash and shoot. We lost another idiot, one of those damn adrenaline junkies who think that these things are just like in the movies. I guess he forgot that these bastards only stop moving when you hit them in the spine, not the head. They always seem to expect them to shamble towards them slowly, moaning about brains, and think that one shot to the noggin will take them down for good. I don’t know why, but even after these things lose their heads, or anything else for that matter, they keep crawling at you, trying to rip you apart. And they’re silent sons-of-bitches.  Hell, only the messed up ones’ll shamble at you. The others seem to love waiting in the shadow, just so they can jump on you when you pass by. If that damn kid kept his eyes open and listened to the vets, hey might have just gotten the shit scared out of him. Oh, well, thats all for today, maybe next time I’ll have something more interesting for the bored bastard stuck reading this to pass the time.


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