I am blogging all of this from an empty house in Somerville near Porter Square. Funny, I used to live not more than a block and a half from here, back when I was a bachelor and a zombie apocalypse was the furthest thing from my mind.
The family that used to live here is as far as I can tell in bits and pieces strewn about here and there where the zombies fell upon them. Here is an arm, a leg, a piece of scalp, and everywhere bones and pieces of skull. No one knows why they are so intent on eating our brains - perhaps because it is the only vital organ on a ghoul, the creatures instinctively seek it out in its prey?
The phone lines - both land-based and cell - are down all over but the Internet is still alive and kicking somehow. I load up Digg and find nothing but zombie stories; the same with Fark; again the same with Reddit. The major media outlets are all offline, but the great horde of unwashed nerds continue to go toe to toe with the living dead. There is something cheering in this, even as I think about my daughter and the fate which must inevitably befall her.
Aside from the zombies on the rooftop I didn't encounter any ghouls as I limped up Oxford Street across the Cambridge/Somerville line, a weird occurrence that rattled me more than their hungry howls and mindless shuffling would have at this point. Other bloggers were reporting a similar lull in the zombie attacks. What was happening - had the plague run its course, or had the undead simply run out of people to eat? Whatever the cause, the government still wasn't taking any chances. Acting President Pelosi and the surviving members of the Bush Cabinet had been flown to a remote bikini atoll in the Pacific where they could watch, wait, and pray that situation would somehow improve while directing what remained of the United States' armed forces to deal with the worst of the hot spots. There had been talk of a televised address to the public, but since most of the stations around the country weren't broadcasting there didn't seem much point in it - besides, what could she say to us at this point that wouldn't have been a lie?
I tried to see if I could send an email to my wife's cell phone, but I wondered if the SMS message would even get through. I had looked around for a phone here but couldn't find one, and I dared not wander around the neighborhood in the dark looking for another while at any moment I could stumble upon a pack of zombies who would begin the hunt anew.
If you're reading this, Mrs. Exile, I'm still out here and alive... somehow. My address is 123 Fake Street. Please send a helicopter and a clean change of clothes if you can!