Days With The Undead (Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

For any reports of the dead rising around the globe - I haven’t found anything yet.
    It’s just so strange, so odd to find nothing. We’d always assumed that the spread would be lightning fast but that’s just not the case. It’s hard to say what the speed of the vectors of transmission truly are in a situation like is. We’re getting our information on the fly and not from a clinical setting.
    All I know is that once someone who is infected dies, it takes them only a short period of time to come back as one of the Undead. That’s a pretty fast vector if you ask me. Given that piece of information, I can only infer that the infection will continue to spread. There are just too many people that have been infected and way too many of the Undead shambling around.
    I’m sure that you’re out there thinking that what I’m writing here is in fact some major prank. Or perhaps some publicity stunt for a new movie. If that’s the case, that’s sad and disheartening. I wish I could make you all believe that what we’re running from is in fact real.
    But you won’t believe me until you open your front door one day and come face to face with your now decomposing neighbor.
    Maybe the infection is contained to Toronto and the surrounding areas.
    Maybe there are no reports to find because no one else needs to worry about telling the world of their struggle for survival.
    Maybe hordes of the Undead have not massacred the populace.
    After everything that I have seen and witnessed in the past week, though, I just don’t think that’s the case. I can feel the Undead breathing down my neck everyday even though I know they’re not literally there. It’s that feeling that is keeping me going, keeping me fighting.
    It’s a constant concern of mine that I will come across a press release or a cry for help. Perhaps a blog from some shut-in thinking that their hastily boarded up windows and doors will be enough to keep the Undead at bay. And that just resurrects all of the fears and regrets that you have about your own loved ones; the ones you left behind, the ones you knew you had to leave behind. It kills you inside but at the same time your own survival is all that you can really worry about. At least their memory will live on in you.
    The day that Brooks VanReit rose from the dead I called my parents in British Columbia. I told them to start heading south as soon as they could. To head south and to stay away from towns and cities where the Undead had been observed. Knowing my father, he would have refused to go thinking I was just acting crazy. If it’s not on the news coming out of Newfoundland, it can’t be true. I can actually hear him in my head saying it. My mother on the other hand would have understood the urgency of the situation and started packing the car. Packing it with things they were unlikely to need but at least moving in a positive direction.
    The only thing I cannot predict about them is whether or not they will actually leave. Two differing ideologies, likely fighting a battle of wits. On one side the chance for survival, on the other stupid, pig-headed denial and most probably death.
    I haven’t heard from them since that day. Neither of them lives in the technological age so there are no cell phones or a computer. The phone at the house just rings; no answering machine either. I’ve got no way of knowing so I must choose to forget about them until I have the luxury to wonder.
    The main thing that we need to remember is that we cannot save everyone. In the end, I believe that we’ll hardly be able to save anyone. If what we see in the movies or read in any of the books is correct, there really won’t be any chance for most people. By the time they’ve figured out what’s happening it’s going to be too late. And while urban areas will likely have a larger and more concentrated effort to fight back, the numbers will ultimately work against them. The Undead just need to get one across the front line to