WEATHERED

ENTRY 426

WEATHERED
-- Bolivia, N.C. --

This monstrous storm has ravaged this area for nearly a month now.

The drenching waves of rain are becoming more annoying than a cat's meow!

Hurricanes often strike this area of the east coast in normal times!

These abnormal times have made the weather commit crazy crimes.

Eastern North Carolina is built to withstand this severe weather band!

Flooding is rare out here because of the way the Core Of Engineers worked the land.

Lucky for us, the N.C. Core Of Engineers worked with Sonny Point...

Building up the land around here to prevent weather from destroying the joint.

Our plans to travel into the heart of the city to contact survivors is still on...

But we cannot travel into the zombie madness when we are restricted pawn.

We must have mobility and sight to navigate the undead city maze...

Wilmington is a deathtrap just waiting to draw us into the zombie haze.

In the meantime, Marcus has become great friends with Zack in the city.

Zack tells us he is secure and relatively safe in the zombie city without pity.

He tells us stories of his entrapment in the heart of the city of his birth...

Of how he has been forced to live in the upper sections of a building of worth.

The rain washes away the smell of humans and lingering death!
The winds blow away our scent to give us new air for fresh breath.
We would always rather drink water formed in the sky...
None of us would ever think to question the reasons why.

Today is day 22 of this monsoon hurricane typhoon, or whatever...
We are all getting a little stir crazy... can't sit still forever.
I have hope that this storm will abate sooner than later.
Some of these pools of rainwater are as deep as a little crater.

The good thing about this weather is the best thing going...
This water flood drains down into the creeks and streams, aflowing.
The bodies and the blood and the bile and the death stench...
It flows down into the swamps miles from here to fill a muddy trench.

And so... the rain continues to fall like diamonds dropped to priceless in their worth.
And, our friend in the city continues to wait for us to bring him mirth.
I'll continue to write my poetry to leave a legacy of this zombie mess...
And may these rains eventually bring us relief from all this zombie stress!


SEM

SEARCHING THE AIRWAVES

ENTRY 420

SEARCHING THE AIRWAVES

(Bolivia, N.C.)

We have been back home for three days now.

It feels great to be back home with fresh supplies.

The trek was long and arduous,

We had to fight more creatures than we hoped too...

And I'm too tire to rack my brain for rhymes in this poem.

Marcus proved to be an invaluable member of the search party.

He has a real strong nose for sniffing out the things we need.

The batteries he found are a godsend,

The clothing he found has raised our spirits.

Even the dogs felt the good emotions we brought back home.

The one thing I regret about our last mission bugs me...

I'm torn up inside about the actions we could not take.

When I placed the batteries in my shortwave radio,

And I picked up the distress call from the guy named Zack...

I was heart broken we could not go back after him.

Our conversation with Zack was very cool, indeed.

He instantly bonded with Marcus because of their ages.

When we left the loaded zombie island,

To return home with our supplies....

We had to turn off the radios and concentrate on our escape.

Marcus has spent most of his time back home by the radio.

He is determined to make contact with Zack again.

I pray to god that a lonely 19 year old kid all alone,

Can continue to hold off the zombie hoard,

Until we find out a way to find out where he is located!

For now I will take the... wait a minute...

Marcus just yelled out a long and happy, "It's Zack, Dad!"

I must now put down this paper and pen...

I can imagine the happiness in my son's heart!

Looks like we might be planning another run into the heart of Wilmington!

I can already feel the resentment building in the women.

They hate defending the compound on their own.

But these treks into the unknown aren't fun.

The thought of being eaten alive is not joyous.

But we are humanitarians -- we do not leave innocent people to die!

Marcus is calling me again.

So, I'm going to not write for a time.

It is obvious... we will need to make plans...

To assault the city again and kill more zombies creatures...

And perhaps make more peace with god by saving another human.

SEM



TRAPPED ON A ZOMBIE PARADISE

ENTRY 417

TRAPPED ON A ZOMBIE PARADISE

(Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina)

We've been trapped on Wrightsville Beach for 9 days of sun and sand.

A hoard of zombies, 200 strong, chased us off the mainland.

We got our supplies and an adult drink for our blues...

We found a stock of batteries and new running shoes...

And we have holed up in a hotel fit for a rock band!

Wrightsville Beach was a North Carolina paradise...

White sand, warm water, beautiful chicks and summer merchandise.

Now the dead monster things fowl the awesome white sand,

The dead monster things now own all the land,

And now you couldn't even find a nest of field mice.

Marcus found the tee shirt shop on the second floor.

He and Richard returned dragging a huge box through the door.

Inside was food, drink and Marcus' new expression...

Two hatchets, shotgun shells and Marcus' new obsession...

Six tee shirts with this crazy zombie logo that will never bore!

We finally made contact with the camp yesterday.

The new batteries are full of charge that made our phones play.

We'll try to cross over the bridge tomorrow morn...

To plow our way back to the highway, back to our norm...

And get back to the women who will beg us to forever stay!

SEM

  

INTO THE ZOMBIE ZONES

ENTRY 413

INTO THE ZOMBIE ZONES

(Bolivia, North Carolina)

The men have packed up the cars with supplies for the trek.

They packed food, water, machetes, two way radios and guns.

Shelter is never an issue inside the city, now a wreck...

We have an entire city to play death tag with murderous zombie Huns!

Oh yea... supply raids into the heart of the city is suicide, at worst!

We sometimes become trapped in the infested zones for days.

Medical supplies are the items we always run out of first...

The need for peroxide and alcohol drives our maddeningly thirsty ways.

The Black Death Rains created the undead who eat the living.

We here in Bolivia aren't smart enough to know why!

What we do know is the monsters never are the ones giving!

And to remember all the death and destruction makes us all cry!

They are beeping the horns and calling for me now.

Marcus is already out there and ready to prove himself.

It is now time to close this missive with a polite bow...

And avert the frightened eyes of the women by closing in on myself.

Bolivia used to have a population of just about 150 people.

We are down to 53 proud, but frightened, humans now.

Jason, up high and watching for danger, in the church Steeple...

Has given the whistle of clearance for us to leave town.

I hope to write my next entry very soon...

But the danger of driving into the zombie unknown is numbing, my Lord.

My fingers are beginning to tremble like a wobbly Loon...

So here we come, Wilmington, to again confront the zombie hoard!

SEM



INTRODUCTION TO THE POETRY OF ZOMBIES

ENTRY 54

INTRODUCTION TO THE POETRY OF ZOMBIES

(Bolivia, North Carolina)

Allow me to introduce myself again! I am Samuel Elliot Matthews. My son’s name is Marcus. We live, along with a small community of survivors, behind barbed wire walls. We venture outside the gates and other fencing only occasionally. Death, and horror, awaits all who freely walk the out lands. They are hidden out there, waiting for us to make a mistake, so that they can pounce upon us, kill us and then eat us. There’s no cat and mouse activities here… this is hunter hunting prey hunting prey hunting hunter!

These are the diary entry recountings of some of my days, and adventures, in poetry forms. If you’re reading this, my one piece of advice to you is… “Don’t repeat the mistakes I’ve made.”

***

What the Federal government called "The Fog of the Rebirth of Death" arose up from suddenly activated Craters of the Moon volcano park in mid-summer, in Idaho, 10 years ago. The inky black mist bellowed up from several of the Lava Tube Caves like oily exhaust from a broken down car. By the time Federal Government mandated Core of Engineers plugged the caves, two months later, with tons of liquid concrete… the sky above half of the Northern Hemisphere was darkened with the substance.

As the rains came, washing the horror-making stuff down into the soil… the dead began to arise first in America, then around the world, to hunt down and eat anything mammalian. The living are seemingly unaffected… but with death, humans rise up to kill the living!

Half of the worlds population must be dead and re-killed by the living, by now. We lost scientists, politicians, teachers, doctors, engineers, pilots… and many more people that helps to run a society. We are getting by, but the zombie attackers continue to come in waves and survival becomes more difficult every day. But, we are survivors.

Again, these are my stories, put to poems… and I hope what I write will eventually help others to survive their part of the zombie madness.

SEM



THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE

ENTRY 412

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE

(Bolivia, North Carolina)

I allowed Marcus the right to handle my .44 Magnum today.

He turned 12 Monday, three days ago...

The pressure on me to teach him how to shoot the living dead was overbearing.
And now... that time has finally come to him.

He is as tall as I am now... a huge kid,

And his hands are as big as mine.

He ran through the main gate yesterday,

 When he noticed his dog had somehow slipped through the fence.

We all watch in abject horror as he single-handily beat back the zombie hoard...

While scooping up his dog with his free left hand.

He ran back to the gate to be let back inside as though nothing had happened.

What the hell could I say?

He had just breached the Zombie Apocalypse Rubicon --

Him smiling at me,

While stroking that dog,

As if they has simply gone out for a walk.

Marcus is not yet a man!

But, he has the size of a man...

With the impulse control of a 12 year old anxious to kill zombies.

He was one years old when the world became hell.

I  can no longer pretend that he is my little baby boy!

So, today we practiced shooting wooden figures.

Tomorrow, much to my waining chagrin,

We will take him out for our next Wilmington supply hunt.

He reminds me, every day, that we use his dog as an alarm!

Tomorrow, I will see just just how close to being a man he is!
He will take the dog along with us.
Responsibility learned... for his dog, himself, me and everybody else, to be a man!

SEM