The Midnight Wailing Explained

Unfortunately, last night wasn’t another peaceful one. I think I had been asleep for about two or three fitful hours before Carl was shaking me awake. He had a shotgun in his hand. Ellen was standing behind him, and she looked terrified.

It took me a moment or two to figure out what was happening. Then I heard it. I don’t know how I had missed it. The wailing was constant, high pitched and loud. It sounded as if a young girl was feeling terrible pain, abject sorrow or both. The cry rose and fell, but never stopped. The overall intensity, however, never stopped. With each passing second it worked its way deeper into me. Soon, I was shaking. I couldn’t tell whether it was fear or compassion for whatever was out there making that noise.

I looked into Carl’s face and understood what he wanted to do. We were to go out there and help that creature if it was human and kill it if it was a zombie. Carl helped me up, and Ellen passed me a shotgun.

“Load up with shells,” she said.

“What’s the plan,” I sighed. “Are we coming back here?”

“Yes,” said Carl. “We’ll leave everything here and come back.”

We crept cautiously outside. The streets appeared to be empty, but the wailing dominated. It echoed off buildings and through the alleys. Every time we thought we were getting closer, the sound seemed to come from another direction.

“Here,” breathed Carl. He was peeking around the corner into an alley. It was strewn with all sorts of garbage, overturned cans and junk. I could see motion near the back. The wailing here was loud and direct.

Ellen and Carl slunk against each side of the alley and approached whatever was moving back there. I followed behind them, perhaps twenty feet back, and I kept looking behind us. This would have been a bad spot for an ambush.

Ellen seemed to be waving me forward. I hurried up, peering ahead. I saw what might have been long hair. Maybe a soiled nightgown. The girl was rocking back and forth and crying. For a brief moment, I was sure I saw my Frances. I had to stop myself from running forward. My rational mind told me it could not be her.

I was much closer, nearly even with Ellen, when Carl switched on his light. Immediately, the wailing became more agitated. It was deeper, almost like a growl. The head whipped around from side to side, as if the girl looking for the source of the light.

Carl turned off the light and started to wave us back the other way. He came up to us and said, “We should get out of here.”

“We can’t leave her here,” said Ellen.

“That’s no girl,” said Carl.

She headed quickly back toward the creature. She switched on her light. Almost at once, the wailing turned into a hysterical screaming. Ellen turned and tried to run, but the pale figure was on top of her immediately. It was swiping at her with its long fingers.

Carl and I both bolted forward. Carl started firing. I could see the buckshot pepper the frail looking creature. Dark, thick blood spurted in all directions, but the zombie didn’t fall. I started to fire, as well, and two or three of my shots hit home, yet the creature still stood over Ellen and flailed away. Ellen had curled into a ball and covered her face with her hands. Her forearms were shredded and bloody.

Carl was now on top of the zombie, and he put the muzzle right to its head. The blast took off part of the skull but didn’t stop the creature. He fired another shot point blank into the head. This time, the creature shuddered and dropped. He fired again and again into the body until it was a black, pulpy mess. The thing didn’t really have hands, but long claws. The nails were four or five inches long, and looked very tough.

Ellen was barely conscious. She had a deep gash on one cheek, and the skin on her arms hung off in ragged strips. We hadn’t brought any first aid supplies and weren’t sure what to do for her. Carl handed me his gun and heaved her up over his shoulder.

“I’ll try to carry her. We’ve got to get back quickly.”

Since we had wandered quite a bit in order to find the source of the wailing, it took us some time to figure out how to return. All the while, Ellen’s life bled away. The blood flowed from several different places, and she was so torn up that we couldn’t identify all of her individual wounds. After a few minutes Ellen started moaning and whining in pain. Her face was pale. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t make it.

Nevertheless, Ellen did survive the trip back to the safe house. We patched her up as best as we could and hoped that the most serious bleeding had stopped. Neither Carl nor I have any idea how bad she is, and we hope she’ll last through the rest of this long night. It is just after 3am, and I could really use some sleep.

Safe...for Now

We all slept deeply that night after our running battle with the zombie hordes. Ellen was the first to wake up, and it was already late morning. We had been asleep for more than 15 hours.

That was the first night since this madness began that I didn't dream. My sleep has been haunted by a strange wailing, like a child crying for her mother. In my nightmares, I have imagined it was my daughter calling for me. I would search from room to room, trying to follow the sound. Zombies reached out at me from every corner, slowing my progress.

Yet, each time I thought I had found the right room, the wailing sound moved to another spot, and my search would begin again. The dream always seems to end the same way. Finally, I do find the right room. I open a door, and Frances is kneeling on the floor by her mother's corpse. She is crying, holding her head in her hands and rocking back and forth.

I rush into the room to cradle my little girl in my arms. I am reaching for her, but then something grabs me by the throat and pulls me away. I can't breathe. My daughter continues wailing across the room, and I am helpless to do anything. As my breath leaves my body, my vision fades. Then I awake in a sweat, gasping for breath.

On some of those nights, startled awake by my dream in a dark room somewhere in the city, I swear I can hear that crying in the far distance. Only my fear keeps me from rushing after the noise to rescue my daughter. Of course, Frances is dead, and she is never coming back.

Those dreams have kept me wondering. Is the crying I hear when I awake really there? Or is it my imagination? Could there be a child--or children--out there waiting for someone to rescue them? But when the day comes, the voices are gone. Carl and Ellen do not seem to have heard them. Maybe I'm starting to go crazy. Could I be transforming into one of them?

But last night, I didn't dream at all. When Ellen shook me awake, I felt almost human, though incredibly hungry and sore. We ate the last of our food. Fortunately, the deli had running water, so we were able to fill up our water bottles.

The sun was high overhead when we left the meat locker. Our goal was still to find this "safe house" at 123rd and Dalton. We still had about 30 blocks to go.

At first, it seemed as if it would be easy going. No zombies in sight. But soon, about a dozen were rushing at us from an alley. We bashed them into a pulp and kept moving. At 105th, we looked down the street and saw a huge crowd, perhaps a hundred, two hundred zombies? We crept through the intersection as quietly as possible.

We reached the other side without alerting the horde, and my heart rate backed down to normal. That's when we struck gold. There was a small convenience store with the windows and glass doors intact. We looked inside and saw that the shelves were fully stocked. Somehow the looters had missed this place.

The door, of course, was locked. Carl took my shovel and bashed in a window. Immediately, a piercing alarm went off. We all cringed and covered our ears. I started to back away from the noise, but someone was pushing me forward into the store. I resisted.

I resisted, that is, until I saw a dark cloud pouring our way. Every zombie for blocks was rushing toward us. The crowd we had successfully bypassed moments before was now rounding the corner. It grew larger at each moment.

We scrambled over broken glass and made our way to the rear of the store. Ellen pushed me into a corner, and we huddled there together. I closed my eyes tightly to block out the ear-splitting alarm, but it didn't work.

Then, glass shards fell to the floor. Creatures were banging on the sturdy glass doors, and they began to disintegrate. The horde of zombies was coming our way. Carl and Ellen both fired their weapons at the same time, and the shock slowed the surge for a moment, but the zombies kept coming.

They were on us, and for a long time, all I remember was pushing out, striking out, lunging forward with the shovel. My arms were so tired I could barely lift them. First one, then two, then half a dozen times, zombie claws ripped into my flesh. I knew this was the end for us.

Sometime during the onslaught, the alarm stopped shrieking. The zombies, though, didn't stop coming. Carl fired shell after shell into the flood. I didn't think I could defend myself any longer. I dropped to my knees and waited for the end. Blood was pouring down my forehead and into my eyes.

But then, my eyes blinded and stinging from the blood, I could hear that the violence had stopped. There were no more slathering fiends climbing over each other to get at us. The firing had stopped. I was alive.

"Mike, are you okay? Hang in there."

I started to cry. Then I was sobbing. My body was heaving so much that I had trouble breathing. I felt hands on me tending to my wounds. Setting my body carefully on the hard floor.

Water splashed over my face, and my eyes started to clear. Ellen's face, which for so many days had been hard and blank, was now tender and concerned. She gave me a swig of some sort of sports drink.

"I think this might help you relax a little more than that stuff," said Carl. He handed me an open bottle of bourbon. I took a deep, burning drink. Then another.

I nodded my head at him and smiled. It might have been my first smile in a week.

We were all scratched up and bloody, but safe. We poured alcohol onto our wounds, and they burned like fire, but it was all we had to prevent infection. The three of us seem to be immune to whatever virus has overtaken the others, but regular infection from scrapes and cuts are still a problem.

After we ate our fill and gathered as much as we could, we trudged off again toward what we hoped would be salvation. The way was easy. The alarm had sucked out all the zombies for many blocks. There was only that eerie silence beneath the hot sun.

Finally, late this afternoon, I spotted the crude image of a house spray painted on a wall. The words scratched underneath said "safe house this way." An arrow pointed us to our destination.

We reached a pawn shop, and more graffiti told us the safe house was inside. The looted shop was a shambles, but a strong steel door in the back was open. It had a small window, covered with bars, like a jail cell. We went inside cautiously.

There were first aid kits, all sorts of weapons and ammunition, and even food and water. But there were no people. What had happened to them? They had obviously been there. People had written messages--mostly to their loved ones--on the walls. Some of the messages were pure filth. Others tried to provide helpful tips like "bash their brains in." The tips were often contradictory, so we didn't know which ones to believe.

We soon discovered a small ad hoc "survival" manual. Someone had collected tips for protecting ourselves along with information about other safe houses. A few other survivors passing through had added their own tips and information. Carl was able to determine that there seemed to be several pickup points throughout the city where helicopters made regular runs to rescue survivors. The closest was an old hospital.

We scouted around until it started to get dark. We heard lots of growling and guttural screams. And this time we all heard the strange sobbing noise. It seems very close tonight. For some reason, those echoing cries scare me a hell of a lot more than the ones that sound like a lion roaring.

We figured it was time to get inside. The steel door is sturdy and there's no way those things are getting in here tonight. I think I'll sleep well again. Tomorrow we're heading for the hospital. There are a couple of simple maps in here that promise safe, easy routes. I hope they're right.

Escaping the Horde

The last two days have been a nightmare. I feel as if I have been looking down on myself from above as we struggle through the streets, each step a miracle of survival. Until this moment, I haven't had a single moment in the last 48 hours to stop and reflect. We have lived in a state of perpetual action, punctuated here and there by a few moments of sleep so deep we might as well have been dead.

In the first days since we left the apartment, the neighborhoods have been empty. We were accompanied by constant fear and anxiety. We never knew when a zombie might surprise us and attack. It seemed so stressful and difficult, and I longed for it to end. In contrast to the last two days, those first days now seem like paradise.

Carl woke us up very early two days ago, before the sun was up. Something was going on outside the office. There must have been a dozen zombies or more milling around outside the door. We could not see under the door, so we had to guess. There was plenty of moaning and shuffling of feet. Chairs and desks and equipment were being pushed around. From our experience with the zombies before, we knew the creatures were milling around aimlessly, sometimes bumping into walls or desks or each other.

The three of us discussed our options--the first time I had heard Ellen speak in several days--and decided to wait and see what might happen. Maybe they would leave on their own. We waited until nearly noon, but there was no indication they were going anywhere. Finally, Carl said, "Let's just get the hell out of here. I think we can outrun 'em." Ellen nodded, but I think she just wanted a chance to bash some zombie skulls.

"Find a weapon," Carl said. We looked around but didn't find anything better than what we already had--a shotgun, a shovel and a table leg.

"As soon as we open the door, rush to the front of the store" he said. "If we can force our way to the street, we can get clear and run."

Carl and Ellen both looked ready to get moving, but I was nearly paralyzed with fear. I was willing to wait here for days, if necessary, until the zombies went away on their own. But I also knew that we needed to refresh our supplies of food and water. We were getting very low on water.

"Ready?" Carl asked.

Ellen nodded. I said, "No, but we've gotta go anyway." I gripped the shovel tightly.

"Mike, you go out first and be ready to swing that thing. Maybe you can push the zombies away from the doorway."

"Why not just use the shotgun?" I asked.

"We need to save our ammo."

He was right, of course. I stepped to the doorway.

"I'll open it, and then you start swinging."

I squeaked out, "Okay." I was about to vomit.

"Now!"

The door opened, and I was hit by a rush of foul air. It was the stink of death. A zombie stood in the hall with its back to me. For a moment, I was frozen. Then, it turned its head to look at us. Even though the zombie eyes look dead, I could see a flicker of...what...a predatory spark? That got me going. I swung down hard on the side of its head.

The creature staggered backward, and I stepped forward and took another swing. It went down. Ellen slid past me and started bashing its head in with the table leg.

I moved out of the room and turned toward the front door, facing 78th St. When I saw the office crowded with nearly motionless zombies I almost turned back. Carl, though, had moved right behind me and he gave me a shove. "Keep moving. Fast!"

I churned my legs as fast as I could, but the muscles were tired and weak. It was like being in a bad dream where my body simply wouldn't move. I kept moving, though, and eventually built up a little steam.

I came close to a zombie, still standing like a statue, and swung the shovel like a baseball bat. The zombie dropped to its knees and toppled over. I didn't stick around to watch.

I was only a few feet from the front door when a deafening BOOM sent me sprawling toward the floor out of instinct. I scrambled back up against the wall.

Chris was reaching down to help me up. "Get up. Keep moving," he growled.

I saw the splattered remains of a zombie on the floor beside me, its middle blown through by a blast from the shotgun. The creature had been right on me. If Chris hadn't fired, its long fingernails would have been in my neck.

The blast seemed to alert all the zombies in the place. I heard a ruckus behind me, turned my head, and saw Ellen wailing away with her table leg at the zombies reaching out for us. I started running again.

We got outside and ran right into the middle of the street. I heard Chris say, "Oh shit." I thought something must have happened to Ellen. I turned to see, but instead of Ellen, I saw a wave of zombies rushing up behind us. There must have been 50 or more. They were definitely not slow, and I wasn't sure we could outrun them.

"Up to Dalton and turn left!" Chris shouted.

I ran as fast as I could. As we reached the corner, more blasts from the shotgun caused me to jump. Chris had picked off two undead that darted out from an alleyway. These things aren't the same slow, stiff creatures from Night of the Living Dead. They are quick. And relentless.

No matter how far and how fast we ran, they kept coming. I didn't know how much longer I could keep it up, and we had only gone a few blocks. Chris must have been thinking the same thing, because I heard him say, "We've got to find a place to hole up."

A few yards further, and I heard Ellen's voice, cold and hard, "Fire escape." We turned to look, and already she was running toward the red ladder in an alcove. The zombies, of course, followed.

"You first, Ellen," Chris ordered.

She started scrambling up the ladder, and we turned to face the horde. The lead zombie was a man in a police uniform. His grayish face was caked with dried blood. The creature was only about six or eight feet away when Chris let him have it. The head exploded in a shower of blood and bone, and the momentum carried the body forward. It slid harmlessly between us.

"Grab the gun." I admire how cool Chris has been in the midst of the worst. I reached for the shotgun.

"No, the officer's gun. Grab it."

Oh, of course. I didn't want to take my eye off the rest of the charging zombies, but I reached down, unsnapped the policeman's weapon.

"The ammo, too."

I grunted and collected extra clips from the officer's belt. When I looked up, the horde was upon us. Only a blast from the shotgun saved me.

I took a swing and my shovel drove a zombie in a bus driver's uniform backwards. Chris slammed the butt of the gun against the forehead of another. He loaded a few shells. The creatures were swarming all around us now. I felt something rip into the side of my shoulder, turned, and pushed out with both arms. The force held the zombie at bay--for the moment. We were fighting a losing battle.

"I'm up. Somebody else get up here." It was Ellen from the landing on the second story.

"Throw the gun up to Ellen," said Chris.

I had dropped it at my feet in the rush and stooped to pick it up again. A zombie pounded on my back until Chris put a hole in him. I tossed the gun up toward Ellen. She reached out, and for a second, it looked like she would miss it. A poor toss. But her fingers wrapped around the trigger guard, and she pulled it in.

Chris didn't have to give Ellen any instructions. She immediately began shooting, and zombie skulls began exploding all around us. In moments, she had emptied the clip. There was a bit of breathing room, and so I tossed up a clip. I warded off a couple of zombies, and tossed two more.

"When she starts firing again," Chris said, "get up there."

I nodded my head. When the shooting began, I swung my shovel as hard as I could, tucked it in my armpit, and started climbing. A zombie grabbed my foot and pulled, but Chris shot its arm off at the shoulder. I kept climbing.

About halfway up, I looked down. Chris was covered, shoving and hitting violently to keep himself clear of the long nails on the creatures' fingers. Ellen was firing more slowly now, aiming carefully. With each shot, another zombie head disintegrated.

"Your turn, Chris," I said as I reached the landing. I pulled myself up and watched helplessly as Chris, already halfway up, kicked at the zombies trying their best to overwhelm him. He yelled in pain as a zombie latched itself around his ankle. The damn thing had cut deep into him. Ellen fired, and the zombie dropped to the ground.

Once Chris was up, it was easy for us to shove the zombies back down as they clambered up the ladder. Ellen and Chris stopped shooting, and simply hit and shoved. Eventually, the undead stopped coming, and the whole city seemed to become quiet. It felt--and looked--like a graveyard.

We sat together on the second floor landing of the fire escape in silence for a long time. I counted at least 65 dead zombies at the foot of the ladder. They were heaped in a pile, limbs hanging off the torsos at odd angles, many with only stumps where their heads had been. The red-black zombie blood was everywhere, even on us. My face was sticky with the stuff.

After a while, I felt pain. My left shoulder had two jagged gashes, nearly an inch deep. Ellen saw this and began to wrap a bandage tightly around my arm and shoulder. Chris poked at the deep cuts on his ankle. There was little bleeding, but a large flap of skin dangled there. And then there was the exhaustion, not just physical, but mental, too. While Ellen wrapped me up, I almost fell asleep and dropped to my death.

Not one of us dared to say a word. Finally, Chris just said, "Let's go." He slid down the ladder and waited for us to join him. I wasn't ready to go anywhere, but when Ellen climbed down, too, I had no choice.

We walked along Dalton for many blocks, and the zombies were everywhere. Fortunately, most of them were alone or in small groups. We hit them with our weapons as much as possible to save ammo. One of the zombies was another policeman, so I collected his gun and ammunition.

We did face a couple of small hordes, and every battle slowed us down even more. By the time it was getting dark, we had only gotten to 93rd. There were nearly thirty blocks to go to the promised "safe house." That meant at least another day's travel, and because the creatures were so thick, we hadn't had much time to scrounge for food and water. We were really hurting.

Nevertheless, we thought it suicide to travel at night. That's when the really strange zombies seemed to come out of hiding, and we didn't want to meet any of them. So when Chris suggested we stop, I readily agreed. Ellen, as always, merely nodded her head.

Fortunately, we found a secure room quickly. The place was a meat locker at South Side Deli. Apparently the cooling system was turned off, so the locker wasn't cold, and it had a solid metal door, which was even better. We had light in there, which was always a comfort. We'll left it on all night.

The only bad news was that there was almost no food in the deli. Our stomachs were growling. Our muscles were cramping and sore. But at least our hearts were still beating. That's what counts.

I can't write anymore tonight. I thought I was tired yesterday, but today has really taught me the meaning of the word exhaustion. I'll leave today's adventures for the next entry.

Hitting the Wall

I hit the wall today. About mid morning, after gleaning through the rubble of several corner markets, I suddenly dropped to my knees. I would have fallen forward on my face, but Ellen snatched the back of my collar and yanked me back with extraordinary strength. While I seem to be fading, she is becoming more robust.

I know a big part of my exhaustion is due to lack of sleep and food. My eyes feel dry and tired. My muscles are sore. My stomach is growling all the time. A part of it, though, is the mental strain. It wears me down to be on the alert at all times, ready for a rush of zombies at any moment. We have only seen the one and heard another since we left the apartment three days ago, but I am always hypervigilant, even while I sleep. Every sound in the night rouses me from slumber.

I haven't even begun to deal with the loss. Janine and Frances are dead, and I can't begin to think about that. Life as we know it is gone forever. Even if we discover other survivors and safety, how can I go on? I don't know if I can.

Ellen helped me to my feet and gave me some water. Knowing that she is there and is walking the same path--she has faced loss, too-- gave me some strength. She hasn't said a word to me since she went back to see her husband's body, but there is an important connection among Ellen and Carl and me. Carl is my brother, but Ellen is now family, too.

After a break for lunch, we continued moving toward the north. It is nothing more than a gut instinct to go north. We have no reason to believe we'll find salvation in that direction. Just before we decided to bed down for the night, we saw another sign hastily painted on a wall. It said "safe house--123rd and Dalton." We decided to travel in that direction in the morning.

Carl found a sturdy room in a first-story office. It looks safe enough, but I'm not sure I want to spend the night here. Someone has written a note on the wall in permanent marker. "We're going to the lake. Bob Ellis and Danny DelaTorre." Then, just below, either Bob or Danny wrote "I love you, Mary." We don't know what lake they meant, but maybe Mary does. I keep thinking about that Mary and whether or not she'll ever see Bob or Danny again. It kills me to know that I won't see Janine again. It kills me to know how she died.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

We all had trouble getting moving today. Lack of sleep and lack of food have been getting to us. And I guess a zombie apocalypse has a way of getting a person down.

We breakfasted on a bag of chips we found in a desk drawer. Carl and I gave the last half of an apple to Ellen. She chewed very slowly, all the time staring at the floor in front of her. I wonder what is going through her head, but I am afraid to ask.

Yesterday we discovered that finding food along the way (the way to where?) will be difficult. Every shop we came across had been looted. Only a little food remained on the shelves. Carl said he thinks we should spend the morning scavenging for food and water.

Fortunately, we've been lucky with water. We all drank our fill last night and again this morning from the toilet tank in the manager's office. We had two small bottles, and we filled those. We washed ourselves as best we could with what remained. If food or water runs out before we find others, we're doomed. We're all wondering, though, if there are any others. Are we alone now?

Though none of us slept well, we had a relatively peaceful night. We didn't hear any zombies except once. We could hear it coming down the street. Its deep growls echoed off the empty buildings. Occasionally, it gave a shriek that caused me to start. My heart began to thump.

After awhile, we could hear it very near the toy shop. Then, a shelf inside the shop toppled over with a crash. We had no lights, but I could tell Ellen and Carl were awake, waiting, hoping the creature would go away. There were more sounds out in the shop, and then we heard it sniffing around the door. There was a single thump on the door. I almost cried out and clamped my hand over my mouth instead. I tried to hold my breath, but my heart was racing so fast I couldn't.

There was a softer bump on the door, then heavy breathing from outside, and finally a few light scratching sounds on the door. The growling started up again, this time at a quicker pace. The zombie seemed to be getting excited. It beat on the door again. I edged closer to Carl. I was sure he had the shotgun pointed at the door.

I thought I heard a scream in the distance. It was a scream just like we heard from our friend at the door. Apparently, he heard it, too, because he stopped scratching. Then, there it was again. Our zombie gave an answering scream, and I thought my heart would explode. There were more sounds of a commotion in the shop, and the noise seemed to recede. In a few minutes, it was quiet again.

We heard a few more shrieks in the distance a little while later, but never again did the zombie come near.

By the time daylight arrived, none of us were too eager to leave the office, but we did. We followed Carl's advice and poked around all morning trying to find food. What little we did find was in pretty bad shape, but it was good enough for our empty stomachs. We even saved some for the next day.

Everywhere we went, though, we saw chaos--dead bodies, dead zombies, burned out cars, smashed up stores. The police station was the worst. It looked as if a hurricane had blown through, and that was followed up by a tornado.

Eventually, as the sun got lower, we looked for a safe place to hide for the night. Ellen found a sturdy room in the back of a bookstore. We piled up tons of junk in front of the door, and now we're all just waiting for sleep.

Carl wants to turn the light out now (we found a block with electricity!), so I'll sign out until tomorrow.

The Journey Begins

We emerged from my walk-in closet for the first time in two days. My brother Carl and my neighbor from across the hall, Ellen, hid out with me while we waited for the creatures to disappear.

We hardly dared to speak, except in whispers, since we could hear the zombies in the apartment. Despite the close confinement, the hunger and our dirty bodies, hearing them was the worst. The low moans, the growls and the occasional shrieks sent shivers down my spine every time. By early this morning, though, about 4am, all became silent.

Carl peeked outside at first light and saw only rotting bodies on my bedroom floor. Ellen and I followed. The stench was nearly unbearable, and the smell of putrid flesh was mixed with a smoky haze and a deep sour smell.

The zombie corpses lay haphazardly about. We could not determine how they died. Some looked as if they were killed by other zombies. We had witnessed--and heard--odd intramural battles between zombies. Others just seemed to have fallen over, as if their batteries had run out of juice.

Carl led us out toward the hall. He was careful to avoid the kitchen...I'm not ready to write about the kitchen yet.

Ellen wanted to go into her apartment, to see her husband's body for one last time. We tried to dissuade her since he would have looked just like the rest of the infected. She didn't need to see his rotting zombie flesh. But she started to shake and cry, and Carl agreed to go in with her.

I don't know what she saw in there, but when Ellen came out, she wore a thousand yard stare and a clenched jaw. It was a woman I didn't recognize. Carl just looked at me and shook his head, as if to say, "Don't ask."

We took our weapons, such as they were, and headed to the stairwell. Carl had brought a 12-gauge shotgun with some ammunition. I found a shovel in the super's apartment, and we gathered up a couple of chef's knives. Ellen carries a table leg. We aren't exactly loaded for bear, but our crude weapons do give us some sense of security.

There was no power in the building, so we made our way down the stairs. Everything was absolutely quiet outside--no cars, no pedestrians, no pigeons. But at least there were no zombies, either. We wandered down 34th street for several blocks, hoping to find some clue about other survivors. The sun felt wonderful after two days in the dark.

We were so dazed back at the apartment that we forgot to grab any food. Plus, there was no way I was going back in my kitchen. Fortunately, we found a few boxes of stale crackers in Mario's Market. Carl opened up a couple of cans of pork and beans with the shovel. There wasn't much to take with us, but we did grab some old apples and rolls of bandages.

After several hours of wandering, still with no sign of anything either living or undead, Ellen saw that someone had painted the words "safe house" on a wall. We followed the arrow, but didn't find any other clues.

As we approached an alley by the Sunscape Theater, we could hear a shuffling and a series of rhythmic grunts: "hunh, hunh, hunh, hunh." Carl peeked around the corner, the barrel of his shotgun at the ready. He turned to us and waved us forward, putting a finger to his lips to keep us quiet.

A zombie was stuck in a corner between a dumpster and the brick wall. He was walking, but not moving, grunting as he went. I had to stifle a chuckle, but not Ellen. She let out a terrible scream and raced towards the creature. Somehow it turned just as she reached it.

In a flash, Ellen smashed the table leg into the zombie's head. She struck again and again, and the undead body convulsed and finally dropped to the ground. Ellen didn't stop. She continued to strike the dead zombie. Its thick, red-black blood spattered everywhere, including all over Ellen.

By the time Carl and I reached her, she was on her knees, sobbing. Carl ignored the blood and cradled her like a child. I found some newspaper and began to wipe the blood away from her hair and face. After a few minutes, she stopped crying, and that distant look came over her face again.

We left the alley and continued on. We were all tired and discouraged. It was late afternoon by the time that we decided we had better find a place to hide out for the night. We didn't want to be outside in the dark when the strange crying that invaded our dreams started up again.

We slipped into an old toy store and found the manager's office. We closed the door and pushed a desk up against it. Ellen fell asleep almost immediately. She had not spoken much since we left our building. Carl is just sitting there with his face in his hands as I write this. I don't know if he ever slept during those two days in my closet.

And for the record, if anyone ever finds this diary, my name is Mike Walker. My wife Janine and my daughter Frances are gone...may they rest in peace. My brother is Carl Walker. He is unmarried. My neighbor is Ellen Radovic. Her husband John is also dead.

We're trying to get out of here.