Edward Mulligan - Fort Citgo

And so the worst has happened. Some untold calamity has befallen the world and turned the population into zombies. Even now I sit blockaded in my tiny fortress, which in reality is the back room of an abandoned gas station, with no company but a record player with a single record, which I have played constantly, afraid of the silence.

Up until now I have managed to remain undiscovered, but yesterday I ran short of water and ventured out into the store to retrieve a few bottles. The display was by the front window and as I passed by the opening I was spotted by one of the creatures. It came at me and I shot my .38 through the glass. It fell lifeless to the ground, but others heard the shot. They have the place surrounded, now, and have already made two separate attempts to get at me. Both times I fought them off, but my supply of ammunition is running low. I have but six shots remaining, five for the enemy…and the last for me. I don’t believe I could stand to have them kill me, to feel their hands upon me, ripping me apart while I still lived. The thought if it chills my blood.

But here they come again, at least a dozen of them, six more than I have shots. Assuming I don’t miss, that will leave six more after the gun is empty…is it possible I could fight the other six without the revolver? We shall see. Taking one’s own life was always taught to me to be a sin. I do have a baseball bat, leaning in the corner. Perhaps that will…

And that’s one. A headshot, the most effective way to bring down a zombie. So far, so good. Damn! Missed that last one. A waste on that last bullet. I should have saved it for myself after all. Too late now. It’s just me and the Louisville Slugger.

They’re all at the door now…