I don’t know how or why I’ve got internet access again, but this is a call.
A call for help.
A call to action.
I’m sure this is probably a shot in the dark anyhow. I’m not even sure the internet will hold up long enough for this blog post to publish.
I’m holed up on the 5th floor of the office building where my wife works. She’s 8 1/2 months pregnant and I’m terrified that she’ll go into labor because of all this mess.
We can see fires on the street below, mostly from a big car wreck but also from some self-styled warrior who made his own Frankenstein-defeating torch. Poor bastard ended up like that video Southern California by Wax.
Better than losing his cranium to those sick bastards. It’s all over the TVs here and I can barely stand to watch but I can’t turn away.
Since Jenn works for Cartoon and I work for TBS, we’ve still got CNN on an internal campus feed and it’s disgusting. A while back the newsroom was compromised and, after the howling and running died down, we were all treated to some kind of monster siesta. Fat and sated from their brain-gorging they just sat blood-caked in a stupor.
I don’t know if these are zombies or the undead or what. I don’t know if I believed in Heaven before today but I believe in Hell now.
Those storms last night must have been some kind of portent; a warning. The sky is bright behind a veil of clouds and mist, but it could just as easily be black as pitch and raining.
But it’s almost worse this way. To have a nice day and hear those screams and see those sightless eyes.
Jenn is urging me to stop. Not urging. Demanding.
I’ve got my one arm around her and I’m grasping a chair leg as I type one-handed. Pray they don’t break past the barred door.
I don’t believe there will be an answer, but I’m calling.