Chapter 1

Journal Entry: Murph June 21st.

Well ... they went and did it, created a virus that made the dead walk again.

Someone from the Middle East detonated a couple of bombs near a United Nations Conference. No one knew that those same bombs contained a deadly virus. Only six people were killed, in what was thought of as a botched terrorist attack. It was actually quite successful. Unknowingly they killed themselves with their own creation as well.

A week after the conference, the infected attendants had started to get sick. There were symptoms to distinguish the virus. A rash was the first symptom, closely followed by normal cold-like symptoms, and then severe respiratory infections. Nothing could be done for the afflicted, but they did plenty by spreading the virus. Eventually all the infected would die after about two to three weeks of being sick. Twenty-four hours after passing, the victims reanimated.

We all know the outcome after that - fucking zombies biting people. The virus had mutated in the undead corpse. If the reanimated bit a person, that person died and came back within twenty-four hours.

It was true; if a person got bit they turned. Isolated cases could be contained. The problem was that everyone that got doused at the conference was highly contagious. When the conference was over, the attendants scattered to the four winds, infecting everyone they came in contact with. That was not containable.

My name is Sam Murphy, but all that know me call me "Murph." I am a twenty-nine year old Army veteran; Green Berets to be specific. My parents died a few years ago from carbon monoxide poisoning living at their "historic" old farm-house. I took a discharge from the Army when I received the news and went back to Kansas. I had a younger sister - who was a single parent - to look out for, after all. Mom was rather rich when she died; big inheritance from her family back east. So, my sister Elizabeth (Lizzie to me), and I were set up for the rest of our lives. Yeah right, I'd rather have mom and dad back.

I am a self-employed handyman and happened to be off that day in the middle of the week when the story broke. I worked for something to do that would let me take off when I wanted to.

I lived in an apartment over my shop in the old downtown area of a sleeper town outside Wichita. My place used to be an old tire shop back in the day. The main floor was basically a huge shop about 50' by 120', and what used to be the showroom and customer waiting area was an area 40' by 30'. I had bricked in the old plate-glass windows at the front and installed a solid steel door with a small window. The store front contained a laundry room, my walk in vault, and the man cave - basically a small bar, poker table, couple of couches and chair in front of a big screen television on the wall. Stairs on one side of the room went up to my apartment, which used to be the offices and more stockroom. The second floor ran about three-quarters the length of the building. The backdoor of the apartment opened to the roof on a sort of patio area.

There was another room on the main floor, a buffer zone between the shop and store front. It was a 50' by 50' area that had previously been filled with tire racks. I had a diesel generator installed in a sound-proofed room, with a couple of battery banks in the room next to it. I hated to be without power and being in tornado alley we had lots of thunderstorms where we lost power. Opposite the generator room was my reloading room with storage, and a walk-in freezer in between. I did have a 20' by 30' cellar dug under this area when I first bought the place. It held my wine collection, emergency stores and the hidey hole.

My "hidey hole," as I liked to call it, was rather large but there was a standing invitation to all my buddies and their families to come in case there was ever the need. I'd installed barrack-type bunk beds that I had picked up from time to time for people to crash on if needed.

Some people called me paranoid, but I considered myself a product of my grandfather and the special forces: contingency planning (and I'm also a Boy Scout). My grandpa's paranoia of the Cold War was part of the reason I am the way I am. He had a nuclear fallout shelter, emergency supplies, the whole nine yards. That and the movie Red Dawn scared the shit outta me as a kid. I went from being scared of the Russians as a kid, to being scared of Y2K, economic breakdown, Nostradomus ... take your pick. To cope with my fear, I decided to prepare for the things I could control - a secure shelter, water, food, protection. Hell, I even still had my grandpa's land just outside of town and maintained the old fallout bunker. That is also where I kept my truck, garden and a few cattle.

There were only two buildings left on my side of the block downtown. The other structure that was next to mine was an old hardware store that was only used twice a week for an upstart church. The rest of the block was converted to parking for downtown business. I did have a 15' walled off area running the length of my building that held the 1000 gallon diesel and propane tanks, as well as a 500 gallon gas tank. That wall was 12' tall and two foot thick.

Told you I was prepared.

Being the person that I was, I started preparing before the news story of a bad flu pandemic had even finished airing. Call it "gut feeling" or a sixth sense, but as I was watching the news report a cold feeling started in my gut and traveled up my spine. I knew something wasn't right about it. I have been involved in enough cover-ups to smell bullshit a mile away. Maybe, it was a Kansas thing too. I started by calling all my suppliers to come out and top off the different fuel tanks I had on my properties, including the ones at the bunker.

I then called Lizzie's boyfriend Hank, whose family operated the local meat processor, and told him I was going to bring five cattle in for a quick cutting job. We chatted a bit about the news that had just broken. He was not as concerned as I was, but said he would have the beef processed in about a week.

Hanging up the phone I called Lizzie and explained my concerns to her.

"Sam," she said, "normally I would call you 'grandpa' and start giving you a little hell, but for some reason this news is making me feel weird. A weird chill went up my spine while watching the broadcast. I hope it's not true, but I just can't shake the foreboding I feel. Is it ok if I pack up Belle and come stay in town with you for a little while?"

"Absolutely sis, pack up what you want and we can go out later and get the rest."

I told her what I was going to do the rest of the day and asked if she needed anything from the big city. After listing a few items we hung up and I went out and hopped in my truck.

There is only one thing I need to say about my truck. I grew up watching Transformers, so when I saw Ironhide in the film I had to have one. My GMC Topkick 4x4 was all blacked out in flat black and had a grill guard from hell. When I first bought the thing I wondered if it would fit through the 10' by 10' steel overhead door in the back of my shop. I did have to have the stacks shortened a little.

I quickly drove the five miles out to the bunker and hooked up my cattle trailer to take the cows by to Hank. Hank let me drop the trailer there for the evening so I could grab my enclosed trailer from the yard at the shop and head to Wichita.

I stopped at Sam's Club to pick some bulk dry goods and paper products mostly. I did have a propane freezer in my trailer for when I worked out-of-town, or went on long hunting trips. Frozen vegetables, fruits and juices filled that.

I hit a few gun shops I knew of and grabbed all the loading supplies I could, as well as ammo. I didn't clean them out because I didn't want to draw attention to myself. I went to Gander Mountain and grabbed more ammo and a few others things that caught my eye.

My last stop was at the Tractor Supply store where I picked up two 1000 gallon water storage tanks. Those big fuckers barely fit; good thing it was a large trailer.

I had just driven into to town when my cell phone went off. It was Louis Blackwater, my best friend. He told he had three packages that had arrived for me at his shop. He owned the only pawn shop in town. Having no clue what they could be, I informed him I was just getting back in town and that I would stop by.

I just managed to pull the truck and trailer into the parking lot and maneuver it to get out again before heading into see Lou.

Louis Blackwater is a proud Apache Indian. We ran into each other just after I made it into the Green Berets. At first we hated each other; he was always so serious and I liked to joke around. It came to a head one night after we had gotten back from an assignment and all of us were a little drunk. Lou started giving us hell for being too loud, so I stood up facing him from across the room and said in my best Heath Ledger joker imitation,