Like it did on the table after Jared injected me with his modified zombie virus, my mind kicks back on. I know better than to open my eyes, however. I gauge my brand new situation.

I can barely feel anything, as if my entire body is numb. It’s more a constant sensation of pins and needles. I check myself. Who am I? Eric Christenson. Lassie. The Storm Bringer. Still Human.

So Jared did it. I’m dead, but I’m still me. Except only my nervous system works (kind of shittily at that) and I really want to eat some flesh. He said my insides are also probably shitting and bleeding all over themselves, so there’s that.

One thing that’s weird is that I can hear the Wifi in my head. Simon’s Plague Net is able to reach me on some sort of psychic level. It’s broadcasting all kinds of different orders, everything from “maintain power plants” to “attack house at 428 Riverfront Way in 0o:48:11, 00:48:10, 00:48:09…” Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that.

I can also sense barely-functioning minds that are connected to the signal- other zombies. I reach out to the one that was blogging the play by play.

“What’s your name?” I ask it.

“Zombie,” it replies.

“What do you do?”


I realize that, being that my mind is far more powerful than his, I can just control him. I can also see out his eyes. The Plague Lord is standing over me, just looking at me. Smiling. Creep. He’ll get his.

“I’m taking your fingers, zombie.”

“I am powerless to stop you.”

“Shut up.”

Then I typed everything you just read. I also shut off that “attack 428 Riverfront Way” command.

The Plague Lord finally takes his eyes off me, looks up, and around from side to side, grinning from ear to ear. I open mine, lunge up at him, grabbing him by the neck and throwing him to the ground as I rise above him to pin him to the floor.

I’ve never seen such a sniveling look of pathetic fear on a face before in my life. And I punched a lot of kids in school. I feel something in my throat, hock it into my mouth, and spit a huge wad of diseased blood onto Simon’s face. I could just kill him and let him turn into a zombie, but who knows what kind of modifications he might have made to himself. Instead I draw my .357 Magnum revolver, and put it right in his face. His eyes widen and it almost seems that sweat literally leaps out  of his pores.

“It’s over, motherfucker,” I try to say, but all that comes out is “Grrrarararsquelch.”

I pull the trigger and blow his face through his head, out the back and onto the floor. With difficulty, I stand up. I’m actually kind of proud of myself I even pulled off the lunging maneuver I just did.

I level my revolver at zombie.

“Zombie.” Looking through his eyes, I can see down the barrel of my own gun.

“Thank you for your service,” I say and blow his brains onto the wall behind him.


THE STORM – feat. zombie

Hi. I’m zombie. Let me just fill in the story between Lassie’s last post and now and everything will make sense.

The Plague Lord was sitting in the nicest office chair the building had, reclining with his feet on the counter across the lobby from the front door and munching on Milky Ways, as he usually does.

The front door slammed open, which caused the light to flicker. The Plague Lord looked up all nonchalantly like the faggot he is. I can say that, I know him.

The man drew a gun on the Plague Lord, leveled it at his face, and said “This is over.”

“Is that so?” The Plague Lord chided.

“Yeah. Right after you tell me. What the fuck?”

“Everything thinks the world is over. I killed 99% of the population. Some of them are now zombie bloggers, like the ones you see here in front of computer monitors. They reblog Huffington Post news and make stupid “best of the week” lists every week, just like mediocre always used to do. Everyone walks around with empty heads. Nothing’s different.”

“That’s a load of shit and I’m going to kill you.” The intruder pulled out a cell phone.

“What’s that for?” The Plague Lord asked.

“Oh. I’m going to tweet this,” The intruder explained.

“Don’t bother, I’ll just have one of my zombies post the play-by-play to your blog as everything happens. Do you want him to write from his point of view or yours?”

“No one can write from my point of view, so his.”

“Ok,” the Plague Lord said.

Doors open on either side of the lobby, letting half a dozen zombies into the room. The intruder begins firing on them, not missing even one shot.

The Plague Lord, taking his time, stands up, pulls a gun out of his stupid white lab coat, and shoots the intruder high in the chest. The intruder falls to his back and lies still.

The intruder had managed to shoot all the zombies before the Plague Lord shot him. Actually, the Plague Lord had probably waited until they were all dead. He walks over to the intruder’s corpse and stands over it, looking down at it and smirking.

Pitiful like a fox, you little bitch

I’ve known kids like you, Simon. Kids that really needed, were begging for four knuckles in the mouth. And like I supplied their needs, I’m going to give you the bullet in your sick little skull I can tell you’re desperate for.

You need a brain buster like Garth Brooks as a penny needs a wishing well. That bad. So I’m going to find you. I’m going to put you down like the rabid Chihuahua you are. Big Tim’s gonna do wheelie donuts in his chair around the bonfire we build on top of your ugly corpse. Then my friends and I are gonna mop up the zombies you shit all over the place. We’re gonna go find other people that don’t suck like you and together, we’re all gonna put down the other rabid dogs like those morons in Big Falls.

Because someone who makes a world that still has internet but he’s the only living person in it is pathetic. And no match for me, much less us. This is the last week of your life.


Eric. I see you and the threesome crew are harboring that little fucker, Coxsucker.

I would give you a chance to kick him out, and I’d say “I’ll spare you” if you did, but I’m not in that kind of mood today. I’m in the “you all die” kind of mood today.

So keep him. It’s pretty obvious to me that you are only letting him stay with you because of his abilities. And I’d like to let you and everyone know that NO ONE FUCKS WITH ME.

So I’ll be letting your friends in Big Falls know of your location… somehow. I don’t think those idiots have ever heard of a computer. But they have guns, and cars, and once I let them know you’re where you are, they can drive up, shoot you up, and make sexy time with your corpses or whatever it is they do with corpses. Make smoothies? I don’t know, those fucks are weird.

I’ll give you and your buttbuddies a week to sit on your thumbs in that house, and then every zombie in the city limits will be taking a little walk in that direction. I can do that. Then, as soon as I can train a zombie to drive a car, I’ll send a message down the highway a ways so, if you somehow survive every zombie in town, the inbreds can come ruin your shit for me.

Because you’re not worth it. I am on the frontier of this new, pointless as it ever has been, but appropriately dead world. You are pathetic worms waiting to be eaten by the birds.

The birds are coming.

Bow Down.

Pointless Human Waste: Your world is over.

Your species has been annihilated. The majority of you walk the streets and earth, dead on your feet. The rest of you are both doomed and not deserving of life. You are nothing. What is different between you and the undead from which you hide? They will devour you. After that, nothing. You will all be one.

The humans of the world have been digging their own hole since the moment they existed. You kill each other in the names of gods who don’t exist. You build weapons of mass destruction to kill wholesale your “enemies.” People who don’t agree with you. Or rather, people who’s governments don’t agree with you. You ignore each other’s pain, suffering, and hunger. Now, you will be unable to ignore each other’s hunger.

Then again, even I know better. As worthless as you all are, some of you are resourceful enough to survive. Some of you are even ruthless enough to regenerate the species with unwilling wombs. But yours will be a world in which you will be confronted by the faces of the deceased on their feet, and the possibility of becoming one of them will loom forever.

I am the Plague Lord. I have brought about the absolution that is the end of your pitiful species. I will allow you to hobble along for eternity, if you are able. In a world in which more of you who stand are dead than alive.