Fields of Rot

  Fields of Rot

  A Novella by Jesse Dedman

  Fields of Rot

  By Jesse Dedman

  Copyright 2011 by Jesse Dedman

  This book is not to be modified, edited, republished in any way and in any form without the permission of its author Jesse Dedman. All rights are reserved.

  The characters in this story are the intellectual property of Jesse Dedman, any use without the owner’s permission is not allowed.

  All characters are completely fictional. The stories in this collection are in no way a prediction or an honest depiction of the author’s thoughts in regarding the future.

  Cover by Jesse Dedman

  Chris Lecher’s Journal, a curious discovery that will surely leave researchers puzzled about the true nature of events that transpired several years ago. Teams of anthropologists, environmental scientists, and even occult scholars have joined forces in attempting to solve the mystery of the cause and the subsequent end to the terror. Though I should state that the hellish fiends still manage to worm their way back into our world, and the sure randomness of their trajectory makes tracking them almost as impossible as staying equipped to handle the more demonic horrors. However, this particular discovery is remarkable, the millions used in funding the project have turned a resource too valuable for budget scrutinizing. This document explains the origins of the hellish portals and the event that transpired before the real domination began.

  • Valerie Thompson, Ph.D.

  Entry Five, 12/10/2014

  After reading the latest update on Reddit, I’ve decided to throw away my previous dispositions towards the sudden and shocking news. The media would have us believe that everything is normal, and that the deaths were just the product of a sudden spike in criminal activity brought by these very dark and desperate times. As mentioned in my previous entries, I began suspecting something was a bit off when I watched the uploaded video of a sick person getting beaten down in public. I can understand why the law wanted to persecute the defendant, as the man was brutally beaten to death by a baseball bat, but the sickness didn’t look like anything normal to me.

  It appears as if the people are convinced that nothing strange is occurring, that the dead haven’t come back to life, but I would bet my life that they are mistaken.

  I don’t blame them for the ignorance, but when ignorance becomes favored over truth, then it becomes a problem. In all these horrid crimes, the bodies were found already dead and decomposed, but the authorities wouldn’t speak a word of it if they didn’t have to. They ignored these significant details as if they were simply trivial. I suppose it would be more probable to assume that the people charged with the crimes robbed a grave and hauled the cadaver into a public area for a serious beating. I guess for a sane person that makes more sense than a zombie. Why would anyone in their right mind think we were finding zombies?

  My fellow Internet friends and I have made it our responsibility to inform and educate the masses. It is absolutely imperative that they know the truth if we are to prepare ourselves for whatever comes our way. I don’t know how my friends are doing on their personal crusade, but I’ve launched a blog loaded with everything I could gather. The uploaded videos of all of the brutal acts of violence towards ‘sick’ people; the images of opened graves, audio logs of sightings that I fear to explore, and other links. So far, without any money, I could only imagine a few hundred hits at max per day, as the blog is brand spanking new. I really hope I don’t have to start selling off my anime collectables.

  Entry Six, 12/13/2014

  The media still doesn’t seem to have a fucking clue as to what is happening. A few reporters got it right, daring to use the words ‘Hell on earth’ but those reporters probably risked their necks for that juicy comment. But it is fucking real. I can’t believe how dumb they expect us to be. Dancing shows and dating TV continues to dominate as the most important matter, and the government still refuses to comment on the issue. Those defending themselves from the walking dead are being accused of beating down and killing people inflicted with a disease, or exhuming corpses. Lawyers are making insane money by telling the jury that the defendants purposefully killed the sick individual! Of course they are found guilty, the people are scared into believing that the murderer is some psychopath that only beats down sick people!

  Everyone has it wrong. The victims weren’t even living when they were walking, I’m sure of it. It sounds absurd to say the word zombie, but all those films, TV shows, video games, and comic books haven’t convinced me otherwise. I say they are fucking zombies. I could only hope that my friends reached the same conclusion. I haven’t seen any of them on Facebook in a while. I know Chad Fanhert updated his profile with another mind-blowing Youtube video, but he hasn’t been on since.

  The video was the last piece I needed to know that my survival kit was not ready. I’ll try to obtain more equipment tonight. I’m not sure how I would obtain a gun though.

  Entry Seven, 12/14/2014

  Worse than I could ever imagine, beyond my wildest expectations, today unveiled the truth for everyone faster than my friends and I could ever have. Swarms of the risen dead walked through my neighborhood, tearing down doors, trampling through the yards, stopping only to dig their teeth into the flesh of the living. Cars wrecked up and down the street, people screaming as they ran for shelter, and officers trying to make sense of the madness.

  The officer was surprised that I was all alone, and he didn’t seem to believe that my folks were out of town. I didn’t quite understand the difficulty of the situation, but I guess after witnessing acts of savage cannibalism his ability to reason suffered. He offered me a ride in his cruiser, away from all the madness, so I took it. I didn’t think he would hesitate to plow into the walking dead. He treated the pedestrians as if they were all living, regardless of the decayed flesh and broken limbs. He stopped at another house for what I assumed was another search effort. He knocked at the door and waited impatiently while watching the chaotic episode that took place a few blocks away. I think he started to realize at that moment what he was dealing with, for he hauled ass back to the cruiser.

  I thought it would help to inform him of my blog and what I know, as if it could provide some useful tips, but he thought I was part of the problem. As if I possessed the power to call upon legions of the dead. The officer shouted at me as if I had some sort of fault in this, and he was too engrossed to notice the incoming car.

  To my surprise, the dead ones spared me from their eating frenzy. A shame for them since the police officer would’ve made an easy meal, as his face was pressed into the steering wheel. I climbed out from the wreckage, grabbed my bag, and found a solution to my gun problem. A simple handgun, a 9 mm, but it would serve for now. I searched the trunk and found a fierce looking shotgun with a bunch of ammo, and wondered why the cop was so reserved to assume that he would be killing zombies. No sense sending authorities to protect the people when they can’t even grasp the situation.

  Speaking of which, the area was cleared out. Destruction marked the homes, yards, and roads, while half-eaten bodies littered about, but not a single person in sight. I didn’t know what to do at that point. The only thing I could think about was of my friends and their personal stories. Lost and desperate for some sort of clue, I checked for any recent updates on Facebook. Comments of last minute moments smeared upon the wall and became difficult to stomach.

  I needed to get off the streets. I went for the house the officer tried. The front door was impossible, but the back door was unlocked. A home of modest size, the backdoor led into a suffocating kitchen with raided cabinets. Boxes of rice, packages of noodles, and other quick meals were strewn across the countertop. No signs of a fight or of a struggle, no splat
ter of blood, and no broken appliances or doors. Just a panic grab and go scenario.

  The living room was spacious, offered a decent place for rest, and I was fortunate to score a place with a wireless connection.

  Entry Eight, 12/15/2014

  The wireless router in the house is fine, all lights are green, but the connection is bogged to a point slower than dial-up. It took thirty minutes to load three minutes of an interesting video another Otaku friend of mine uploaded. Apparently, my town is not the only spot terrorized by the dead. Cities throughout the country are reporting swarms of strange, unexplainable activity. Still, the news stations are being little pussies about the situation. Why the fuck are they afraid to say zombie? These are rotting, soulless motherfuckers with the only cure being a bullet to the head. The forums of popular news stations took forever to load, and the material was just as infuriating as the wait. It was nice to stumble upon a few enlightened individuals, but there were those that dared to state that we shouldn’t be killing them, that there is a peaceful solution. People attacking those that claimed to have killed a few in self-defenses. Of course, religious nut jobs ranted and raved about how Armageddon has come, and our salvation is to pray to Jesus Christ. I’m not about to wait on my knees for salvation while those dead things continue to walk around.

  As I sit, waiting for my blog to refresh (which took several tries during a span of twenty minutes) the dead massed at the front door. I heard them bashing against the wood. It scared me at first, bringing me to uncontrollable shakes, but eventually it was like watching a dog trying to get a bone it cannot reach. I devoured the rest of my chocolate iced Pocky as I watched the rotten, mutilated arms bash through the narrow panes beside the door. No sense of pain, the zombies reached in franticly, jabbing their own arms into the surrounding shards of glass without any discomfort.

  During my wait, as I loaded another string of comments, I stocked up on all the supplies I could carry: Ramen noodles, chips, crackers, and other junk, all of it was needed. I only hurried when the commotion at the door grew louder. I could hear the deadbolt begin to give under the stress. I grabbed my bag and went to stash my laptop, when I noticed that several people have made comments that the zombie epidemic seems not to be the result of a virus. It didn’t seem to be the case, as one person, a brave college student, received a nasty bite. It appeared infected, but he hasn’t suffered any strange symptoms, yet. Some one dared to speculate a theory about a Hell Gate. This prediction fueled a debate that could’ve distracted me from the advancing legions of rot, but I quickly stashed the device and left for the back door.

  Entry Nine, 12/16/2014

  I should be thankful that I met someone that is insane enough to encourage me to join him as he single handedly executes every walking corpse in a field behind his house. The man, who for the purpose of confidentiality will be referred to as James Mustang, seems happy. He walks around as if this strange episode was an answer long sought for, as if he secretly prayed for the day he could murder people with the strangest of all weapons: a bass guitar.

  I encountered him during my escape, in which I ran from the backdoor of the house where I crashed at for a while. The zombies had a hard time gaining access to the backyards. The ones that did were too clumsy to avoid the many obstacles, some fell into an open pool, and many tripped over bicycles and other toys. Those that managed to lumber in my way served as target practice. Years of playing first-person shooters fooled me to think of shooting as being so simple. I scored a few head shots, but not without wasting a clip.

  The noise of gunfire caused the zombies from the front to rush towards the back, and with their weight combined, they stormed through the fences. I hauled for shelter, running towards the thin patch of thick trees that bordered a ravine. I dodged them long enough, staying low and quiet, to where they directed their interest elsewhere. I was alone, on the verge of trespassing into a wide-open field that seemed too welcoming for a sudden sprint. Silence, except for the sound of rain drops pelting the tall blades of grass. It was too quiet, almost as if every distant scream had suddenly stopped. I remember the ground, the loose, moist soil. The cool swamp water soaking into my shoes, saturating my socks with its stinky muck. I dared to just run for it, to take a wild chance, but I trusted the roar of my shotgun for guidance. The barrel screamed with a violent burst, and, in an instant, the dead rose.

  I ran as fast as I could, blasting away chunks of rotten torsos and limbs as the zombies swarmed around me like as if I was a fat juicy steak. Everything went to a blur as I ran for my life. My heart pounded against my chest, my lungs were desperate for air, and my muscles were too tense for their own good. I somehow managed to run inside a house for cover, and that is when I met him.

  James Mustang wasn’t as happy to see me as I was him. He attacked me with his bass guitar, missing me because I dodged just in time. I still think he would like to do it again, if he had the chance. I really doubt it would’ve mattered if I died at all. He claimed to be upset that I brought along a wave of the undead, but his eyes seemed eager for a blood soaked frenzy like a Spartan was to the glory of battle. He wasn’t angry. He was like a kid on Christmas morning. He shoved away the barriers, opened the front door, and allowed the zombies to enter his demented death trap.

  I still cannot believe we survived that night. We both made it through in one piece. Unfortunately, I’m down to one shell. James didn’t seem too concerned, in fact it would suffice to state that not only did he polish his bass with an evil grin, he licked their blood as if some sort of sick ritual. If the outbreak was caused by some sort of disease then I should see some sort of transformation within the next few days.

  James Mustang has internet access, but I had to reset both the modem and the router several times to get some sort of connection, and once again, the service was too slow to do much of anything. I could hardly post the information about James Mustang without needing to refresh and reconnect several times.

  Entry Ten, 12/18/14

  The internet connection died completely before I could make my printouts. Which sucks, because I would hate to rely on the navigation app in case my cell phone were to malfunction or get damaged. Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.

  From navigating the forums, and reading through the mess of feedback on my blog, I discovered something that could possibly serve as an explanation for this whole mess. Someone by the name of XxPinkM1str3ssxX uploaded a video that showed something I have never, ever seen before. Something I doubt anyone in our mortal world has ever witnessed. I fear for my sanity to actually say it, I suppose my reluctance rests primarily on the fact that if this is true than what else does it mean. If these strange, red, and pulsating phenomenons are really Hell Gates, then does that mean that I ought to pray for a fucking holy miracle?

  I’ll deal with that as it unfolds, but more importantly, it is up to those that have this information to do something about it. I highly doubt that the military and other authorities will rightfully believe that Hell has surfaced. However, James became increasingly convinced, and from his very heavy metal perspective, he became increasingly antsy. He wanted to do something about the unfolding nightmare, and though I agreed with him, it was a question of how.

  After the internet crashed for good, I gathered my things and informed him of my plan thus far. The only mentioned Hell Gate near here would require five days of travel if we did it by foot, and since the streets are filled with the dead, foot would be the only way to travel.

  We walked for miles, spending most of the day hiking through fields until we came to a storage center just before nightfall. James is a difficult person to talk to, despite the fact that Hell has risen and we ought to work together, he threw a fit when I pestered him about his past. I am alone as I write this, sitting on an old ice chest stuffed with hot beer. The electricity still works, which is fortunate for my cell phone and laptop, but the news streaming from an old stereo isn’t anything to sleep to.

  Chatter from a radio ta
lk show reveals that something much menacing lurks in the region, walking among the dead. I hope to get more information, as soon as I can, but my cell phone’s browser isn’t responding so well at the moment, and there is no WiFi in the area to speak of. All I can do is wait patiently for morning to come, while trying to stay as quiet as possible.

  Entry Eleven, 12/22/14

  I’ve managed to calm myself just enough to write this entry, but I’m still mad as fucking Hell. The two things I needed more than anything to sort through this fucking mess are gone. Imagine, shit hits the fan and people resort to petty theft within the first few days. Without my laptop I doubt I’ll ever find out what I’m supposed to do when I find this Hell Gate. Jesus F’n Christ! Without my cell phone for navigation, we’ll be wandering in circles trying to survive in this godforsaken nightmare.