Fields of Rot Read Free

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 talk 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.
     
    I found James, again. I sort of owe it to him to drop my previous comments regarding his character. I found him a few paces away from the garage where I stayed, and we were about to discuss some very important matters when an onslaught of zombies overcame us. I ran, cornered, and forced to fight them off with my bare hands. I fended for myself, knocking them away, pushing the decaying bodies far enough to make for a few feet. They eventually caught up, tackling me, one of them chomped on my thigh, digging its fractured canines though my pants and into my skin. Suddenly, I became my very own test subject. I kicked wildly, and shot out for the small opening of freedom. Using a chunk of rotten wood as a weapon, I fought the hungry savages off and climbed a fence leading to a densely wooded area.
     
    Bleeding from my leg, limping from the pain, and breathing heavily, I can see why the backwards redneck greeted me with a twelve-gauge. He looked through my fear as if I was on the verge of turning into one of those horrid things. I pleaded, tried to reason, but the man refused to listen. I could understand being guarded and fearing the unknown, but on the receiving end it seemed completely irrational.
     
    With hands tied behind my back, I sat on the floor of a small workshop. No food, no water, and yet he would visit me every day for about ten minutes examining my features as if studying a supposed transformation. That bastard mistook starvation and dehydration for stages of a zombie metamorphosis. He was testing me, and it seemed absurd to me that some hillbilly would have the