Great Bitten: Outbreak Read Online Free Page B

but zombies really rank it right up there along with reality TV shows and fake tan. The apocalypse has eradicated the latter two, but it’s meant an exponential rise in the former, and I can't even begin to explain how irrationally irritating that is. I’m waiting for the day I see one of same said reality stars with a fake tan still vaguely intact, then I’m really going to go to town with any weapon I have to hand.
    So, you found me? And you followed? I’m honoured. Well, I’m not really, but that’s what you’re meant to say isn’t it? At least that’s what people used to say when we had culture and some people had manners.
    There’s been a lot going on since the UK became infected. Like I said, I’m going to get it all written down for you, and I promise you I am going to find out what happened here. The more I find out, the more I will write. If this ends abruptly then shit, I didn’t do that well after all and my promotion to investigative journalism ended badly. But I’m going to write what I can because when it comes down to it, I’ve got nothing else left to do with my evenings and the escapism helps me forget where I am right now. It also helps put all my thoughts in order. I was a journalist before and the only thing I was good at was discovering the truth. Now it turns out I’m also good at surviving, but the desire to find the truth hasn’t abated.
    Just in case the literary methods of the latter centuries of mankind didn’t make it through the end of the world, this bit is what you’d call the soliloquy. Shakespeare used them quite a lot and man I fucking hated them when I was studying it at school, but it’s going to be the only way I can write this for you without turning into a mumbling madman and hopping from event to event, time to time, like some poor mash-up between Pulp Fiction and Dawn of the Dead. What I’m going to tell you this time, and thankfully I have a few days’ worth of safety to get it all written, is what’s already happened to me so far. The heroines have the axes already buried in their heads and the bikers have long since ran out of fuel. Right now, it’s around July 26 th of the year 2015. Because I don’t know exactly what the date is now, I can’t say how long it’s precisely been since this all went south on us. And whilst I’ve got a really good idea about what’s been going on now, in the early days I didn’t have the first fucking clue.
    So with my few days of grace given to me, I’m going to tell you about my baby steps in to the world that was no longer a world, and how amongst so many other millions of people in this country, somehow I was the one to come out of that particular shitstorm alive. I wasn’t the only one and I know I’m not alone in the UK, not by a long stretch. But it doesn’t matter how many others might be out there, shrugging their shoulders as they cry cold tears by candlelight. I stood and looked out on a sea of the undead, and their moans froze a heart I had long before thought was already cold. And whilst you would have thought the juxtaposition would have made me realise my cold heart was hot and alive, pumping my body with fear and passion and love for those I was defending, it only emphasised my vulnerability. It made me realise that I had been a loner for most of my life and now the odds truly were stacked against us all. The only person that I was going to live for was me, because in every sense of the words we were all, every one of us, already the waiting dead, and no one wanted me to live more than I did right at that moment.
    Remember dear readers, I am not a storyteller and I am not a hero. This may not be the prettiest, nor the most eloquent tale you have ever read. I am a journalist, and I find the answers to the questions that people never thought to ask. This is what I am doing now; finding those answers for us all, so the world can be restored to some vague semblance of normality. But what I did first? There