All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse

by Various Authors

  G.D.R - Perhaps with the combination of the mushrooms and the mice living tissue I may be able to splice together a hybrid cortex to study migration and mutation and the affect this has on the behavioural patterns of the mice? They should never have cut funding, they don’t realize how brilliant I am… they’ll see. They’ll all see and come crawling back when I complete this work.

  G.D.R - April 18. It was some basic science that has made me able to splice the mushrooms DNA to produce a "super" mushroom. Effectively they still resemble the Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis in most ways, however the spores have become more powerful allowing me to not only infect ants nest but to also infect the larger mice with very similar results. It would appear that once a mouse has been infected with the mutant specimen it becomes less interested in social behaviour, feeding or sleeping. The mushroom begins feeding slowly on the non-vital organs of the mice and manipulating its behaviour - same as the ants - however the remarkable difference is in the way the mushroom spreads its pours. Instead of the host being manipulated to get as high as possible and secure itself to a tree so the mushroom can kill the host and grow out the back of the head to spread its pours, it seems to be spreading by simply manipulating the hosts behaviour into biting other mice. It took a mere few hours for one infected mouse to become aggressive towards the non-infected mice, biting and gnashing at them and effectively spreading the infection to all the other mice in the holding cage.

  (mumbling) Angry mice isn’t a good sign, animal instinct must have kicked in, I hope the more complex human mind will not react in the same manner. It is a good sign that behaviourally the mice have changed. It means its working. It’s really working. Those fools!

  After doing a basic dissection on one of the infected mice the results are both relatively expected and extremely baffling. Most internal organs have been eaten away by the fungus as was expected. However what is extremely baffling is that the mouse I have dissected was still alive and functioning with hardly any working internal organs. Technically the mouse should have been dead. Most curious indeed.

  Regardless, we push on!

  If I can study what it is in these new genetically-enhanced zombie mushrooms that are altering the behaviour of the mice, while simultaneously keeping them alive, I may be able to finally get the answers I have been looking for.

  (mumbling) And answers I wasn’t asking?

  G.D.R - May 4th - I have become extremely frustrated with my studies. No matter what I get under my microscope it is not similar enough to that of the humans. Mice, dead brain tissue and fungus have opened up a few doorways and the zombie mushroom, however fascinating it is, simply has too many road blocks. I can't help but feel that I have come so close, yet I am still so far away from any real tangible results. My research will never be complete without testing on living tissue.

  In vertebrates regulation of neuronal migration networks involves complex extracellular guidance cues, membrane-bound receptors, intracellular signaling molecules, proteins not found in mice or fungus ... I need... A living, human subject. (Background noises would indicate the doctor is breaking equipment or throwing objects across the room. His voice is also very agitated)

  G.D.R - I have simply gone too far in my research to stop now. No one from the university or government departments has stuck their head in since I began my research over a year ago. No one is questioning my ethics... It is with a lot of internal and moral conflict that I have decided to begin testing with human subjects without the government’s approval. They wouldn't understand how far I have come and how close I am to answers! Answers to how the human mind constructs thought. It could be the very thing that separates us from the animals. Yes it would be foolish of me to not press on... Tomorrow I begin human trials...

  My employers, the military, probably would not agree with this type of record keeping and may view it as evidence, but unless something goes tragically wrong I should be the only person reviewing these notes.

  G.D.R - However unethical my procedures have become, I still can't help but feel the excitement of what these tests will bring. It has been surprisingly easy for me to get a human subject. I have been able to convince a homeless man, with no immediate family, who is socially alienated with very little impact in society. I will be paying him for his services from my own wages and I have set up a living quarters here for him. For the sake of his privacy I will not be using his name throughout my notes nor will I divulge any more information on where or how I found him. My conscience is not at all clear, however my research here could be ground breaking to the whole of human kind.

  (A beeping alarm sound can be heard once again, however is abruptly turned off. The transcriber speculates the doctor did not take his medication on this occasion)

  We began testing today by studying the subject’s normal behaviour. A series of rigorous behavioural profile tests should give me a good idea into any changes we may observe post infection. All the results from the testing have been documented for later viewing. As a quick summary our test subject is of average IQ. He is well tempered and below average in his problem solving abilities. Physical testing will also be required to acquire a good before and after on the subjects health. However, at first glance the specimen appears to be of good health.

  G.D.R. - A full week of behavioural and physical testing has given me more than enough information I need on the subject. Today I will be administering a small dosage of the mutant mushroom. The same injection used on the mice. I dare not use a larger dosage as this is uncharted territory and I have no real way of knowing what the results, if any, will be. It is with both a heavy heart and full of excitement I take this first step in the human trials.

  As expected there have been no immediate reactions. No physical changes. Body temperature and blood pressure are the same as previous tests. (mumbling)*I only wish I could say the same for my own blood pressure* Cognitive functions and problem solving skills have also resulted in very similar results. Blood tests show no anomalies.

  G.D.R – May twenty eighth. Day two, post infection. Very little has changed in the subject. Blood pressure and body temperature have risen slightly. Nothing significant or noteworthy.

  Throughout the day subject has become more irritable and his appetite has been suppressed. Heart rate has now slowed considerably, however body temperature is becoming dangerously high. It would be extremely unlikely that such a small dosage would be causing these symptoms in such a small amount of time. Behavioural testing has been hard to undertake with the test subject becoming increasingly more aggressive to the repetitiveness of the questions. Doubt and guilt are beginning to take a strong hold in my mind. I simply don't have the medical facilities here to understand completely what is happening to the test subject. His non-vital organs may already be under attack from the fungi. I can’t simply dissect the host this time to see if the fungi is attacking the internal organs, so at this point I am speculating from an educated opinion only. Without opening him up, I am unable to see what the full effects are. He may also be suffering the first symptoms of the common cold? If I admit him to a hospital, how could I possibly explain my actions? My career and everything I have worked so hard for would be ruined. I will give it one more day. I trust that the dosage was so small that the natural immune system of the subject should be able to fight off the infection before it goes any further. Blood tests are showing no mutations or cellular reconfiguration.

  The people I am working for would not be forgiving if they were to discover my actions. The Armed forces and government bodies would be most... Displeased.

  G.D.R- May Twenty ninth. Day three post infection... (Sigh) What have I done? In my search for answers I have blindly jumped off a cliff into an unexplored abys of the unknown. Overnight the Test subject has become ... unresponsive. At closer examination of the body it has had some severe side effects not shown in the mice. At the point of infection a fungal ring has formed.

  The name fairy ring comes from an old folk-tale. People onc
e believed that mushrooms growing in a circle followed the path made by fairies dancing in a ring. The truth is in fact not like in the fairy tales. Ground zero is where the mushrooms sprout from. They grow until they have starved the earth of all its useful nutrients. Once the ground becomes to baron for the mushroom it dies off and a new mushroom grows immediately in front of it pushing outwardly in a circular motion. Similar to the ripple affect caused from throwing a stone into a pond. Unfortunately for our test subject this infection seems to be doing the same to his skin. I am unsure if we will be able to help him.

  (The beeping alarm sound begins and abruptly ends after a crashing sound. It is assumed the doctor smashes his alarm and does not medicate)

  From my little knowledge of fungal infections it will be very hard to kill of the infection without also killing the living tissue around it. Because the mushroom genetics are so similar to ours it's hard to kill the fungi without killing parts of ourselves. A fungal infection in the lungs is almost always fatal. One that stems into the brain would be impossible to kill without killing the brain.

  Blood samples are alarming. It seems to be coagulating. Somehow it does not flow yet the subject is still very animated.

  I am about to approach the subject to try gain another blood sample for examination. (The doctor’s voice is best described as a trembling whisper. Crashing and moaning can be heard in the background) I have a syringe to sedate him. My plan is to sedate him, take my last samples and take him to a hospital where I shall confess all my wrong doings.

  How did I get here? How did I let my work blind my humanity so much? What have I done?

  (There is 4:32 seconds of recording that is untranslatable. It is assumed the test subject is making animal like groaning and growling noises. The doctor can be heard panting and screaming. It is alleged that a struggle took place.)

  G.D.R – (screaming) *** ... This will be my last entry. The test subject is showing no signs of a heartbeat and has not been responding *** reflexes *** is no response in the eyes from light. Yet he is walking around unwillingly and uncontrollably. As if his body were being operated by a puppeteer. A puppeteer from hell!*** (shouting) my god what have I done?! The subject has become too aggressive to approach. I have been bitten on *** potentially infected! For the safety of others I have no choice but to destroy all evidence. . I struck him. Struck him as violently as I could causing severe trauma to the back of his head. My God, … I killed him. I ki..

  End of Recordings.

  It should be noted doctor Gustavo had no medical prescriptions on record and was believed to be self-medicating. An autopsy could not be performed as the doctor’s body was never recovered. The Host subject was severely burnt and completely unrecognizable.

  Robert Dunne

  Robert Dunne is one half of the Brothers Dunne and co-creator of Tales of the Nothing Man and other short stories. Residing in Perth, Western Australia, he would describe himself as a fun loving, easy going family man who just writes for fun and to get the voices out of his head. His Mother would describe him as... the adopted twin. With more voices in his head you can expect more books to be coming out.

  The Librarian

  By William Bebb

  The top right corner of the book's cover was torn. It appeared as if someone used a strip of transparent tape to repair it. The librarian glanced at the paperback's glossy, lurid, color artwork and sighed in utter disgust.

  The cover featured a figure dressed in long, black leather, coat that hid most of their body from view. It could have been a man or woman and was perhaps designed to appeal to both sexes as a heroic figure. A motorcycle helmet with a dark, tinted visor covered all of the head and face. Clutched in both leather glove wearing hands, two very large long barreled machine guns belched forth bright orange and red tongues of fire. The figure was standing on the roof of a blood splattered ice-cream truck. Near the shooter's boot clad feet a spring mounted smiling plastic clown head was tilted forward, giving the impression that it was grinning down at the mob of gray skinned snarling creatures that encircled the vehicle.

  Has literature really sunk to this? She wondered before considering the book's title. In a garish dark-red colored font (stylized and touched up so the letters appeared to be dribbling a copious amount of blood) there were just two words: ‘Undead Exterminator’.

  Zombies, zombies, zombies! It seems that every other new book has some macho stud firing a seemingly endless supply of bullets into walking corpses. Why? The volunteer librarian wondered while tossing the ‘Undead Exterminator’ on a cart that she'd soon be using to shelve all the other returned books.

  The overhead fluorescent lights flickered for a few moments when a crack of lightning preceded a loud, long, rumbling roll of thunder. It was annoying but not at all unusual that morning. According to her count, the electrical service had already briefly failed half a dozen times since she arrived and opened the library and it wasn't even ten o'clock as she finished sorting returns. She pushed the book cart toward the shelves while turning her head and looked through the long row of large windows facing east. On sunny mornings she often looked through the glass at the small courtyard; the stepping stones, a bright and beautiful rainbow of plants and flowers, and the stone birdbath at the center. Beyond the courtyard there was a spacious park called the Fawn Liebowitz Memorial Park. Rumor had it that the park was dedicated to a local girl who died while attending college a long time ago. But, as another loud rumbling of thunder caused the glass to rattle a bit in the row of window frames, she could only see a uniform dark grayness beyond. It was a depressing sight.

  When she arrived at seven and unlocked the library's entrance the weather was only lightly drizzling rain and nowhere near as foggy. It had rained almost nonstop for the last couple of days. She'd assumed the weather would clear up as the morning passed. But the machine-like rapid ticking of rain striking the windows, the drumming sound of water pelting the roof and skylights, aside from being annoying, proved her forecast for better weather was without merit. She would have checked the news for the weather before coming to work but couldn't bear hearing more crazy reports of violence and mass murders. It seemed that's all newscasts reported about anymore.

  One of the cart's wheels squeaked as it rolled across the black and white checkerboard style floor tiles. Aside from the rain attacking the building and occasional rumbles of thunder it was the only sound.

  Libraries are so deserted nowadays. It's kind of sad, she thought while shelving books in their proper places. When I was a kid, mom and I'd come here and spend hours exploring and meeting friends. Maybe we'd go to the little cafe, buy some cookies, have something to drink and chat with other folks.

  It was a bittersweet memory since the cafe closed down a few years earlier. Chicken noodle poop was how she usually ordered a cup. The old man, Mr. Schwartz, who operated the cafe always chuckled as he served her a cup. She never ordered it that way when her mom or anyone else was within earshot. She knew her mother would not have approved. Moms are kind of weird like that.

  “One cup of chicken noodle poop coming right up, for Miss Brianna Keene,” Mr. Schwartz would say with a wink and a smile. Gradually the number of patrons visiting the library dwindled to a tiny fraction of earlier years as Brianna grew older. She suspected the drop in visitors was mostly due to the internet and the endless number of books to be discovered there. But whatever the cause might have been, the old man began losing money running the cafe. Brianna felt terrible for him and herself and cried for a long time when he was forced to admit defeat and shut down the tiny cafe.

  But he still found time to visit the library nearly every day. It was an easy walk from his retirement home and on many mornings, within minutes of unlocking the doors and flipping on the lights, she spotted him through the row of large windows as he walked through the park and headed toward the library. The retirement home served hundreds of elderly folks, and when the weather was nice many of them still came to visit the library. But even on rai
ny days (and nearly all other kinds) one retiree nearly always made the trek.

  Mr. Schwartz hadn't come in yet that morning, but Brianna wasn't terribly concerned since no one else came by either. She blamed the bad weather mostly but also suspected the recent increase in violent murders (seemingly taking place all over the world) was keeping most people locked up in their homes. The unexplained trend of violence was all over the news on TV and radio but Brianna tried to ignore it because bad-news depressed her.

  She found herself wishing that Mr. Schwartz had come in spite of the storm. The library was always a bit creepy when she was the only one there. Brianna glanced at the entrance and the alcove where the old man's small cafe used to be. Long gone were the aromas of soup, cookies, muffins, and other goodies. Now, it was just a dusty corner where stacks of ignored pamphlets and religious tracts were arranged on narrow tables along the walls. Like so much of the library, it was rarely visited.