It’s that time of year again. Time for a rather horrific story.
Part three of “Event Zero.”
Part One – Event Zero
Part Two – Shadow of the Valley
>ERC Document - “Event Alexandria” >pp. 114-117 >Filed 05-11-2025 >ERCD 1001 >Current security status: Classified >These pages of document 1001 are a record of files >from the harddrive of Alexander Vick, shortly after the >Alexandria Event. Dates given are the timestamps of >the recovered files. >View Log: >Jocelyn Kramer, M.D., Ph.D, Center for Disease Control >Col. Albert Hammer, Air Force, Department of Defense >Capt. Elizabeth Friendly, M.D., Walter Reed - Bethesda Naval >[REDACTED] >[REDACTED] >[REDACTED] >Yuri Hrab, Special Agent, Event Research Commission
2024-06-14 11:58 pm
All I know is what I hear on the tv. All about the dead rising from the graves. Just like in the good book. And all those movies.
There’s a graveyard next to my house. It’s old and small. About a dozen graves in all. The last body in there is the old woman who sold the house to me. The first one was from the civil war.
House has been here a long time. The wood on the floor, especially on the back stairs, is warped and creaks like my old Chevy when Dolly jumps in the flatbed.
I don’t spook easy, but there are times at night when the stairs settle on their own. Charlotte sleeps through it, but it always wakes me and Dolly up. Half the time I got the .45 in my hand before my eyes are all the way open.
Dolly just curls back up at the foot of the bed and goes back to sleep.
It’s not like anyone is going to sneak up on the house like some sort of ninja. I ain’t paranoid. And if someone drives up the gravel Dolly would hear it when it started a quarter mile away.
It’s one of those nights. The staircase is in rare form. I actually got up and checked it out, half expecting a visitor from one of those graves.
Couldn’t get back to sleep. The doc told me I should write shit down when I get this way. Since Anne passed… well I do my best. But I started to get pissed real easy, and I almost hit Charlene.
Hardest decision I ever made, but I went in and talked to a therapist. But For Charlene I’d do anything. She’s all I have left, and if anything happened to her…
Hell, I didn’t even talk to a shrink after Iraq. Didn’t seem much of a point. I did what I did and I’m proud to have been a soldier. If it wasn’t for a half-inch piece of metal that sliced up my leg real good I might still be out there.
Shrink says business is booming since the dead started coming back. I told her, “no shit, Sherlock.” But I seen enough dead already, some I made that way myself. It wouldn’t bother me to convince those bone bags they made a mistake coming back.
That’s what I thought. Until I realized I have a dozen dead bodies in my back yard.
Doc says the dreams are related to Iraq, but I don’t buy it. I think it’s just stress. I mean, who could blame me, I’m alone with Charlene out here. Girls need their moms, and she ain’t got one now.
She seems well adjusted enough, considering. Got good grades, lots of friends. She says that helps.
I ask her what she thinks of this whole zombie thing. If she’s bible believing and knows about the End Times.
She just rolls her eyes like I’m talking about some movie. And maybe she’s right to do that. I can’t say the good book has been a lot of comfort recently. In a way, it’s just the opposite. If this really is the end, I’m not sure I want to know it.
2024-06-15 10:11 pm
I got the blood washed off.
When I heard the shots across the way at the old Mullen’s place, I knew what was happening. The TV did that thing it does sometime earlier in the afternoon. It goes all green and croaks these three harsh scratchy static pulses. “Attention. An Event is in progress.” Then the date, time, place, and instructions.
By the time the alert goes out, they already have their government men on the ground. They’re going to shoot to kill. If you’re in the event zone, you’re either live meat or dead meat. Both get filled with bullets.
I’m not the paranoid type. But those cocksuckers in the suits actually have black helicopters. I never seen a mark or badge or anything on them, just black. They’re quiet too. For helicopters anyway. Nothing like the birds in Iraq.
But I’m getting off track. My mind has been doing that a lot since this afternoon. And well, that’s to be expected. Doc says flashbacks can happen, but I never had ‘em. Just the shakes after hearing gunfire.
The TV said Alexandria. It always happens in the city. Glad I kept Charline away from there. She says its way too quiet out here and the school bus takes forever to get into town, but it’s worth it to get away.
Now I ain’t no toothless stars-and-bars waving racist, but if them city niggers make it out this way, I have a new AR-15 I’ve been itching to try out.
That’s the first thing I thought when I heard the gunfire. Someone got through the quarantine and is whoopin’ it up, looting and pillaging like it’s the end of the world. They don’t have Jesus in their lives to keep them from evil.
I went out on the porch and saw the truck, parked at an angle in front of the Mullen’s. Three boys, hell they looked barely older than Charline, were hollering and running around, all of ‘em with guns. Even from way over here, I recognized Old Joe’s forty .06. The little pricks looted their house.
“Charline,” I said, “get the rifle and get upstairs, like we trained. Keep the curtain over the barrel until the last moment.”
She wanted to object, but I could see it in her eyes that she heard the shots too.
The boys drove their tricked out truck over the creek and straight across to our yard. I was waiting for them. I didn’t have my AR ready, but I figured the .45 would do. Kept it on my lap while I rocked in my chair as I watched. I made sure they could see it.
I don’t know where they were from. “You boys ought to know better than this.” They weren’t listening to me. The driver had a revolver in one hand and a fifth in the other. He had to kick the door of the truck closed as he stumbled out.
I didn’t know them, but they seemed to know Charline. “Where’s that pretty girl of yours, old man?”
“She ain’t here. She’s at a friend’s.” They weren’t buying it. “What in hell has gotten into you, boys? Just what do you think you’re going to accomplish here?”
One of the other boys spat to the side, some sort of gooey black tobacco. “Just give us what we want.” He raised his pistol and aimed it at me. It was aimed all sideways like some movie gang banger. It was all I could do not to smile.
Charline didn’t cotton to them pulling a gun on me.
They one with the jack and the revolver. His head turned into a mosquito cloud of red before I heard the report. Weird how that happens.
The gangster wanna-be had two center-mass before he could fire his glock and break his wrist from the stupid angle.
Number three was behind them, just standing there, pissing his pants. The 30 06 dropped at his feet.
I didn’t figure there was any sense in letting him go at this point. “Charline, get down here!” I yelled.
I put a bullet in his face before she got down the stairs. No sense in involving her in an inquiry if it came to that. She didn’t see what happened, and I’ll say he was still a threat. No judge here in Virginia would let it even go to trial.
The spitter was still alive. I walked over to him and knelt down. He was all twitching and moaning. “You want one in the head?” I figured it was the kind thing to do.
But he stopped fighting shortly thereafter.
Charline was on the porch by then, rifle in hand. “Needed to be done, right Pa?”
But then I was left with a conundrum. What to do with three thugs from the city? Since I already had a graveyard, I figured the answer was obvious.
I glanced up at the license plate. The decal around the plate said, “Koon’s Ford, Alexandria.”
2024-06-16 4:21 am
I set a kettle of to boil hydrogen peroxide so I could pour it over all the weapons, get the powder and prints off everything. Then I set to work.
The digging was a bit of a chore. The earth near the back of the graveyard was softest, but even with that my back ached like a sum bitch by the time the shovel hit something.
Rotten wood. Goddamn unmarked grave. That or the grave plaque in the ground had rotted or weathered away.
What else could I do? I kept digging.
Bones. Lots of bones and a bit of fabric. Both had been chewed up by worms and time. Didn’t really matter much.
The two other ditches wound up clean, no bodies to disturb. Thank Jesus. I didn’t think I could take another defiling of a grave..
Dragging the kids into the holes was harder than it shoulda been, seeing as my back was all in knots from the digging, but I managed. Wasn’t about to involve Charlene in that mess.
It was real late by then, and I had to have a lantern set out just to see where I was throwing the dirt. Had a little mag light in my teeth to help out too.
I honestly didn’t think about it. Sometimes shit just gotta get done, you know? And you don’t think about it. You can’t.
Back in Iraq we did recons into the neighborhoods. I was the one who kicked open the doors. Most dangerous job there was on recon. Could have been a raghead with an AK just waiting for us in there.
Never was though.
Yeah, shots were fired sometimes. But that happens. They shoulda known. You don’t listen to orders, bad things happen.
I was just lost in thought when I noticed the rigor set in on the spitter. His arm was stuck up through the fresh dirt, hand reaching out to me like he needed help out of quicksand. Scared the shit out of me, at first.
Then it moved.
Two kinds of fear—the jump surprise, and the “this ain’t happening” kind. I felt both. The hand was slowly moving, gripping back and forth. I couldn’t decide what to do about it.
When the other hand started to worm its way out, indecision was out the window and I headed into the house.
Took me longer than I wanted, but I eventually found the machete.
But God as my witness when I got back, the grave was empty. The sum bitch had digged his way clear out— and into the open grave of his friend. Fucker had his face buried in the dude’s belly. His teeth had ripped off the first few layers of skin and was working on the fat and muscle.
It’s been a long time since I was grossed out by body parts. I remember Sanchez literally having his head severed clean off by his car when an IED rolled it. It bounced across the sandy road like a fucking basketball. Funniest thing I ever seen.
I seen dogs rip apart a little girl the jihadi shits thought was unclean. Couldn’t get her out of that pit in time. I put a bullet in her head, like I offered to my guest earlier today.
They’re all fucking savages over there.
Anyway, the guy was a zombie. How else you gonna call it? Nobody official likes the word, but fuck if I know a better one. CDC doesn’t even know what to call them. They don’t know shit.
Joe Flesheater was too busy to notice me. I chopped his head off. Hole in one.
At this point I had to decide if I wanted to worm my way down in there and cut the head off the meal to make sure he didn’t come back, or just bury the both of them and hope for the best.
Shit. I didn’t know how it worked. Nobody did. I figured better safe than sorry.
Charlene was on the back porch, freaking out. I told her I’d handle it, and to get back to her room. She didn’t give me any sass about it and did what she was told.
I found what I was looking for in the house and came back. Nether Joe nor his meal had stirred in the meantime. Good.
I pulled the pins on two grenades and tossed them in, and hit the deck.
I forgot how fucking loud grenades were, even when they’re dropped in a six foot deep hole. I had to lay there for a minute, letting the memory of that shredded HumVee fade away. The one that left me with the limp.
“Daddy, you okay?”
I got up and brushed myself off. “Yeah, darlin, I’m fine. Just gotta make sure, yanno?”
I looked in the hole. The results were as expected. Soup.
The adrenaline helped me finish covering the bodies fast. All this left me with one fresh and two empty graves. Whatever, I’d fix it tomorrow. I had a riding mower with a plow attachment I’d use to pack down the dirt, and cover it with some fresh sod I’d get from town. In a week the native grasses and shit would weave it all down, and you’d never know how fresh the graves were.
I would drive the jeep off the cliff behind the Mullens’ house in the morning too. Not a big ravine, but big enough for the trees to grow over in about a month. Shit grows fast out here. Nature will claim what we leave behind, that’s for damn sure.
2024-06-16 1:01 pm
Not terribly surprising. How often do you put down a zombie and bury it in the back yard?
Stayed up doing research.
The CDC calls it the “Columbia Virus” after it’s first known outbreak in Columbia Maryland. But they don’t know much else. Just that it’s %100 fatal, and exposed people usually turn within hours or days of exposure to bodily fluids of an infected host.
Is it transmissible from beast to man? Don’t know. How long can it remain outside the body? Don’t know. Does antibiotics kill it? Don’t know.
Google has thousands of pages of amateur disease researchers claiming it’s from Mars, or it was developed by the government, or it’s God’s wrath for the fags.
Nobody knows shit.
How is that even possible? Nobody wants to get close to it, yet there are tons of weaponized botulism, plague, anthrax, you name it, in the military’s warehouses. How can they not have whatever this shit is? Not a sample? Not a germ?
Anyway, writing this down is supposed to help, and now it seems like it’s a habit, like smoking.
I watched Charlene eat breakfast this morning. I was hungry, but food just didn’t seem on my mind. The images of the spitter chowing down on his dude-bro friend just kept forcing thoughts of bacon out of my mind.
She’s a good looking girl, Charlene. Growing up in just the right ways. Very pretty.
She looked at me funny. Like I had a spider on my face or something. But she kept quiet.
Dolly was nowhere to be seen. That was unlike her. That big old dog was always trying to put her muzzle up on the table and grab the butter.
Sunday. God’s day. I wasn’t in the mood for church, even though I knew it would have done me good.
Somehow with all this strangeness going on, I feel closer to God than ever. It’s like Jesus is in my heart more than I ever knew.
Sticks on the sabbath.
I shouldn’t have worked so late. Sunday is the Lord’s day and thou shalt keep it holy. I hear the word in my heart.
Very pretty girl.
I guess that’s when we saw Mullen. Shambling across the yard, heading toward the house. The old man was missing half his jaw where a bullet had torn through it. His tongue was still pink, but it oozed a black mucus.
I told Charlene to get the AR-15. It was time to break it in.
Old man Mullen took his sweet time.
I told Charlene to take the first shot. She needed to pop her cherry on a big boy like the AR.
I got behind her. Put my arms around her to pull the stock tight to her shoulder. She smelled good.
She aimed, and shot. Straight through the head. Such a good girl.
I asked her if she had a boyfriend yet.
She didn’t seem in the mood for talking. A girl ought not to ignore her father. The father is the lord of the house, as Jesus is lord of the Man.
I told her to get back in the house. Something about the way I said it spooked her. But she did it.
Sweet sweet girl.
I was hungry.
2024-06-16 4:14 pm
It’s more like a voice in my heart now than a feeling. It’s telling me that I have a lot of work to do.
Yet today is the Sabbath. How can I work on the Sabbath? It’s not right.
But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? I need to listen. Real good.
So I sat down and listened. And I realized something.
God wouldn’t command me to work on the Sabbath. Only a voice that would defile His will would say such things straight into a man’s heart.
It was the Devil himself.
And he was hungry.
Job must have wondered why he was chosen for attention. But I didn’t. No wondering. The Devil saw me in Iraq. He saw me pull the trigger on those ragheads, those women, those children. He saw my boots wade through the sand and blood, and not give a damn about it.
I am the Devil’s vessel.
Charlene is keeping away from me. Even after I called after her.
I can smell her all through the house. It’s like I can trail her scent like a dog. Woof. Gonna get me some of that.
I can feel the devil’s tongue drooling.
2024-06-16 9:11 pm
Pretty things get worn out. They break when they get older. She should have listened to me.
When I say stay put, I mean stay put.
She got the rifle. I told her to put it down, but she just didn’t want to listen to me.
She shot a hole in my shoulder.
As the good book says, he who raises a hand against his father shall surely be put to death.
Even the Devil is bound by God’s law.
She locked herself in the bathroom.
I got the machete.
I still had enough sense in my head not to stand in front of the door when I knocked. The bullet went through about head level.
Iraq. I kicked the door open.
She was already mostly out of the window.
It was a clean slice. The foot fell to the linoleum, and the blood spread to my boots in an ink-blot of pure bliss.
The blood on the blade had become wine.
I wasn’t worried though. She wouldn’t get far hopping on one foot.
2024-06-16 11:11 pm
Sweet as a Baghdad whore.
2024-06-17 2:46 am
Call me Lazarus.
I understand now. The Devil needs the world to see the miracles of Creation. He unlocks the seals, he is the Beast of the world, and the Horsemen come from his seed.
I am the First. I am the Resurrection.
Suck the marrow from life. As I did from the ankle of the disobedient.
My hunger calls the masses to my sermon. I can hear their screams, the gnashing of teeth. They are far, but coming.
The infidels try to burn my brothers. But soon they will be cast into the lake of fire.
I must feed.
There is food in the graveyard.
I will take what I need.
Then I will rest, in the empty grave, until I heed the trumpet call of the Lord, and am born again.