Corporal Garth Raymond’s Personal Logs:

START OF RECORD

Battle Date: June 30, 2288:

I HATE ZOMBIES! The statement alone gives me power whenever I say this to myself and because it is the truth. In fact, I liked it so much that I stenciled it on my trusty ironclad armor. Yeah, I know, these ironclads are antiques. They are more of relics from the Fourth World War; can’t blame the higher ups since resources for warfare has become scarce. Survivors will get their hands to any weapons they can get from hand-held weapons to long range projectiles. Nuclear missiles that can decimate a country were a thing of the past. The countries that had them disarmed their nuke missiles during the turn of the 22^nd century. I guess they are now regretting why they’ve done it. But we have an alternative - nuke canisters. They are weaker than the uranium powered missiles but one of these babies can decimate a city block.

It has been 2 years since the first incident of the infestation occurred. Experts are still searching as to what is causing the zombification of people. I’ve seen friends, neighbors, and families being infected and joining the despicable undead since then.

I joined the Clearance Operatives 5 months ago. At first we were tasked to seek out and bring zombie specimens so that the white-coats can examine them and perhaps find a cure to reverse or at least stop the process. They’ve tried different mixtures of antibiotics, serums….stuff like that. But they concluded that every “cure” that they administered to the infected was simply mutated by the virus at the molecular level; rearranging their components and rendering them harmless to the virus. So, there’s no hope for the victims. Not for long, our objectives changed from “Seek and Rescue” to “Search and Destroy”.

Luckily (or unfortunately) depending on one’s point of view, I was raised in an orphanage.  And that, too, was not spared. It all started when a nun brought into the infirmary who she thought was a homeless person, but it turned out that the man was a newly created zombie. The devil bit the right arm of the nun and ripped it from its joint. Panic ensues. The children were easy targets. 

We arrived at the orphanage and we were greeted by shuffling,  grunting, decaying, and blood crusted little zombie boys and girls. It’s painful to be one of the heavily armed ironclad personnel at the site and being ordered to raze to the ground the orphanage where I grew up with. It only took us five minutes and one canister of nuke to do the job. Nuking the place was not necessary, but we have to make sure that none of those abominations survive.

END OF RECORDING