United Kingdom, three years P.Z.A - that’s Post Zombie Apocalypse for those of you living under a rock. It started as a new sickness that broke out in the slums of Russia - a fever at first, followed by twitching, necrotic wounds, and violence. At first no one realized the victims were dead to all intents and purposes by the time they started twitch. Someone tried to say it was drugs, some new kind of Krocodil. Some said it was a new kind of Saint Vitus Dance, brought on by some virus that came out of the melting permafrost up north.
Then whatever it was, everyone started to get it. Spread though tourism and travel down through Europe and Africa, simultaneously across to the Americas, and around to the Pacific Rim; it was everywhere within weeks.
It seems to me in those early days sometimes, some people survived with enough antivirals. Or was it antibiotics? Sulpha drugs? I don’t know if that was bullshit of if we just ran out of meds but …eventually they ran out of places to keep the victims who didn’t recover, the people whose life signs all ran to zero but who kept twitching and stumbling and biting. They called them Zero’s. Z’s. Zeds.
The WHO tried to fight it but it spread too fast. Quarantines just made people lie about where they were coming from, what they were sick with.
I don’t know if everywhere got hit as hard as we did. We lost contact with the outside world pretty quick after the London quarantine disaster - but I don’t really care what’s going on outside our islands anymore. All I know is we’re alone. Left for Zed.
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