Authors featured in this issue include Carrie Vaughn, Liz Williams, Peni R. Griffin, Eugie Foster, James Van Pelt, Way Jeng, and Jim C. Hines.
AUTH SEQUENCE 455446-TR-ZX
This is Jack Darwin of the Federal Exotic Response Agency, attempting to reach Cataclysm Hall via ARPANet Descendant Protocol wirejumping. All conventional lines are down, all traditional methods of communication jammed, overloaded, or not responding. Challenger Hall has been breached, all personnel assumed dead or compromised. No other Halls are responding either. I was forced to grab as much of the Armory as possible and make a run for it.
Zombies are everywhere. The graveyards are emptying out like church on Superbowl Sunday. The old ones, they're not a problem. Take them out at the legs, and they'll crawl slowly. It's the new ones. The bite-infected ones. They don't even realize they're dead, but they're HUNGRY. And MEAN. And they can still do anything they could in life. I'm on a rooftop in Williamsburg with a FERA laptop, and I'm watching the goddamned zombies play real life Grand Theft Auto. It's zombie vehicular manslaughter, and their victims just keep getting right back up. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to move, and I haven't decided what options give me the best chance of survival. I may just have to make a run for it, guns blazing.
I have two choices: head south to Roanoke and see if Page's people are okay, holed up in that mountain of theirs, or head west for Cataclysm Hall. I shit you not, people, this is big. I don't know how it started, I don't know how it got this bad, I don't even know if there's any hope of stopping it, but I'm sure as hell going to keep fighting as long as I can. This is the sort of thing FERA's supposed to prevent and keep quiet, dammit. Someone's screwed the pooch.
I've been here too long. Time to move. There are zombies in the Internet cafe I'm wirelessly piggybacking, and the smart ones will know what I'm up to as soon as I fire this all over the net. But I have to at least try and get a message through.
Roanoke it is. It's closer. But if you guys at Cataclysm get this, let me know.
I'm rambling. This is way beyond the usual fish-gods, evil cultists, and rabid werewolves I usually deal with. This is...
I'm signing off now. Lord only knows where this message will end up, the wirejump procedure isn't an exact science. But normal email is bouncing. Fuck, zombie hackers launching DOS against communications? Scary thought. Must keep it together.
Jack Darwin, signing off.