The official consensus was that it was an absolute mess out there and even though they had been authorized to use lethal force, it was a battle that they weren't winning. No one in the lab wanted to touch them but my clinical curiosity got the better of me. What I was looking at seemed so utterly impossible; corpses of all races, ages, and gender were in front of me acting as if they were having a psychotic break of some kind.

The blood on them was horrific - and I'm used to blood. Some were missing limbs or parts of limbs where they had been ripped or chewed off. One woman, and the only way I could tell that was from the tattered and bloody clothing she still had hanging from her body, was missing her face. I literally mean the skin and underlying tissue was gone; gnawed off.

You could still see the teeth marks along her hairline. All that was left was the crimson stained surface of bone.

It was at that point that I realized I had to leave. It was hard to believe then and is still just as hard to believe now; the Undead were fighting to assimilate the living in a battle that I wasn't sure we could win.

Not after seeing the after-effects firsthand.

One might ask when the first person realized that the "rioters" were really and truly the "Undead". I'm not sure myself but it must have been fairly quickly that morning or else why would they have brought them to me? I know all of it seems so strange, so unbelievable that the police were even able to restrain any of them. Yet the state of the bodies that I saw that day could make even the most skeptical believe in life after death. Okay, maybe that's not an entirely accurate statement since they aren't technically alive, but it's the closest explanation I've got.

In my heart I would love to believe that the situation in Toronto and the surrounding areas will be brought under control. However, I'm not going to stick around in the thick of it waiting complacently to see if that's the case. I'm a realist and right now I'm choosing to fight for survival.

I don't know how long any of the technological infrastructures will remain intact or if anybody out there is even able to read this. All I know is that I will keep posting as long as I am able to. I think people in the world need to know what is going on.

We're afraid that even if the situation is brought under control that the amount of information (read: truth) that will accurately surface and be reported may be slim to none. For the sake of everyone left alive in the world, we need to collectively band together in order to keep our humanity alive.

After our night in the cabin in the woods we're starting to encounter more people travelling out of the urban sprawl and the smaller towns in Southwestern Ontario. There are some that want to join up with us but we've already decided as a group that we would try to stay small. Stay mobile. Besides we figured it would be easier to survive knowing the particular strengths of each of the persons in our group.

So far we've been moving mainly on foot because the roads have been partially gridlocked with cars making them the ideal feeding grounds for the Undead.

It's sickening really; you can sometimes hear the honking from trapped vehicles. Their horns like the Siren's call just leading more of the Undead to them...

The day has been pretty uneventful by comparison to recent events. We managed to make good time and put a little more distance between us and them. We did encounter the odd walking corpse but thankfully the Undead have been less prevalent today than yesterday.

While on the move, you learn a few things; certain things become a sixth sense that you never realized that you had. There were certain areas that we instinctively avoided; areas that none of us felt we should enter. It was the subtle clues that we took to heart the most.

While your conscious mind is working on making sure that you are indeed placing one foot in front of the other in a safe and routine manner, your subconscious mind is working at keeping you alive. It's making millions of life and death decisions for you and you just let it.

Trust it.

It's the thing that is telling you right now to get up and get moving. Not to wait for someone to rescue you. The more of us that get out of their way, the less of us that will potentially meet horrible deaths. None of us want to become one of them. That's a fate worse than death.

We felt a little safer sleeping outside tonight as there's a full moon out to help illuminate the woods around us. Obviously it's not the best of circumstances but we need the sleep when we can get it.

It helps of course that we've strung an alarm system of sorts around the perimeter of the camp. Just some rope and a few bells can work wonders if you set them up properly. If anything it will at least give us some time to get our weapons ready if the perimeter is breached.

While we're in the thick of this, I'm not sure how often I will have the chance to update you. Last night, I found the act of recording our journey extremely cathartic and a means of processing the day we had endured. It's also given me a purpose.

I know that I'll be able to continue posting as long as I have access through my mobile internet or some unsecured Wi-Fi signal to leech off of. I'm just a little worried that at some point there will be no one to read these posts. Regardless, they will be immortalized on the World Wide Web for future generations to read.

If there are any future generations...

God, I have to stop thinking like this! I just hope that my words sound an alarm deep in your soul that you'll hear and subsequently heed.

It is a little early to start being pessimistic but after everything I've seen in the past few days and the fact that I'm running for my life, I have to wonder if we, as a global whole, can bounce back. I don't pretend to know what happened to Brooks VanReit before any of this. Did he pick up a bacterial contagion, a virus, or touch some piece of fallen space junk? No one knows. All I know is that he appears to be at the center of all of this and that whatever he had, viral, bacterial or alien; at least it's not airborne. Yet.

Think about it; our bodies are marvels at mutating things. Think of all we know about cancer; think of all we have to learn about it still. Why do the cells in one person decide to mutate but others do not? Why does one person have to experience the devastation of cancer but not others?

It's like the lottery, some win but most don't. That may sound a little callous comparing getting cancer to winning the lottery but it's the best analogy I can come up with at the moment.

Even though I'm digressing from the matter at hand, I guess what I'm trying to say is that we really don't have any idea what we're dealing with. It could have been one thing to start but now it could be something different; something mutated.

The questions that I have are endless but the answers are insufficient and scarce. What it boils down to is the desire, the need to find someone or something to blame.

A faceless, nameless entity is chasing us, using the Undead as its host. It's eating us alive and we are helpless it would seem to stop it. It's multiplying faster than we can kill it and to be honest, we don't even have the means to eradicate it.

A terrifying aspect to all of this is that during our escape we have not witnessed any concentrated effort to contain the epidemic thus far. The Toronto Police made a gallant effort but in the end they failed and most of the officers joined the ranks of the growing Undead army.

Even though we've been trying to travel off the radar, it's apparent from our encounters with the Undead and the lack of military or police presence anywhere that nothing has been organized.

I keep scouring the web looking for any signs but it seems like there has been a blackout on the whole thing. Viral videos from Toronto on YouTube have disappeared, and there are no recent news reports. It's almost like the net has been sanitized but I don't understand to what end that serves. My sincere hope is that our government is not trying to cover this up. People out there need to know what's going on, if only for the sole purpose to protect themselves.

Holy shit! The perimeter alarm just went off. Hopefully we live to see another day. Pray, NOW!

Day 5...

The perimeter alarm was triggered by a singular Undead last night. Max thinks it might have been tracking slowly behind us all day as the Undead sometimes do waiting for the living to stop for a reprieve before inconveniently catching up. Its unexpected arrival was met with a swift and final second death but the fear of more of the Undead, especially in the semi-darkness, put every last nerve on edge.

No one got any rest last night which probably contributed to the accident that occurred today. Not that you can call it an accident. Accidents in this new world are anomalies. All we have now are certainties if we do not take heed, we will not survive. It's just that simple.

We had decided as a group to scope out a somewhat larger urban area closer to the border separating Canada from the United States that had not reported any incidences of the Undead as of yet. We were short of certain necessary supplies that we would need to purchase and knew that at some point we had to restock. Our hope was that we could resupply and then get into the United States without too much incident. Under the current circumstances, the sooner, the better.

After observing the city for about an hour, we were amazed to see that things looked calm and orderly; like nothing apocalyptic was happening only kilometers away. There were no Undead in sight which was promising, and no one appeared to be in any kind of panicked state.

The infection did not look like it had spread this far southwest yet and we could probably get in and get through the city without much of a problem. I have to say that it was a little weird. We had not really managed to travel all that far and the reports on the news must have gotten the people into some kind of an agitated state.

I cannot simply believe that all of the news reports and the like hadn't affected these people. There was no way that I was prepared to believe the Canadian adage of "don't ask, don't tell" was so deeply entrenched in this town.

They had to know what was going on.

Regardless, the absence of the Undead meant that we were going to go into town and exploit their resources before they even realized they needed them. Get in, get out. Easy as pie right? We will never make such an assumption again.

As we walked into town we saw that our first and only stop was right on the relative outskirts. One of those big box-stores where you can buy everything from toilet paper to electronics to ammunition. We stocked up with what we needed and I'm sure that we must have looked somewhat crazy to the people working in the store.

We had decided to split up and leave most of our gear outside with the dirtiest of us. Anyone that had blood on their clothing was out of the question. We were going into this store to purchase ammunition, so making it look like we were stocking up for our next homicidal rampage wasn't going to help us get any service. The fewer questions we had to answer, the better.

We knew that we had to keep everything light and portable; each of us were already carrying a small pack of supplies and adding ammunition, though needed, would only weigh each of us down more.

There was a point where putting more on our back became counterproductive. The heavier our packs were, the slower we could walk. It would also affect our ability to fight off the Undead if we happened to come across more of them in our travels.

Most of the time, we didn't have that moment to shed our packs so it was all about being able to engage in combat if needed with the pack on your back. It was a fine line to dance but each of us had practiced a little. Not a huge lot, mind you; it would have looked awfully weird for us to have taken so much stuff on a hiking trip, not to mention carrying our firearms with us.

You have to remember that while we were subtly preparing before all of this, the last thing we wanted to do was draw attention to ourselves. Too many curious eyes can lead to many more curious questions.

My husband Steve was a member of law enforcement and in a way I was as well, but to have to answer unwanted questions wasn't something that any of us wanted. Not for fear of being ridiculed or laughed at. Those thoughts were actually far from our minds. It was the fact that the political and law enforcement climates had changed so much since 9/11. We didn't want to be labeled as home-grown terrorists when what we were doing had absolutely no connection. Besides, it wouldn't have served a purpose for us to have been detained, trying to explain it all away. Even I can see how crazy and potentially dangerous we could have appeared to be.

In the store, we still got strange looks. Three very dirty and disheveled people wanting to purchase ammunition wasn't something that they were used to seeing on a daily basis. But no one asked us any questions, so we didn't have to lie.

Once we left the store with our meager but important purchases, we were still surprised by how calm the town was. It was so different from the panic that we had been experiencing for the past few days. Maybe the advance of the Undead had been stopped. Anything was, after all, completely possible.

We should have just backtracked out of town the way that we had come. Instead we decided to take local transit and cut straight through town. The idea was supposed to save us time, supposed to give us a break.

We got on the bus, and everything looked fine. People seemed happy if not a bit wary of the five of us with our guns, gear and gore-pocked clothes.

Then I heard the scream of pure fear.

It was a sound that I had heard before. I had even screamed a scream like that myself only a few days ago. It was the kind of scream that imprints on your soul and chills the marrow flowing through your bones. You hear a scream like that and there is no coming back. You know something is terrifyingly wrong and a part of your mind wants to ignore it; what you can't see can't hurt you. But then your subconscious comes to your rescue and you're able to think about your next steps.

It happened in a heartbeat. One minute he was alive, although he had looked a little under the weather at first glance; the next, he was Undead.

He had been sitting by himself toward the back of the bus, sort of slumped over himself in the seat. There was a bandage on his forearm but to be honest, I didn't think too much of that; not everyone sporting a bandage is infected.

Barbara was the first of us to react, mainly because she was the closest to the disturbance occurring toward the rear of the bus. Knowing that firing a gun in such close quarters and with the number of people now trying to get as far away from the newly but ravenous Undead was dangerous and careless, she drew a short spear she had fashioned from a fallen maple branch.

She lunged at the thing that was once a middle-aged man as the bus took an inopportune moment to hit a pothole nestled in the road. The bus floor lurched and threw Barbara off-balance, allowing newly dead hands to clasp tightly onto her shoulders.

Before any of us had a chance to react those Undead arms were pulling Barbara ever closer.

Closer to the open mouth of certain death.

Its lips settled into the crook of her neck like those of a lover initiating an intimate interlude. Its teeth could be heard biting into her flesh in the comparative silence of that moment. The head jerked back and a surge of crimson burst forth.

Barbara screamed; in panic, in terror, in realization of what she would likely become. Her face turned to us, disbelief fairly evident but the control was still there. She was prepared to do whatever she could to save many more The hole in Barbara's neck looked massive, a chasm of crimson on an alabaster background. While you could see the panic in her eyes and hear the panic from the other riders, she kept its attention focused solely on her. In an attempt to what I can only assume was to save her own life, she tried to get her hands up to help staunch the blood but it had too great of a hold on her. Giving up, she clung to the Undead man as it turned its attention to the rest of the riders.

The bus driver pulled over to the curb, opening the doors as he did. Everyone with the ability to exit did so, leaving their belongings behind in their haste. A few people were trapped in the back of the bus, unable for various reasons to pass by the carnage unfolding before them. Everything but their eyes was frozen in horror.

In the space of a moment, the Undead dropped Barbara. She had lost a lot of blood, that fact was apparent from the map of it on her clothing, conquering new ground each second in its quest for freedom.

The shock in her countenance was plain to see. Shock from the attack as well as shock from blood loss. She wasn't dead yet but soon she would be. There was no way Ben would have been able to repair the damage done to her neck. No way that we could have undone the damage that bite had done to her blood as well.

There was no saving Barbara; we knew and so did she.

The Undead turned and came at us, its speed still slightly quicker than most of its kind mainly from the fact that it still had some oxygen in its blood to help feed the dying muscles.

Bob's rage in that moment was palpable. Barbara lay dying and now it was coming for more of us. He pulled out his hunting knife and with a swift and powerful arc he sliced through its neck almost completely. His aim was kissed by pure chance, or maybe it was a little skill.

Its head hung on for the briefest of moments only by the strength of a few tendons but as the body went limp the last remaining vestiges tore free. The severed head, still clasping the morsel of Barbara's flesh in its teeth, tumbled toward the rear of the bus, startling a response from the frozen passengers. It was as if that was the signal for them to leave and quickly, they fled from the carnage in their wake.

Our attention immediately turned to Barbara. She had slid down the support pole bolted in the middle of the bus and was now slumped forward. Her face was so pale in comparison to the pool of blood growing around her. She was bleeding out; the Undead had punctured her carotid artery in its haste to taste her flesh.

We knew that it wouldn't be long before she was dead. And now her blood, her body was infected. One of our biggest fears had befallen us. We would again be charged with killing someone who we cared about. We knew it and Barbara knew it. She quickly told us that she was sorry and then ordered everyone but Bob to leave. She had clearly chosen him to put an end to what she was going to become.

She had nominated him to extend to her the final dignity that every living thing deserves. Death.

We knew the moment of her death. It was marked by the cry of soul shattering grief that exited the bus. The single shot of Bob's firearm ended her reawakening.

Upon exiting the bus Bob looked at no one, only turning to head back out of town. We gathered our supplies and silently fell in behind him. Bystanders tried to engage us, screaming in their demand to know what was going on. We had no answers, only warnings.

Get out. They're coming.

None of us spoke for quite some time, all of us lost in our thoughts of Barbara. The first to break the silence was Bob. All he said was this: She didn't deserve that. And he began to tell us more about Barbara. Things that we hadn't known until that moment.

Barbara had grown up really poor. Her family had next to nothing and lived from paycheck to paycheck. Her father barely had work most of the time. Nothing was ever full-time but he was willing to work almost around the clock to make sure that Barbara and her sisters had food to eat and a roof to cover their heads at night.

In school, she was never popular. She had a few friends but they were constantly playing at being mean little girls so she separated herself from them as much as possible without becoming a complete loner. Being a loner would have served her just fine, however. She knew that she wanted to get out of the small northern town and she was willing to study harder than everyone else to get there; and get there she did. Full scholarship to the University of Toronto.

Life in the big city was quite a shock to Barbara. She was a shy country girl from up north. Her town didn't have the multicultural aspect that makes up so much of Canada now. She was lost and alone, but quickly made friends with the boy that lived across the hall from her; Bob. Soon they would start dating and become inseparable. They would study together, even though they were in different programs and around the campus, they became known as the power couple; both of them winning awards in their respective fields of study.

They were perfectly matched. The both had a quick and intense intelligence and they made the cutest couple (or so everyone told them).

Then, in third year, Barbara got pregnant. And it was the pregnancy that tore them apart. Bob was in favor of keeping the baby and Barbara against it. Not because she didn't want children but because she knew that having the baby could have put a hold on her dreams of achievement. It was a slightly selfish reason, but she wanted to have it all before she brought a child into the world.

Slowly but surely, though, Bob was beginning to bring her around to the idea of being a family together. But it wasn't in the cards for them. The unthinkable happened and Barbara lost the baby.

Bob's anger in that moment turned itself completely in her direction. He blamed her. As a result, they broke up and didn't talk for quite some time. It was only in the year before Bob left for Afghanistan that he sought Barbara out to apologize to her. They quickly fell into their friendship again, but it didn't amount to more than that despite Bob's attempts to rekindle them. He had hurt Barbara so badly, that she couldn't even think about allowing him that kind of access into her life again. So they remained friends while they both secretly desired more.

With Barbara gone, Bob seemed a little less whole. We've all experienced loss, some of us quite a bit in the past few days. All we could do was support him in his grief as he had supported us in ours. The truth is that no one deserves to become one of them.

Please do everything you can to avoid that fate. Those are my only words of advice for tonight.

The Treehouse It walked with a sickening limp. The accompanying noise was akin to the grinding of teeth, only louder. Much louder. It was a sound that reverberated inside your head, warning you of its imminent appearance.

A voice snaked out of the darkness at me. "It's comin' this way!"

It was Billy. Stupid Billy.

"Shhhh! It's gonna hear you!"

The response was barely above a whisper. Too quiet for poor Billy to hear and likely too intelligent for him to understand.

The grinding noise seemed to get closer. Out of the corner of my eye I could see it. Everything about it was frightening. The slack, waxen face. The left eye drooping out of the socket and laying half eaten on the discoloured flesh of its cheek. The gore pocked clothing relaying the message that it had eaten - recently. The worst sight was its left leg; the skin had been flayed off of most of the lower half and one of the bones was broken. The sound that we were hearing was the scraping of the ends together as it limped awkwardly in our direction.

We didn't have the best hiding spot but sometimes you have to make do with what is around when you're on the move. Technically we were just on the opposite side of a large planked fence, but the fence was broken. It looked like a herd of elephants came through a section just a few feet down from us, but we knew what really happened.

We saw it all go down. About 3 days ago, a group of survivors were fleeing an onslaught of Zombies on the road. With the corpses so thick in front of them, they changed directions and drove straight through the fence.

In any other situation, the action would have been cool to watch but the fence was the only thing keeping the Zombies out of the yard and away from the tree that supported our sanctuary.

As we watched from our vantage point, high above the verdant ground, we saw the truck come through one length only to lose the speed needed to go completely through the length on the opposite side. Instead, it got hung up on the broken fence beneath it and stopped short.

The driver panicked and in their haste to free the floundering truck, managed only to hopelessly tangle it among the hewn boards.

Panic is a funny thing; it can give you superhero capabilities or it can paralyze you. Like a sick game of Russian roulette, it chose paralysis this time.

We listened in horror as the Zombies flooded the backyard and surrounded the car, our minds making movies of what was occurring below us. Each whisper soft sound of their decaying limbs brushing the shiny blue exterior of the truck. The dull pounding of their grimy hands on the glass, almost rhythmic in its intensity. The sharp cracking of the glass as it spider-webbed out from the point of impact. Screams assaulted our ears as the Zombies pulled the occupants through their access point. Not daring to look down lest we give away our position, we were forced to watch the translation of those sounds behind clamped eyelids.

It didn't take long but the memories of what we heard reverberate in our minds even now. Everything that we've seen and heard have melded together to produce the most horrific montages that play across the black expanse each time we close our eyes.