Shane Dawson. Diary log, entry 1. 5 days after infection. I've heard many people use expressions in my life. Some of them were good. Some of them were bad. And some were just downright funny. But on this day, a certain expression comes to my mind. As I write this, seated next to the blood-stained corpses of some freshly killed walkers, I see the phrase as clear as day. "Hell on earth." It was usualy used in a dramatic expression to describe a horrible day. Maybe a day filled with financial woes. Perhaps one that involved losing a child. Maybe divorce. All of these did seem like Hells on earth to me, at one time. But the day that I witnessed a man who was eaten alive by a horde of gore spattered dead people, screaming and calling for help as his insides were consumed right before his eyes, changed my perception on the matter dramatically. My name is Shane Dawson. I'm a father and an ex-employee for Cox Communications. Or.....I was. I lived a normal life, before the outbreak, just like anybody else. Worked hard to make a livin'. Worked hard to please my family. Tried to enjoy life in the process. Every day wasn't exactly a wonderland, but I can honestly say that I preferred my neighbor bringing me brownies, rather than breaking into my house with the intent to eat my face. It's hard to believe that just five days ago, my greatest worry was my excessive waistline. Chyeah. Priorities, eh? Anywhoo, I better stop writing for now. Darkness is approaching, and the streets are gonna be filled with walkers. Not the best time to write a novel. Will write more as soon as I reach the gas station safe house. Clicking his pen into its retracted position, Shane stood up hurriedly, shoving his journal into his backpack. Once he had stowed it, he closed the pack up, hoisting it onto his back. Sighing heavily and rolling his head, Shane drew his gun. Though he had already cleared the house, judging by the bullet riddled zombies laying at his feet, he kept his weapon aimed and ready. Walkers had a bad habit of turning up when you least expected them. He had learned that the hard way. With quickness, he began to do a last minute search of the home he had entered, checking for anything that might be useful. Finding nothing but a flashlight and a pack of chewing gum in one of the kitchen drawers, Shane responded to his luck with a frustrated grunt. "Figures." he said aloud to himself, making his way to the front door window to check if the street was clear. He never got the good stuff. The last lucky day he could remember was the day that his boss accidentally calculated his cable fee wrong. And even that didn't last very long. Opening the door slowly, a breeze floated into the house, ruffling his hair a bit. It smelled fresh and inviting. Then Shane caught the sound of the moans of the dead and everything inviting about the dusky evening faded away. About thirty of them were wandering the streets, lifeless eyes wandering sightlessly, gaping mouths quivering hungrily. Gunshots sounded in the distance. He thought he could hear faint screams as well. Cocking his 9mm softly, Shane settled into a low crouch. A broken and disabled car sat in the middle of the road. If he could get to it, it would provide him with some cover. Reaching into his pocket, Shane pulled out his phone. The backlight shone dimly as he unlocked the slide screen. "Low battery" flashed momentarily. Sighing, Shane closed the warning message. Going to his Map App, he reviewed the route he was taking to the gas station. It wasn't far. Just down the road, and to the left. Turning his phone off again, conserving the precious battery life, Shane readied himself to move.