tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45144790990440418632011-11-27T18:04:12.550-07:00Dead Men Walking is a serial fiction set in the zombie apocalypse.Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.comBlogger291100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-32207976584851118722011-04-26T00:01:00.001-06:002011-04-26T00:48:45.130-06:00

I've been in contact with Thompson now for, well, since Clint's last post. Paige and I have been heading to Nashville to meet up with him. We didn't own a car in Boston. Who would? The T is so convenient, it's a waste of money to drive. Anyway, because of that, we've had to walk our way so far. Right now, as of this post, we're in Virginia. Or somewhere around there. I've tried to follow Google

Liz Manchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-42876534990002128012011-04-22T00:01:00.001-06:002011-04-22T00:01:00.368-06:00

This is dumb. I don't know why Liz wants me to write about this... She's the zombie expert. But oh well, she wants me to tell my side of the story, so here I am. The thing is, I don't have anything to add to what she already said. I was asleep when Jeff... Attacked her. I mean, you could tell what was going on. Well, I could once I woke up a little bit. It was pretty obvious he was fucked on

Liz Manchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-27976426898432143122011-04-19T00:01:00.006-06:002011-04-21T15:57:49.533-06:00

I want to tell you about my first zombie experience.  I want to tell you because part of me still can't believe if happened. And because it wasn't at all like what I expected. If you're anything like me, you'll want to be prepared. Remember, like, half a year ago, when Philadelphia got evacuated? Most people were scared. Not me. I was excited. I mean, okay, maybe I was a little scared. But it was

Liz Manchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-20362192296535703062011-03-01T00:01:00.000-07:002011-03-01T00:01:01.653-07:00

Hey, zombie fans! After a much-needed hiatus, Dead Men Walking will make its grand return as of April 19th! The new "season" of the zombpocalyptic blog fiction will feature a brand new hero as well as visits from older characters from the pilot season. You'll also be seeing some new locales, new dangers, and more zombie-killing action. Everything you loved about Clint's story will be amped up

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-9421846425565837892011-01-24T00:01:00.002-07:002011-02-27T13:47:23.342-07:00

Hello, dear readers. I hope you've all enjoyed Dead Men Walking so far. Most of the time, I enjoyed writing it. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end--and all bad things must come to an end sooner. I was going to give Clint's story a proper end but quite honestly I'm sick of writing him. Ah, these things happen in the world of fiction. Never fear, though: Dead Men Walking will

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-52189355845010138452011-01-21T00:01:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.432-07:00

I have never been to Nashville. All I knew about the place was it's acclaim for country music. I figured the city was that country music venue and not much else. Well, I was wrong. Nashville is a pretty large city. Thompson and I arrived on the south side of the city, from I-65, last night. The streetlights were out and it was quiet. "Well, this looks inviting," Thompson said. "Jane has to be

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-7001488679365173532011-01-19T00:01:00.002-07:002011-02-27T13:47:55.508-07:00

Hey guys, just a quick update today. Can't find wireless on the road right now. Posting this from Thompson's cell phone. We're headed to Nashville still. I'll get back to you again later this week once we arrive. Sorry for no post today. Talk to you all again soon! - Clint

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-38927136027925477432011-01-17T00:01:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.433-07:00

The idea was to head west and cross the state line. East of Atlanta was just heading for the end of the world again. Thompson agreed, having seen some of the Hell I'd seen. Unfortunately, he was the only one. "I want to find my family." "I'm going back to my home." We all had our own interests in mind. I wanted--needed--to find my sister-in-law. I owed it to Evan to find Jane. Thompson was

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-25139780604987601082011-01-14T00:01:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.433-07:00

It was the first time any of us had seen a guard leave his post. Outside the barracks, a racket of gun fire went off. Soon after, a guard rushed in and relieved one of the inside guards. The other looked back at us, confused. We returned the gaze. "What the hell's goin' on?" asked Thompson. The guard ordered him to be quiet. "They probably just need an extra hand with the zombies," I said. "I

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-37010995533394729562011-01-12T00:01:00.003-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.434-07:00

Inside the barracks, you could see your breath on the air. Families huddled together, trying to keep children warm. Those who were alone clung to themselves and sat on their cots. Thompson and I had been on the road and were lucky enough to wear jackets. Mine had been with me all the way from Philadelphia and showed some wear. Up north, this kind of cold is expected. I had no idea it could get

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-33105348511446985272011-01-10T00:01:00.001-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.434-07:00

It's been a week now living in this quarantine. I can feel my mind slipping away from me with each passing day. At least I have Thompson to keep me somewhat sane. We're constantly shooting the shit and talking about the road and our experiences. The soldiers, too, seem to be losing their minds. You can hear them talking when they walk us to the mess building. "Won't be long now," they'll say. "

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-85492540718856713532011-01-07T00:01:00.001-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.435-07:00

After reading the archives, Thompson decided he wanted to make a post. Today I'm letting him tell his story, in his own words, to all of you. -Clint. Hey everybody. I'm Thompson. Full name John Thompson. I'm from Atlanta. Born in Athens, but I moved to Atlanta about twenty years ago. I spent my whole adult life there. Let's see, where to begin... Well, I used to work the front desk at the

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-62994813082630513412011-01-05T00:01:00.002-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.435-07:00

You often hear the phrase "three squares a day" when people refer to prison. The idea is that it's a better life for the inmates and is sort of a reward for committing a crime rather than punishment. If that's the case, prisoners had it better than we do here. Something like a hundred people crowded together in the barracks, sleeping on rows upon rows of cots. Twice a day the guards would lead

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-56925911238415583492011-01-03T00:01:00.001-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.436-07:00

"You think he's alive?" I awoke, to my surprise, staring down the barrels of three rifles. "What are you doing out here?" I was afraid to answer. A boot slammed into my side. "Get up," said a gruff voice. The uniforms marched me at gunpoint to the gate I had so closely watched. Each guard we passed leered at me. Had they known all along? We entered the first building, the smallest one, where

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-57636433081651777442010-12-31T00:01:00.002-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.436-07:00

The military is up to something. I've been watching this small campus for a few days now, and I can't quite figure what's going on. I've walked the entire perimeter more than a couple times and I know a few things: There are three buildings inside the fence. There are also two similar buildings, unoccupied, nearby. Each building's entrance is, at any given time, guarded by two armed uniforms.

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-31630476962834499422010-12-29T00:01:00.002-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.437-07:00

It's not uncommon to see a few zombies ambling by the side of the road. They're easy to avoid; they're usually just wandering. I think it's safe to say that road zombies are barely a threat. You can usually see them long before they see you, given that the major roads are fairly wide open. So when I saw a group of Dead clawing at a tall fence off the side of the interstate, I wasn't concerned.

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-57019739948272144912010-12-27T00:01:00.001-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.437-07:00

My feet trudged through a thin layer of snow, making the only sounds as I walked the streets of Atlanta. I saw no other signs of life--no abandoned cars, no footprints in the snow, no lights. If the city had been evacuated, it was rather orderly. Not like Jacksonville: Here there were no destroyed buildings, no fires. It was as if the entire city had simply vanished. I made my way west, down I-

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-62113434939641366572010-12-24T00:01:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.438-07:00

With all the running around I've been doing, I kind of forgot that it was December. There hasn't really been any snow to remind me down here. I'm still at the hotel; I figured I'd stay here through the weekend. Nothing to report, really. As far as I can tell the place is deserted and there have been no breaches. With that in mind, I'm celebrating the holiday by cooking up some food from the

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-4462982461174333012010-12-22T13:01:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.438-07:00

A line of military vehicles led to the main building of the CDC. Steel shutters covered any possible entrance. From where I stood, I couldn't see a way into the building. What I did see, though, was a horde of zombies. The Dead clawed at the shutters, groaning as one hungry chorus for whatever life might be inside. The crowd held quite a few uniformed corpses--military presence remained, but it

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-24273560970681023732010-12-20T09:23:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.439-07:00

Approaching the state line, I watched the little red needle slide down over the white "E" on my fuel meter. I punched the accelerator, and--my car puttered to a halt. Great, I thought. It has to be at least two hundred miles to Atlanta from here. How the hell am I going to make it to the CDC in time? I slammed the door and stared up to the sky. Dark clouds hung in the distance. At least it was

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-61185679191904677492010-12-17T08:45:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.439-07:00

After learning that Washington had been quarantined, I rerouted my southward drive and kept a steady pace along 95 again. Luckily I didn't run into anymore roadblocks. It was a long ride, though; I drove all day. By the time I got into Jacksonville, the sun had gone down. Thursday night, I steered along darkened streets. The town looked like a war zone. Every streetlight was out, building lights

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-84725521056604035222010-12-15T10:07:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.440-07:00

I first saw the flashing lights as I approached the exit for Washington, D.C. I pulled over near the offramp and got out. Before I could take two steps, they had their guns pointed at me. "Don't shoot!" I put my hands up. "Don't come any closer," an officer yelled. "This is a quarantine area. Get back in your vehicle and keep going." I had planned to take a drive through our nation's capital,

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-1351511217843162622010-12-13T08:26:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.440-07:00

After over a week of living in the Philadelphia Airport, I decided it was time to go. Guy and I were cleaning out the place, but the zombies just kept coming. So on Sunday I told him I was heading out. "Well," Guy said, "I don't blame you for not wanting to stay. I don't know what else to do, so I'm gonna stay here. What's your plan?" "I think I'm gonna head down south," I said. "My brother,

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-14882488972483700642010-12-10T10:21:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.441-07:00

Before the Dead, Guy worked as a security guard at the airport for several years. He lived happily on his own in the suburbs and commuted six days a week to South Philly. Guy said he was watching the news on his break one day when he saw the news story about a guy at an ATM on Walnut Street who was eaten alive. No one could explain the incident; the security footage made it look like some crazed

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-56445082768281153382010-12-08T10:11:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.441-07:00

I remember my first Phillies game: It was a beautiful Spring day and the stadium was packed. Amy and I went together with her dad--he had season tickets--and had a great time. There were so many people on the street when the game was over; it was a mob scene. When I came up from Pattison station, dirty and exhausted, the street looked much like it did that day. The snow on this side of the city

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-70857401353562702102010-12-06T10:03:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.442-07:00

Outside my apartment, the city lay quiet. I looked up and down Wharton: an overturned car in the middle of the street down towards 17th, a walking corpse rooting around by it, but otherwise it looked the same--quiet and inactive. A lot of cars were still parked on the street just as they'd been, though there was a layer of snow over everything. Still, it was rather bleak for my first time out in

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-13149247304558268902010-12-03T13:13:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.442-07:00

Five energy bars, three cans of bean soup, two large bottles of water, one can opener. A roll of gauze, anti-bacterial soap, and a washcloth. Last night, that is what I managed to pack into my messenger bag. There's just enough room left for my NetBook, so I can continue to update on the road. I also slipped a picture of Amy and me into one of the pockets--some little piece of hope to travel with

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-69170643135105847462010-12-01T15:16:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:17.443-07:00

Zombie Survival Tip #1: Don't get emotional. "What's wrong," I asked. Amy seemed a bit perturbed. "Some creep on the subway," she started, a short of breath, "fucking bit me." Shocked, I looked at her curiously. She raised her left arm and pulled back her jacket sleeve, exposing a wrist wrapped in bloody paper towels. "Jesus," I said. "Let's get you cleaned up." I walked her to the bathroom.

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4514479099044041863.post-27325963889937568172010-11-29T17:10:00.000-07:002011-02-27T13:48:32.096-07:00

I don't know how long I can go on living like this. I'm holed up in my apartment and I'm running out of food. Last time I looked out the window, there were at least three of them clawing at my door. For all I know, there are more coming. But if I don't get out soon, I'll die of starvation before they can get to me. What to do, what to do? If you're reading this, then be glad to know you're not

Clint Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11669719716738467764noreply@blogger.com0