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DEDICATION The publisher, editors, and the members of the United Earth Federation Historical Society would like to dedicate this collection to the millions of dearly loved family members and friends lost in the Reaper Virus Pandemic. May they rest in peace as we rejoice in the prosperous reemergence of the human race and human civilization.

FOREWORD Buried safely beneath the ground for generations, so like the living dead that destroyed our civilization, we, the living, longed to rise from our selfimposed graves and reclaim our rightful place on this world. When we emerged from the shelters that spared us the fate befallen on so many hundreds of millions of unfortunate souls in the Reaper Virus Pandemic, we rose to a world transformed, much like the mythical Phoenix from the ashes. Aside from the many cities destroyed by nuclear fire, the world had been reborn in our absence. Reduced to ruins reclaimed by nature, the once great cities of the world no longer existed. All of the walking dead created by the dreaded Reaper Virus that tore our ancestor’s lives and their world asunder had long since rotted away to scattered skeletal remains. In the absence of our old civilization’s constant pollution of this world, the Earth had been reborn into a Garden of Eden like paradise. Above us, the gloriously-blue, cloud-speckled skies that we had only seen in photographs and films seemed to stretch on forever. The crystal-clear lakes and rivers, filled to bursting with life, and the endless green forests overflowed with an abundance of animals. The sun—words cannot express our wonder upon seeing it blazing high in the blue sky for the first time in our lives. The Earth had become perhaps what it had always been intended to be, the promised land of plenty. Endeavoring to rebuild our once great civilization, we emerged from our underground shelters and explored the ruins and paradise of our world reborn. Scattered across the world like leaves on the wind, we discovered artifacts in the ruins, relics left behind by our long dead ancestors. These letters, Journals, audio recordings, and sometimes just simple messages scrawled on crumbling walls eventually numbered in the hundreds of thousands. The United Earth Federation Governing Authority has declared these historical artifacts as international treasures. Using the very latest in advanced forensic technology, the UEF Historical Society continuously endeavors to restore and preserve these historical documents. Collected here by mostly random selection, with permission by the United Earth Federation Governing Authority and the Historical Society, is a collection of reprints of these letters from the dead that are now chronicled in the United Earth Federation Historical Museum.

NOTES While the grammar has been corrected to a certain extent, many misspellings, improper word usages, (colloquial speech) and incorrect syntax have been left intact in order to preserve the purity of the voices heard in these messages, final confessions, and last words from a dying world. Accompanying each historical document is a geographical location of discovery and a corresponding document number. The United Earth Federation Historical Museum allowed the publishers access to their extensive collection of old world maps. Using these outdated charts, we have pinpointed the old world locations of the historical documents appearing in this book to honor the fallen. Accompanying each old world location, we have provided the proper longitude / latitude coordinates. Map coordinates are approximate within 1 to 3 kilometers; actual coordinates remain classified until released by the UEF historical Society. Due to the ill-advised use of nuclear weapons by many countries, some areas of our new world remain ruined wastelands. To cleanse cities of the walking dead, and to avenge old political and religious conflicts in the grip of madness, a few governmental powers of the old world reopened the active use of nuclear weapons. In Europe, Asia, the Middle East, and even the American continent, some major cities and a few entire regions were destroyed by nuclear weapons. Obliterated along with them were perhaps many voices that tragically we will never hear. Despite the destruction, the UEF Historical Society continuously works to unearth artifacts from these devastated areas. Listed in this book, you will find the names of the United Earth Federation Historical Society members that helped to make this publication possible through their discovery and restoration of these treasured documents. Please note that some of these artifacts, while complete as they can be, may contain missing text. These sections have been marked with brackets and are not to be confused with parentheses that have been inserted by the original author(s).

Letters from the Dead Conceived and edited by Mark M. Johnson

Published by arrangement with the authors.

“Letters from the Dead” Compiled and edited by Mark M. Johnson ISBN10 - 1451583079 ISBN13 - 9781451583076 Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of both the copyright owner and “Library of Horror Press,” except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situation are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The publisher and editors wish to extend their greatest and most sincere condolences to any surviving relatives of the writers of these historical documents. We would also like to thank the United Earth Federation Historical Museum, and the Historical Society members for all their invaluable assistance in bringing this project to fruition.

Introductory Letter Document #000001 Location: Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center / Bluemont / West Virginia / United States of America Lat: 37.262508 / Long: -81.190933 There are those who would have called my ancestor a prophet. In a sense, he was one even if he didn’t know it. His name was Eric S Brown, a name we both share. If you loved tales about the walking dead and simply couldn’t get enough of them, odds are you would eventually stumble across his work. The things he wrote about though, they were just stories, a source of escapism and enjoyment for those with a darker side. I often wonder if he was still alive when the dead really began to walk and if so, what did he do? Did he grab a gun and head for the hills with his family or was he killed in the initial attacks on the living? I would like to think that he went down fighting. Obviously, someone from his family survived because I’m here to tell his story, I am his story. Today, the world is a vastly different place than the one he lived in. If you’re lucky enough to be alive, you’re either on the run and living off the land, trapped in some kind of boarded up, defensible location, or locked away in what was once a military shelter like the one I am living in. I’m far luckier than most. The walls and doors of this place are made of thick metal designed to withstand a nuclear strike. The power is supplied by topside solar cells, which, by the grace of God alone, are somehow still functioning. Best of all though, there seems to be an endless supply of rats and mice to provide the food I need to stay alive. They fry up a lot better than one would think. The only real enemy in a shelter like this is boredom. Staring at metal walls all day will drive you insane no matter who you are. I nearly took my own life twice after I found this place and decided to stay but now the days (or are they nights?) pass quickly. For you see, I made a startling discovery in the garage on the upper level. When the dead first rose, I believe this base took in everyone it could. The garage is packed full of vehicles from a world long dead. Among them is a mail jeep. It looks older and more worn than most of the others. I suppose it’s possible its owner found this place abandoned, like I did, and died somewhere in these winding corridors that seem to go on for miles. It doesn’t matter. I have seen no recent signs of the dead within these walls and all I suspect I will ever know about that driver, on any real level not created by my imagination, is that his name may have been Michael West. I only know that because that name is inscribed on the jeep’s own federal ID, affixed to the roof of the cab above the driver’s seat. It doesn’t matter. All that matters are the letters. There are so, so many from places all around the world. There are journals too. It’s almost as if whoever brought the truck here spent their life collecting them all. They tell

LETTERS FROM THE DEAD the story of the fall of man to the dead and the aftermath far better than I ever could. . . And they keep me sane in my isolation. These letters are, I believe, all that is truly left of our world.


Letters from the dead