Background: A loner living in New York state broadcasts his survival stories as the weeks and months pass. (This is a weekly broadcast)

(First broadcast, day 7. Introductions)

???: Hey there, everyone.
???: If you’re hearing my voice, then congratulations. You’ve made it through your first week in Hell.
???: Odds are you’re barricaded in some house outside your hometown surrounded by a buncha strangers. Safety in numbers and all that shit.
???: Or, if you got lucky, the fever missed some of your loved ones and you’re all huddled round the radio, looking for signs of life out there.
???: Well, you’ve turned to the right station. I’ll tell you a bit about myself first.
???: Personally? I don’t need a group. Been flying solo ever since those dead fuckers took over.
???: To most people round here, I’m invisible. Nobody took notice of me, so hardly anybody knows my name.
???: Which is exactly why I’m doing this broadcasting shit. I’m not gonna go crazy having nobody to talk to. I’m gonna talk about all the shit I’ve seen, even if it’s just me talking into this hunk of plastic.
???: Hell, what I’ve got to say might help some of you last just a little bit longer out there.
???: We survivors gotta stick together, wouldn’t you say?
???: Yet, if I’m gonna be talking to you every week like this, I feel introductions are in order, regardless.
???: My name’s Mike. Mike Lopken.
Mike: My folks have been outta my life for years now. No way of knowing if my friends made it.
Mike: Was studying journalism and writing when this shit started.
Mike: “Coffee shop degree”, they told me. “Experience beats all”, they said.
Mike: No point in worrying about that shit now, is there?
Mike: Hell, the journalists that were covering this virus kept the truth from you for days. Left you unprepared for the deadhead’s aggressive takeover.
Mike: Speaking of which, if you haven’t killed one of them yet, you should prepare yourselves to do so.
Mike: People like us? The living, breathing type? We’re a minority now. Outnumbered 200 to 1, I’d wager.
Mike: You won’t be left with any choice sooner or later. Get yourself a bat, hammer, or hell, even a fucking golf club if your options are limited.
Mike: These things want to kill you. They’re not alive anymore. Don’t show them any sympathy, no matter who they were before.
Mike: Just smash their heads over and over till their skull caves in. Only way to do it. You hesitate, you’ll die.
Mike: So, where am I, you might be asking?
Mike: I’m hiding out in the back of a semi truck. Not planning on staying in one place for very long.
Mike: Planning on heading south till the landscape gets a hell of a lot more flat. Not a lot of breathing room here in the Empire State. Also, I fucking hate the cold. Winters up here get really bad.
Mike: Yep, I’m from up North. New York. Not the city, mind you. Smaller town called Binghamton. Lived here since elementary school. Lotta memories here, both good and bad.
Mike: For those of you out of staters, one thing you should know about New York is that it’s nothing but mountains and hills in every direction.
Mike: That means that it’s gonna take just one crazy prick with a hunting rifle to cut me down. Too many places to hide in the trees out here.
Mike: Speaking of guns, got my hands on nice piece here. Service automatic off a cop. Four spare magazines.
Mike: Yes, I know what you’re thinking. He was already dead. In no state to use it. If I hadn’t taken it, someone else would’ve. Maybe someone with a few screws loose, perhaps.
Mike: *Yawn*
Mike: Anyway, think I’m gonna turn in for now. Sleep deprivation does you no good in the apocalypse.
Mike: Stay breathing, people. Talk to you next week. Mike out.

(Second broadcast. Day 14. Mike reaches Pennsylvania and talks about his encounters on the way.)

Mike: Hey there, folks. Another week come and gone just like that. How’s your life been in this rotting, undead hellscape?
Mike: Finally made it to Pennsylvania. Terrain should start flattening out in the coming days.
Mike: Getting here sure as shit was an adventure, lemme tell ya.
Mike: Spotted the occasional survivor here and there. Didn’t approach em, letalone allow them to see me, though. I need to get a read on people before I decide they’re trustworthy, you know?
Mike: As helpful as it would be to trade supplies with others, trusting people too quickly can get you killed out here in a hurry.
Mike: People who were normal, law-abiding citizens flipped their lids in an instant when the corpses started biting. It’s a tough world we now live in.
Mike: Killed dozen deadheads this week with this sweet hammer. Found it poking outta some dead carpenter’s toolbox.
Mike: Walked for a good six days until I got to the very thing I was dreading to reach: the Lehigh tunnel.
Mike: Now, I used to go on vacation to New Jersey beaches with my folks every year. Call it a tradition if you will.
Mike: We drove through this tunnel every time on our trip. Used to play these stupid games with my brother. Hold our breath till we got to the end of it, you know. Kid stuff.
Mike: He used to breathe through his nose and act like he’d been holding his breath the whole time.
Mike: Well, so did I, actually. *laughs*
Mike: Now, the only way to get past this mountain is to scale  the blue mountain trail, or to go straight through the tunnel itself.
Mike: Now, by this point the power’d been out for days. Pitch black in there for a long-ass time.
Mike: I had a flashlight. Enough batteries to get to the other side, but still, it’s total gridlock on the highways.
Mike: Heard gunfire coming from the trail though, so it was either the tunnel or turn back.
Mike: For a good ten minutes it went smoothly enough. No sign of deadheads.
Mike: Course, nothing good lasts in the apocalypse. As my luck would have it, the flashlight conked out after 15 minutes of walking.
Mike: Could hear one of them coming towards me as I fumbled with the damn batteries.
Mike: Heart’s never raced quicker than it did then, lemme tell you.
Mike: In the end, I didn’t stick around to fight it. Just ran and ran until I saw sunlight.
Mike: Keep a flashlight on you at all times, people. The dead are dumb and slow, but they’ll just as well get you if you can’t see them.
Mike: Currently I’m holed up at an abandoned gas station. This place was almost definitely defunct even before the apocalypse.
Mike: Guess that’s why it stayed relatively untouched. Didn’t have to clear it out or anything.
Mike: Anyway, map’s reading that Philadelphia’s due south.
Mike: I love cheesesteaks as much as the next guy, but I’m not coming anywhere near that place.
Mike: If you’re still in the cities at this point, you’re either incredibly stupid or incredibly good at sneaking around.
Mike: Thousands of people, all turning at once. Can’t imagine the state it’s in now.
Mike: Anyway, I’m gonna get some shut-eye. Gonna need to scavenge food tomorrow, down to my last two cans of corn.
Mike: Stay breathing, people. Mike out.