Excerpt:

Mom finally found that night security guard that we figured had to be here somewhere. She was walking around in the luxury vehicle section of the lot. She has always wanted a hunter green Jaguar. This was probably going to be the only time she could possibly have access to one. The guard was sitting in the driver’s seat of a black Aston Martin DB9 coupe (it said it on the sticker- She wouldn’t know a Aston Martin from a Maserati if her life depended on it). He had his service pistol in his mouth and an envelope pinned to his uniform. The slate gray leather interior of the luxury sports car had been spattered with crimson brown blood and grayish white brain matter. I guess if you are going to bump yourself off alone in a place like this, you might as well do it in style, right?
There was a note in the envelope. This is what his it said:
I have never taken the coward’s way out. I fought in two wars in the Middle East. I was there when the U.S. captured Saddam. I was part of the elite squad searching for Osama bin Laden. I must have killed hundreds of insurgence fighters. I stopped a suicide bomber from destroying a Shiite pre-school with nothing but my Kevlar vest to protect me. Nevertheless, I cannot do a single thing about this. I could protect innocent Afghanis but not my own people on our own soil.
I overheard a transmission from the Air Force base. I knew of the dead rising. I knew that any bite or scratch would kill me and turn me into one of them.
The other guards are dead. I killed them. One of them, Jim Murphy, came in to work looking sick. By the end of his shift, Matt had to call a cab for him, because he was in no shape to drive. By the time the taxi arrived for him, he had turned into one of them. He had already bitten Matt. Please tell their families, if they survive this, that I am sorry. I had to destroy them. Matt pleaded with me. He had not turned yet, but I knew this was the only way. I could not let my friend become one of those monsters.
My wife is probably dead or undead. She called me this morning to tell me that a man had attacked her in the parking lot of her office building. That he must have been sick or something because the wound she received was already infected and oozing pinkish foam. I refuse to see my wife as a rotting cannibal. I would want to end her suffering but I know that I could not shoot my wife, monster or not.
I am sorry. I am so sorry. Please, Lord, forgive me for what I am about to do.
The envelope also contained three security badges: James Murphy, Matthew Walker, and William Wells. Mr. Wells must have been the man in the car. Mom hasn’t stopped crying since she found him. Dad and Pete went to get rid of the body. They are also going to try to find the other guards’ bodies, too. We don’t want the smell to attract any hungry dead and we definitely don’t want all the insects and disease that come along with a decomposing corpse.
Jesse has already taken Mr. Wells’ gun. He also took his walkie-talkie. He sent out a distress signal, but no one responded. He turned it off to conserve the battery. When we were at the shopping plaza, Pete grabbed tons of batteries of each size, but we have found that very few items take regular batteries anymore. Most things, like cell phones, laptops, and iPods use battery units that require an outlet to recharge. Mr. Wells’ walkie-talkie is another one of those types. We have yet to have a single use for the plethora of batteries.